Your love turned my body
into water.
My eye-paint dripped into the eyes
of foamy water.
Morning wind in the garden
open blossoms.
The key to my locked spirit
is your laughing mouth.
– Empress Nur Jahana (1577-1645 C.E.)
Tag Archives: poem
Dr. Seuss Says…
Truth.
-Mushpa
Reverie
Michelle O’Sullivan reads ‘The Orchard’ from her first collection The Blue End of Stars.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqGkfkv1V3U&w=420&h=315]
Yesterday I decided to clean out my e-mails, including my drafts and in doing so I came across this poem, “Reverie” my friend Michelle O’Sullivan, an amazing poet, wrote. This poem says so much to me as an artist. It inspires me. It’s beauty undefined.
Reverie
The muse doesn’t tempt or ask,
she whispers lightly as she opens
the door, touches your earlobe,
the soft curve of your neck.
She doesn’t beckon or whinge
but takes your hand in hers,
sings low at the side of your face.
Everything, she says, bring everything.
– Michelle O’Sullivan
Michelle was one of the first people I ever let in my life for real, and we may live on other ends of the world now, I in New York City and her on the west coast of Ireland, but I have never lost my connection to her. She is my soul sister, before this life and in this life to the next. I am so proud of her publishing her poems in her new book, The Blue End of Stars, but not surprised.
I love you my friend, through thick and thin, always.
– Mushpa aka Cara
Blood on His Hands
American “Citizens” being killed overseas?
By our own government. No trail. Just Boom. It’s a dirty war.
This Big Bro is watching you, me, and us.
Sometimes I really just don’t know.
And that is what scares me.
We don’t know.
Today in the news, 10% of elementary schools
(the Separate but Equal Blacks and Browns)
in Chicago are closed down. No funds.
Mo’ Money for the Duurty wars.
Money for a little Gitmo, in a little island will keep them shut.
No law, no man’s lives. And 100 days of hunger? Force fed like foie-gras.
Mr. President Hussein, may I call you by your Middle Name?
You have a dark stain in you slacks.
That law. That pen. Just Exploded in your pants.
Why do you use red ink? Phew! No worries Administrators!
It blends in.
And the stain in your hands?
It’s permanent ink.
——————-
This is how I feel.
-Mensa
What is a name?
I always asked myself,
why is it that these earthlings
look at me with that face?
No I am not an octopus, although my abuela was.
I am not a bear, although I still hug one every night…
I smell like lavender, yet I was not born from a garden,
or even somewhere more ridiculous like a cabbage patch.
I was always what I was supposed to be.
Yet my one missing piece,
just like the missing piece,
was my name.
Yet what’s in a name?
That which I call myself by any other name would still smell oh so sweet!
And yet a name is everything! And nothing at all…
So if you find yourself inspired,
or in need of a ear,
or just looking at me wondering “Que es eso!?”
…Ask yourself the same,
cause dear earthling,
I can tell that we are gonna be friends.
If you’d like to take me home you will find me here!