Short Poems written for my exhibition

      I.        They look into mirrors without a second glance,

And wonder about the stars and the moon.

They wait for the days when barricades are but dreams,

Caught in the spider webs of dream catchers in the dark of the night.

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    II.         Give me life.

Give me the heavens to play with.

Give me gifts that I cannot fathom.

Give me; give me all that I can imagine.

But do not take from me in return,

What you cannot see through your veiled eyes and caged heart.

Not for heavens or the gifts or life itself.

For what is life without my freedom

And what is heaven but forests of gold grown by my courage.

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  III.         Go to the well to trickle some water

For the spider webs in the corners to catch.

The droplets of water pitter-patter down

As the crows on the branches watch.

One swoops down and then another

Until all but one remain.

The spider’s cry for their loved ones will die

Of thirst and fear and despair.

One lone crow watched the sky,

The grey clouds forming a mist.

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     V.        They say we have but a few days ahead,

A few days of unadulterated joy and naiveté.

Some say that we will persevere,

Others say that we will die out like dinosaurs.

The lizards will crawl

And the butterflies will flutter

Out to the ocean and into the waves.

We will be there with our axes and our saws

To break what we can while wearing masks of straw.

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   VI.         I heard them say my arms looked like

The trunks of the tree in the garden.

I looked at them with watchful eyes

And said nothing as they walked by.

It seemed to me that life was being ironic

For what they insulted, actually honoured me.

I wish my arms to be like trunks of trees in the garden

So that they can withstand the worst of the storms.

People are untrue and that is the sadness

That I feel gives me the power to move.

Move across mountains and streams and rivers

Waiting for the clouds to disappear.

I wait for the clouds, for the sun to shine down

So I can see the beauty of the trees after a storm.

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 VII.         Give me a reason to not say good-bye

Give me the chalice of truth.

Do not forsake my pride and vanity

For my vanity is not vanity but veracity.

Your disregard may save my masks of straw

But the fire that burns underneath will burn it.

Take what you want but drink from the chalice

Before you leave for good.

I wave good-bye as you take a sip

You could not give me a reason.

I lounge on my bed filled with cotton and snow

The mask slips off and falls to the floor.

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VIII.         I had a dream as a child,

That I would fly till the end of time.

But time has a funny way of leaving you behind.

I waited for the wings to grow

But instead cobwebs stuck to my skin.

I peel them of, one by one, as more latch on.

Grabbing and pulling, grabbing and pulling,

I throw them off.

The wings are sprouting,

I can feel the change coming.

Wait for me, I cry to time.

It begins to carry me into the dream.

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   IX.         I feel like the wind.

I break against the towers of ivory.

In spite I endure.

You told me I could not.

The ivory cracks.

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     X.         We sat on trees in the garden,

Eating our apple from Eden.

The hair on our skin bristled

And the others raged because of our dismissal.

We took it for granted,

Our thrones on the tree branches.

Our reign ended without a word,

We waved hello to the end of childhood.

The tree branch remained in place,

Waiting and hoping for the day we return to out grace.

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   XI.         Your serious affliction is the fact that you care

About my sense of style and the wind in my hair.

The wind will howl on and my style may or may not be there

Even if you are repulsed, disgusted or feel plain abhorrent,

I simply want you to know that I just don’t care.

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 XII.         Staring across the linoleum floor.

She herself was left to decay.

The moths surrounded her, as they do with antiquities,

The blue of her skin turned brown.

‘Hold me,’ she cried,

Her cries were muffled.

And so she sat there,

Crying,

Waiting,

Longing.

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XIII.         The crocodile cried tears,

Of sadness or joy.

The lizard went clickety-click,

So the insects rejoiced.

The spiders spun webs of magic and deceit,

So the moths fluttered away into the beast.

She spent her days singing of the moons and the stars,

The lonely bed wept for dreams that were always apart.

He never cried of tears of sadness or joy.

Instead he leaned back and enjoyed the ride.

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XIV.         Spinning the glass threads,

The spider cried tears,

Of delectation, yearning

And for the entrancing specter.

The ghost of forgotten reverie

Stood on the sideline,

In the form of cobwebs on walls. It shattered.

In place came a web made of droplets and glass.

In place came…. He came.

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 XV.         I sent a tide to wipe away the cobwebs,

I sent the waves to make a labyrinth out of spider glass.

I sent my self on far off adventures,

I sent the moon to look out for danger.

I sent him to not seek me,

I sent her to forget me.

I sent the stars to believe in me,

I believed that I could be.

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XVI.       Give me the silver earrings hanging from that shelf,

Give them to me and I will wear them.

But I will not part from the skin that I wear,

So that I can pierce my ears with your argentous danglers.