The Promise of the Tribe

   In a winter of freezing earth,
I am reminded of my birth;
 born in the severe, with yet the horizon of Spring as Promise.

I have lived as any good woman, humble and defiant.
 Experienced in love.
Listening to the only voice I know.

  Religion, was never the Promise.
Spring was;  The renaissance of Man, and sound.

Not blood and crowns, though it is a history
 we must honor,
for it is history, itself- the telling of the story of man,
that is honorable.

  Tragedy, Comedy, Romance, act as genres of gesture- how life is perceived and carried out.  War stories continue, thrillers are sought, and  power bought
as scores are made to depict and create feelings; to evolve us, and our understanding- for music is some true language of the soul.  Humans, the expression of this, the most, for we have created a true bridge to God through our language with instruments.

As heavy as it is,
 light we must make it.
and love, we must forward,
 for the world is drying up.  She is crying, and in drought
and the guides of this world bleed in tears,
as so do I.

Yet see I...that Spring has arisen,
  and Spring is on her way.

There is a warmth to the air in the Horizon-
  a thrill looking on, towards the Sun;

towards the profoundness of Hope.

There is something, bone chilling,
in the depth of man's accomplishments,
and this time spent on earth.  Like an antelope becoming present and alert to a sudden sound in the grass, so some of us are forced in the alike,
to these moments in history passing before our eyes.  Imagine the world watching,
when Hiroshima Hit.  Or when The first rocket blew up on live television.  or when we witnessed the twin towers, hit, in live time.  Like alert animals, we arose, focused on the TV, as if we were watching it before our eyes.

We are a tribe, the peoples and nations of this planet.  We are a Human Tribe- A Race.
It is a beautiful and mysterious existence- and yet we are connected by the history that catalogues our birth as a race, our evolution, our rise, our falls, and our in-betweens.

I've heard the most beautiful music on this planet.
  and I've had a heating blanket to get me through the tough winters.

and the sun, still always,
  finds a way.

As does man, Music evolves with us, bridging something
 much purposeful.

The enchanted comes to life here.  we, as Humans have always found some nature in us, to see to this.

And so had God.

Swayed, I bend to the flow here; natures torrential even of emotions,
but so the winds and tides of elements rage on us.
Bringing destruction,
  but always more life.

Bringing life...
  but always, more destruction.

Conclusions, and recanting.  Seeds are always sown here.  Always laid.  Ever grown;
 and where Faith has never died, no matter how many times,
we've faced threats of having it snuffed out.

Always a formidable foe.  Loving never enough till an unknown time would  make it so,
when by usually, all would seem too late...

  and that seem s the summation as well of man.
Ever arriving late.

  when we do however, we arrive with a vengeance.
The Wrath of the Titans.
as once the Gods' DNA may have given life,

to our own.

Arrive...I think, we have.
For it is The Winter of Spring.

Something far off in the background has changed the skies.
The Air.
Like Special Forces at work.

  and though the ground is cold
the shiver in my bones bracing the chill...


I look up, to the horizon.
and I feel the warmth of Spring as a promise.

The Antelope of my tribe look as if all honoring some sky King,

and I look,

and see God's hand

reaching down.

Has God shown himself to me all along?

Had I but need just the eyes to see? As clear as day?

and like a vision,

it swept away, but left a sweet feeling; a security.

The antelope knew food was on the way,

as so I too, saw justice for the first time.

We all breathed, letting go the holding of our concern.

The sun, had a promise now, pf a swift return,

and I saw God,
for the first time.

all it took,
was man,
man's music,
and me.

Two of Swords

If ever there was a day

That I was meant to be loved,

It would be now.

To be loved by you.

But you have been a ghost.

And that ghost, has been haunting me with possibilities of promise,

where there has only been carbon underneath.

I stop my habit to reach for a smoke,

or a drink,

and I am forced to sit with the empty proposal,

of another day

of your soul's absence.

Am I loving Ghost's or are they chasing Angels? 

Knotted, My Capacity. Tight and wound up. Lost and aimless.

Holy unfound.

How terribly hopeless it has all felt...like staring into the hole of your future,

Trying to find a place on a timeline you know will never be there.

I had always wondered if you could ever love me like this, suspect somehow,

if I was just fooling myself...

or if you were.

Riddled by nothingness.

And I'm wondering how I could feel that way...

if you love me.

Ash in my mouth.

Fallout of Love

It's an addiction
To hate myself at every core
 After the fallout of it all.

Like a sinking,
  The desert is desperate
As a slow but omnipotent notion of inevitable dark death-
 The one that smells of rotting flesh
  And soul's long gone from this Earth.

I stop myself from leaning over the edge
 But feel the force like a magnetic gravity pulling me past the Ground's surface.

Every thing I have ever wanted

Had been ripped from me,
 Time and again.

I rest now
  On the faint teeter
Of being loved by a man, who's emotions are chained by ghosts

While my dreams continue to fade into the distancing background
And my breath slips from me

As I let go.

I never had any business loving in this world.

Nobody told me that,
But I tried anyway.

Bad Blood; Re-Union of the Angels

Bad Blood

Tell me you love me.

And we will wrap the madness tightly and send it into another life. 

I left you 

In an ages from now rebirth.

Kissed you goodbye. 

And here, we would meet again, 

But that is all it would be. 

I watched you. As if something in you, I had recognized in some mystery to my curiosity. 

And as you approached, 

I found love filling the space between us. 

Conjuring the distance and collapsing the air that lay as miles between our bodies.

And as you raged against it, 

I hadn't known, what I know now. 

I would sink then. Into you. 

Like a tar I would flounder in,  foolishly seeking mercy from an unrelenting substance, that only knew consumption. 

Now however, 

I know what it is. 

  Know, I will see you far again but here, 

We must be strangers. 

There is a sickness that rides in this incarnation. 

A Black Death that will renew as the cycles pass, where love can reign again once more. 

You are miles from me...

  And lives as well. 

And I will see you then. 

  And embrace you my love. 

With everything I ever meant to. 

As though this life is cold, 

 So once again, we will learn warmth, 

And we will remember ourselves,

And we will re-unite. 

  Amongst the re-union 

Of the Angels. 

The Harbor & The Vessel

  I love you baby.

I do not say it often,
  because sometimes I wonder if I will ever be who I once was.

You deserve the best of me, but I've only had half of that to give.

My heart, I had bound up, and sheltered away...
  In some far away and dark space,

where it would die the slowest death of all, however protected.

A blackness had grown in me; had spread like a mutation
  and all that I used to be,

feels stripped.


Defeat took over, and cynicism became a daily reminder of choosing the wrong pair of walking shoes.

The only thing that may truly matter, I had finally seen decaying within after so many battles fought.

  And finally...

 like a bee over-poisoned...

   I started to lose my senses.

Dazed.  Confused.  Delirious, I would spin out...

  and maybe be lucky enough to come out of it alive.


The Poison did a number on me.

 I have never since..
  been the same.

I love you...
  Because you are a sheltered bay
to a broken vessel

 During a storm's eternity....

and should you love me at all

I may never understand why.

I gave my heart away before you came... so passionately and truly

  yet you have deserved it the most,
and how unfair it must be,
 to only know, it's ghost.

How unfair.

Whatever I am now,
  or us...

I know deeply that only time will tell.

That "future" seems up to us; seems it can go any way.

Still I wonder,
  where my heart has gone?

Crawled off, like a dying cat...

I wonder, where I can find it,

  before it's too late.

The world has made me hollow-
 narrowed me out.

  Where Love used to team with fervor..
now remains a zombie's shallow.  A fear, to let God back in.

While I have been making my way back through these woods
and this darkened day
  You have taken my hand.

I'm not sure this, I will ever understand.
  Not sure what a hollow girl has left to offer...

but somehow...
  by my side you always remain, reaching out to take my hand...

often, silent and calm.

If you love me, I wonder...
  But if not, what you give me feels like everything Love should be.

How so easily can you accept what you do not know?

  and what you give is everything I have needed
   for a very long time.

What does "in love" mean anymore to someone like me?
  Someone holed out? Burned.  Nearly...dead, inside?

I think to even love you, as I do...is a miracle.
 and perhaps too...

you as well, are holding back.

  Yet...

You aim to please.  Truly.  Surely.
And as surely as any Harbor will never move,
  it will still,
always need a boat, for without,
 why then,
would it be?

Whether A Boat, or Some boat,
I take shelter in thee.

You warm me.

and I'm starting to think I can believe again.

I never knew,

That was the thing I needed
the most;   to believe.

We take hope for granted.
  or maybe,
We don't.






 


 

The Map & the Sun

I am eating my sadness,
  loose in my gut, like a tumbleweed...
empty, and hungry in need.

Distrust liquifies, down my reef, smears along my body, down my legs,
  and into the mulch

as if there were an intelligence to it.

  Empathy, heavy with heiress.
Duress, as light as a feather, pumping anxiety's breath.

Wanderer, and unbound, I walk the highway,
  Map my Route, like a textured pavement and heated tune.

Captured, in pressures of heat, The sun is a long road ahead.

 The Mind,
   is a map.

The Likelihood

                                                                                                                                  JR Korpa Photography



I went to bed loving you

the night ran in weird rewinds,

of which at some point you said, "I love you too", though it was a dream.

One of those eerie nights, with odd wakes, and unsettling arises.

awoken by a phone call, and a number I didn't want to see, like the queasy feeling of almost needing to vomit.

you cheated on her.

I don't know why that would sit with me this morning, other than that you said it last night.

perhaps, that it has been all this time, and I have been afraid to fall into the wings of your arms,
rather easier had it been to cast rocks at our wagon wheels.


Still,

when I am with you,
I might as well be flying.

Your kindness, is a grade on my life, a marker.

  a fear, for my demon always hides last minute to sabotage

anything that I love...


  a question mark.

It may be that I desire you to consume me; that you even would.

but what I fear is the consumption and death.

what I fear is walking across the lines we lay, and that there is a death awaiting you and I.

It is a risk.  A Question.  A Concern.

 -a love I fear to feel.

  Disappointment, a demon that taunts me.

What likelihood, that your affection, may be any different?

  Will one of us use and cast the other?

Rather most truly,

  if I can not be certain, I fear what I might ruin,

  for you veil and blind me.  No sight beyond confusion and tepid emotions
depressed by outlandish fear.

you are good.  wholeheartedly.  and yet something else lays in you.  Perhaps some grey or dark matter that rests in the cracks of my soul as well.

Should we consume, I fear that we will ablaze.
  and I love you.
and losing you is something I want,
less
  and less.

It has become,
  a fear now.  a seed.
One, I meant to preserve.

The water now instead
has grown life.

Has slipped out of the dark blanket of soil and earth.

What now,
Am I supposed to do?

As we might love, I hold you.

It is all I can do.

It is all I want.

and becoming the more of what I long for.

What question mark in our cards

had the reading supposed?

a Flower.  To be or not to be.  Balloon, of risk.  He loves me, he loves me not-

They had meanings.

  You however,

emerged, and I do not trust what I can not know.

no longer, yet,
soften and hypnotize me you do,
on most occasions.

You do have the control.
  I must, submit.

That is what I realize from, both mind and heart.

Lest I do anything, could I sabotage, and not fair, that you are reeling me in this far.

What can I do, but hold you?

Await our fate?

  Let you take me and guide me blindfolded?

To do anything else, is the risk uncertainty, to push it over an edge.

I love you baby.
  The edge scares me.

No Heroes for Women

I know saying so,

  That there are no true heros in men for women,
reflects the cynical backslide against hope and tradition...

But as I have subconsciously waited for a Jungian Father to return,

  My home reflected statistics knowing more of myself,
than I had yet and for so long, to understand.

Daddy came and gone,
and turning for love, to women,
Solved no issues for me,
in the seeking and creation of a home.

the same would go for love, in men.

There have been no heroes.  Only love, sometimes torrentially passionate,
and the spectrum of miracles and disappointments,
sharing a body.

That body is me,
  was me.

I

was a dreamer too.

I still am, but the dream has so little value now,
  like an illusion of something else.

Love, all but once, twice, has come through for me.
  Faith, propping me up, like a scarecrow, with no bones,
Lost and Sorry, and dying on a cross, these eyes will never see.

  more and more, excommunicating myself of the World of Man.

The Single Star in the Sky

Light me, eternally born to death,
  And wear,

As any sequence
 Of human abode.

  Head knelt-
    a grace of submission.
Visions and squares, frame his face
  O'er and o'er, but ethereal clouds
Perhaps only as thoughts
  Are all there is,

To say it was.

Had we left it squandered? Or was life fully lived?
Done the best with what we'd been given...
Had we done our best?

There is a single star outlined,
  one that always points to you.

I imagine that is the pathway home, in the beyond
  believing irrevocably, that even upon death,
I will go back one day.

That we will look into the other again,

that I will be welcomed home and embraced.

That I will have never forgotten you-
My Heart, left in another life;

Left in a realm, where you keep it safe,
Yet broken I am without it.

Heart centered, with no ground.

Lost here,
beneath this one star,
so far,
pointing the way home-

back to everything I knew,
before this.

The Girl and the Bird

Bird, so free

  of a perfect afternoon spring, 

linking time even through modernity.  

  

A phantom face, wrapped my exchange 

and put my body to sleep, 

  deeply reminiscing.  

Lips to mine, eyes half between now, 

  feel the arms 

  sliding to pull my skin-

  there was nothing there of course.  

  The Birds are bright lately, even exuberant through the night.  

  

  I had always missed him.  like the purple of a sunset cast; like the arriving too late on that hill, knowing he left

 the mornings and the birds 

  have since, tweeted that essence 

had, reminded me of my own love, 

  against his shadow light

and the sun, became a representation 

of my uncondition for this man.  

I see love in everything now...

perhaps because 

  he was never caught?

Perhaps because, when I look up at the sky, 

I know he is still out there, 

proving that love caries the distance of the sky and life

and well into death.  

My bird may not have the capacity to love.  

Can he, it shall not minutely compare to the capacity invested in me…

  neither had it stopped me from giving up my whole soul though

  to the perfect stranger 

of perfect nihilism 

  that bore a rebirth 

no better than my death…

yet.. 

my love  to him remains as innocent as nature itself- 

 perfectly unfair and unhinged, and yet graced with a humble divinity only The Creator can claim invention on.  

I am innocent because loving you, makes me so.  

perhaps, closer up, my love might change, might not remain so innocent, 

  seeing as how, dear mockingbird, 

you do not play so well; 

but I iterate, that it is the soul’s fire, caught wind by you- some unbelievably intrinsic force that I think snagged us both, but a storm had carried you off.  

  .so brief.  

paused   then 

  

  

  for all of eternity... 

Just realized.  

                              Checkmate.  

Clever, was I caught by it all.  

the fight, the flight

 and now, 

recovery.  

all while,  though, 

eternity 

      has    paused    

An Untamed Storm

  Not a day goes by

     in the ruthless passing of gestations, 

That I don’t think of you, come and gone, 

weightless in touch.  

  I long for the pull of your fervor, as though it were the trace of your sound.  The imprints left on me when you’d speak- precisely

  a hypnotization of the spirit and 

  my soul.  

    You were dark, and I waned to it all- risking what little there was left of me.  

Instead, a fire was awoke-

  left somber 

in the choke of your ash;  

cashed and put out before I had arrived.  

  But it is your lips, 

phantom, forlorn 

  because they are a ghost, 

that wakes my days, 

  and soothes my nights.  

The promise of your kiss, is felt against my lips, and hips, as I feel you 

  all over me, 

in the bedtime air, 

of nothing there.  

Unfair I hear the whispers of things 

  the trees and the airs on night’s tickled postures…

  dancing, crying, weavy; chaotic, buoyant, bright…

  The insights settle 

  the phantoms, 

  

  But Love, 

is a Beast

  all it’s own.  

an allure 

  of a beast, 

and unsettling notions.  

  The years set into me.  

I took 

  your hand.  

   My belly grew big, and our child would be to finally take it’s place 

  after so many years of squandered love and loss-  

  meaning always to be the precise reason, you ever came in, and I ever loved you.  

  But it is a phantom until your awaited return. 

The child will always be yours, 

  as will my heart ever remain loyal, through life or death, 

  to the jar, 

you and I 

  never broke into.  

My Stomach is flat with youth.  

  My heart somber from age, yet as ruthless as the passing of all things and all time- 

She is an untamed storm, 

  that soothes only to mysterious phenomenons, 

  and you, were my most mysterious of all.  

In my belly, awaits our love.

  But you must return to me.  

we must embrace.  

  You must let me love you.  

and you must, 

  Love me back, with everything you have.  

and only then, 

  can you and I escape all our have not’s; 

and have the beautiful family that we both never had.  

  A family we both deserve; 

a family we both want-

   A child made from the ashes and rebirth of our Love.  

  It was always you.  

Yet my Stomach is flat with youth.  

The Depth of Dante's Inferno

So used to being unloved, I felt really stupid when I let you hurt me.  

  I wish you never said things like "I love you".   It seemed hardly fair, considering their is another woman in your bed.  

I was so angry for letting the alcohol consume us like demons.  I didn't want to get that close to you, without being more careful.  Some other force whirl-winded over us that night, and I slipped into regret every passing moment that I felt abandoned by you.  I didn't need you to lie to me...nor even love me. I needed a friend to look after me, and be honest.  

  Your version of honesty was doublespeak. Saying things you never followed through on, and I am aware I should have seen the signs.  

  you were unlike anyone I had ever met.  A true internal wreck, and in the oddest way, like a perfect mirror of myself.  I didn't need you to love me, I needed you to communicate.  

I gave up a lot for you.  For that one stupid night, and all the emotions and torment that followed.  Having sex with you opened a Pandora's box, I had closed, so so afraid to get hurt again- 

  To have my heart touched before it was torched.  

And sure enough, 

  You searched for love elsewhere.  

Never followed up on us, 

  Or our "friendship".  

Loving you wasn't consuming- it was risky.  

  It wasn't my everything, rather an injection of toxins my body needed to do without.  

I wish you would have told me.  

  But if you did, it just crossed my signals more. 

Nothing was tangible, only masked.  

 And yea-

You threw me away.  

  That's what hurt.  

What seems to have scarred me.  

So go ahead, and go to church with her.  

  It's not like I meant anything, 

Ever, 

  To you.  

For a good man, 

You really hurt my heart.  

  And if it wasn't for that one night...

I might have kept clear of all of this.  

 But we failed each other,

 Didn't we?  

Or you failed me, 

  While I failed myself.  

Before all that, 

  I had kept you at the proper distance- one that felt safe for me.  

After, I was wrecked, and you slipped away, but not after " I love you's" and "there's no going back"....not after you said all the wrong things to confuse an already emotional trial.  

  

  No goodbye.  

No honesty.  Nothing of significance bared.  

You just moved on, 

  And stopped communicating 

With someone you called a friend and said you were grateful for.  

  Of course I felt used, 

While you never even gave me a hand to hold 

  While I was drowning because of what we'd done.  

Your hand was distant and vague...

  And now I see, 

your words empty.  

Even if in the moment, 

  

  You meant everything you said.  

Being hurt by the others, that was expected.  

  

But somehow what transpired between us, 

  Hurt and wounded me all over again.  

That's because I WAS your friend.  I needed more, I expected more..

And the truth that seems most prevailing is that you were never mine.  

So yea...go to church with her.  

  Enjoy the depth of her eyes, and everything she gives you.  

Congratulations.  

I want to be happy for you.  

But you really did leave me hanging, 

Without any concern for me now.  

Real friends, 

Dont do that.  

What hurt is finding out, 

That we are not friends.  

Because that left me merely, 

 Feeling used.  

What hurt was thinking we were better than that; and that you were.  

What's hurts is being so right 

And so wrong about you.  

I knew, 

That I should have known.  

I don't know if you remember, but you told me that you really just wanted to focus on love, on giving love, and on connecting with others in this capacity.  

So...what happened to mine? 

If that was even remotely true, why have you not reached out to me once?

What happened to everything you said? 

  I guess it's just easier to love a wildflower, 

Rather than a Lotus, masked in a graveyard of swamp. 

She is your wildflower.  

I was always just a throw-away between us.  

You said I meant something to you.  

But there is noting tangible left to signify any depth of truth to that.  

Just silence.  

Just loss.

Just bare.  

While you have been fulfilled, 

People who have used me up, 

Just constantly sucking out my air.  

I needed you to be different.  Instead you reminded me, that I was not worth loving.  

Different Eyes

Picked apart at every seem,
  the past is on a timeline on repeat.

I dodge it, assimilating the new encounters that churn my curiosity....

  A failing satisfaction
and a constant shaking loose of everything I believe I know.

  For instance, I would assume that Love is not abundant in this world, that we all might need more..
but the outsiders in this world seem to be just as stimulated by distractions;

some of them illusions, some of them, mere bouts of attention grabs,
  one after the other, and then to the next.

Short attention spans, keep them half fulfilled,
while I have been gasping and barely undrowned.

   I loved, and now I keep my mouth mostly shut,
As I seem to never carry their attention long enough.

  Rather than communicating,
They had cut me loose rather quickly,

As uncherished as any stray dog,
  Saved and cut loose again.

  The past tells me a different story.
A story that reminds me,
  That I can not compete, so ancient and modern,

Against the shallow lure and glam and simplicity of the offered up.

To each of them,
  I was always "too" something.

Too sad
  Too sick
Too much to blame
  Too deep
Too loving
  Too much.

Too passionate about uncomfortable subjects.
  Too messy
Too behind
  Too ahead

So no...
  I do not know how to be loved.

I love well.  Love hard.
  And that is like having a different kind of blood course through my veins.

In his air however,
  A California graveyard...
I find nothing I need but some deep reservation in my own soul
  Tapped into upon threat only of souly death.

I chose not to die.
  But I awalk a life here that deprives me of the breath I was born to need.

  God took my only Angel, as will be taken others.
  So I pray now,

On my knees

For peace.  Unsure if happiness is beyond me?
  Beyond any wounded and tossed away.

If feeling unloved and untouched can be the kiss of death for an infant,
  How do we survive, those like me?

How does any starved force, keep living?

  I wonder these things when man chooses himself.
This is why I was afraid to love him.

And why I'm afraid to even have an opinion on you.
  Denying my undercoat,
I keep my head down, while you glimpse me.

  I don't want to do this again.
I already know I like you,

  But it always seems like it's their choice, and never mine.

You seem aware of your worth.  Confident.
  Even too much like a man.

How can I compete being so used to being tossed away.
 Loving you will hurt me..

And I think we both know it.