On stuffing it and pretending everything is fine

Perhaps it is so much easier to not talk about it. Stuff it, so that you'll only focus on drawing your next breath. Suppress the pain, the angst, the delirium that would possibly ensue if you just went there. And faced those feelings head-on. The anguish and the unspeakable pain, the tears flowing down your cheeks. It's been almost six weeks now since I've said goodbye to my life, my sweet paradise, my Hawaii. Six weeks of telling myself that I can do this. Transplanting to a completely new life, one of winters, of rainy days and cold, windy mornings. Oh how i yearn for those hot sands caressing my ankles, or the crashing wave, the sweet scent of plumeria. Some days are better than others. Today is not one of those days. Saying goodbye has never been something I have done with ease.
Being a robot is also something I'm not good at. And since I've moved here I've become dead and lifeless. I've left behind my revival. The orange ball of the setting sun so vivid in my mind...to touch, to reach, if only I could...

It's not goodbye...

A million little pieces
Is what you are made of
Leaving particles of your soul
Imprint of your self
Every time you breathe in the air
Exhaling your life and
 filling the place 
with your presence
They say man blesses the place
The many places he touches, 
become his own
Perhaps you were already 
there
In a dream
You'll always be in the place you see, 
you threaded on
Your body molding in with the hot sand 
of the beach
The wave gently caressing 
your foot
The sweet smell 
of plumeria
Or the piece of grass that gently
 touched your hair
In the hot breeze 
of the sunset
You are the ocean
The wild whisper in the thicket
Or perhaps the crashing wave
Melodies at sunset
Or chirps at morning
You will always
Be here

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

On roads, more or less traveled, opportunities and greener pastures

So much in life remains unsaid or uncommunicated for so many reasons. Through poetry we can release some of the unknown, allowing an in into the very depth of our soul. So much can't be said, but verses help us heal and cope. This is how I deal with life. Through poetry...


Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.
 
1. The Road Not Taken
 
 
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        
 
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,         
 
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.         
 
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.        
 

Untitled

Where shall I meet you
At the intersection of yesterday and forever?

Where the sun gently kisses the moon
Or at the end of the horizon gently resting on the ocean

The mountaintops caressing clouds
Made from dreams

Should I find you in the verses of poems
Or laughter of children

In the sweet smell of plumeria
Or the shade of the palm

The quiet whisper of the wave or the shriek of the seagull

Oh no, but you are in the gentle breeze of the wind

The salty wind.
That's where you are.

-LH

alive

every wave pulsates new life 
through my tired 
soul
The energy of the universe 
channeled into a powerful 
roar
Voices of distant 
souls
Whispers of passing 
dreams
Atoms of water and air 
colliding in a mystical 
dance of the cosmos
Capturing the breath of 
a past
Too present
A future 
lived
Already
Perfect symphony of 
hearts
Beating
I am alive
Now...

-LH

I. Am. Ocean.

i 
am 
the 
ocean
I carry my power 
and rumble 
my pain 
and suffering 
my fish 
and coral
 I am deep blue 
and 
I am dark 
and twisted 
i am calm 
and 
inviting 
I am 
a destructive force
I 
host the giant whale 
but also the shark
The slimy seaweed,
 but also the hard stone
Beneath my calmness 
lies 
a rumble
Heard over the ages
The moon 
and I live in 
symbiosis 

Together.

Yet so distant.

Across the universe

He smiles

I roar
-LH

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A poem I absolutely adore

We all have something that makes us come apart completely, something that touches us deeply, that unravels us. For me that is poetry. Only music touches me more.

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before--"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

    May Sarton

Memento at sunset

Sunset capturing diamonds 
in rosy cheeks
Of puffy clouds
A warm ocean breeze softly moving 
across green 
volcanic sands
Or was it the sweet whisper of the palms, 
swaying
Ginger root and hibiscus
Reflecting in the vast pool of tomorrows
Yet unlived

Memories 
not yet created
Dreams 
not yet born
desires 
not yet spoken
Life 
not yet lived 

To live is to be
To be is to feel
To feel is to suffer

To suffer is to live?

My sixth sense...

A dear childhood friend phoned to tell me that my premonition about him had come true. I got shivers. He won best actor in Hollywood. Months ago, maybe even last year, I had told him that he would walk the red carpet of Hollywood. That seemed an awfully big stretch at the time, since he was a little-known actor, famous in Romania and the surrounding European countries, but surely not in America. I told him, I had felt it. Just as I felt that Romney would win... Last year, when he first re-emerged as a contender? Strange, isn't it. I'll say. And no, I don't see dead people, or hear any strange voices. I just get this very real feeling about certain people. Call it a gut-check. Perhaps it is what the prophet Samuel ( not that I am a prophet) felt when he approached David. He felt that the David was the anointed one.
I guess I am nothing special, I am no big deal. But I have surely learned to trust my very awkward feeling. It's just there. No matter how impossible it may seem to accomplish, it always works out and comes true in the end. I guess it is time I embrace my sixth sense.

It's no big deal, really...

Oh little towns of Iowa...

I really should not be writing this. I will probably regret it...anyway, here goes.

Months ago, or almost a year ago I was slowly starting to fall out of love with Mr. Obama. The electricity and excitement I'd felt throughout his campaign had faded and were instead replaced by monotony and a coolness. The White House that the Obamas now inhabited was now more like a house of ice, an igloo, metaphorically speaking. After energizing the crowds and inspiring hope and change, more like the second coming of Christ, he had now retreated to a life of routine and boredom, almost forgetting altogether the energy and enthusiasm of those who so ardently had supported him. I was one of those people...

Over time, my enthusiasm to faded and waned over months. I say, jokingly, that I lost Obama somewhere between the sands of Libya and Egypt. Since then, my feelings grew colder by the day. Not sure if it was his reluctance or mere hesitance to engage with the people. Or did all of his public interactions become roboticized, mechanical? It all seemed too orchestrated and rehearsed by his aides. It did not come naturally to him. He was not the same enthused candidate I witnessed on the trail and in whom I so very much believed... I thought.

My feelings had changed. With every news commentary, I grew increasingly distant toward this man I once absolutely adored and vouched for. And felt that when the next election came around, I would prepare myself to vote for somebody else.

Then this little known man, named Romney entered the scene, just, oh, as unemployment and the economy had reached rock bottom and,let's say, the Obama mantra of hope and change had worn...one would say at the right time..

And he immediately gets my full attention.

Suddenly, I am all ears when he shows on television, there is a fascination with him, he is new, he is fresh. He is indeed everything Obama was three years ago. Only more refined, seasoned, he seems. I immediately like him, but still there is this heavy pull toward Obama. You may call me a contrarian. The independent that likes to call the shots. An there may be truth to that... All I know is that when I saw Romney, whom I previously hadn't even heard of, I saw a president. Blame my intuition. But I feel it. And if I feel it, I must write about it.

So, Iowa, work your magic tomorrow...or I might regret having written this...