I, Romeo


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“I defy thee stars”

twinkling in the world so bright,

A showering of power and might,

Shimmering glow of sweet innocence,

Dismembered ember, distant progenitor of my destiny.

You protected my ancestors upon the sea,

Against fearful shadows and hateful memories.

Yet here I am, a product of your mystery

Alone, and seemingly without a guide,

Embarking on a journey without any at my side.

 

“I defy thee”

That eats away the known universe

Carrying ancient legends of heroic deeds

Of fearless, selfless men who dared to bleed,

That sends angel gods whispering to my ears

To escape the paradox of wanting to be free

Of wanting,

Of time in memorial,

like scattered flowers in rotting sun,

Still exuding a day of soft petaled love

Nested passion, fated kiss

On a cheek, on the lips,

in a garden,

Under a tree.

 

 

“I defy thee”

though your beauty reels me in

A siren’s sweet melody licking heart’s wound

Of sorrow simmering in torn silence

Waiting for your ancient fire, burning,

Wanting in beauty, drowning

Under a cold starlit heaven, weeping

In mass self-destruction, bleeding

Unheroic dreams, written at my own birth,

My house is crumbling,

A spinning light in a darkened universe

A failed perception of reality though I try

A burned path of old destruction though I cry

In the shadows of city lights

Old fears of broken social order

Are still fighting in the streets

like bodies falling to the ground

with rusted daggers to the heart

love is a paradox that is only tasted,

and sorrow a potion that “shall be endured”,

drunk with an eternal silence,

A lonely drop under the universe

Just a drop left

Just a drop left

For me.

 

A Poem at Mid Night


What would Wordsworth say

About today’s poetry,

About the over-saturation of words,

“Spontaneously over-flowing”

or a cry for help? In

A world burgeoning in self-deprecation

And violent human provocation

Some words sink to the bottom

And some float to the top

In dead zone books

Of undercurrents

Often called education

Where thousands of miles away

Intelligence is dictated by the few

And for the many

Where the loss of the value

for nature and

A forgotten art of pondering daffodils

In the stillness of a wild field

Is the real deficit

We are looking for.

 

The thoughts of half a century sway

Unsteadily in my mind

And I want to get away

From what is surely my own death throes

Of expectations

Dissipating slowly in

This mid-night hour

Starless and moonless,

Blocking out the noise that is my life

And merging into the soul of the earth

Where money no longer chains me

In that vicious cycle of measurements

In words that analyze

Haves and

Have not.

 

April 18, 2015

Years Later


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My fingers reach deep,

deep into earth’s womb,

curling round hot soil

where her pungent roots seek ground

and shelter for her rich bones

asking to be buried

In latent memories,

and warm tears,

like soft rain

to carry her home.

 

Karen K L Espaniola         July 13, 2014

 

 

Maunaloa Morning


#11

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It’s all about the journey,

Believing in miracles,

Dormant creative forces,

Internalizing vision,

Cell regeneration,

Pulsation,

Pushing to achieve,

Reaching to let go.

Death/life.

Life/death.

 

 

#12

 

This morning

I took a detour,

Wound through dew-laden

Plants and budding shrubs,

To watch the sun rise on the mountain,

And catch one of the many faces of Maunaloa,

Her meditation, her chant, her adoration to life,

Waking in her wake,

Feathers and flower buds

Waiting to open.

 

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“Word-Hoarder” Awoken


 

 

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I try to hear a word in passing,

And pause, looking back

To you,

“Word-Hoarder”

tapping that

Space,

Between breaths,

Silence,

before noise,

matter,

My mind

A surreal zone

Trapped in rough bark,

Plunging in

a vision without emotion,

Stunted roots without time to sprout.

 

How do I live without love,

How do I feed my heart

Without poetry,

A barren limb alive without living,

An Empty cavern dark without phrases,

A broken chant without sound or meaning.

I ask, I demand drumbeats

Driving sharp spikes inward,

Bleeding roots ripping spirals

Of heart breaking turf’s fresh soil,

Up-turned earth ploughing

Unmarked graves of words,

Gutted and unburied.

 

There is no place to turn but you,

A sleeping phantom of deep seed knowing,

An ancient tree with severed branches growing,

An awakening of a thousand sunrises glowing red

Chanting on the tip of a copper tongue,

Shaking free a universe of stars for words,

Pleading with an empty bowl,

Please,

Poetry for food that my heart might be fed.

 

March 22, 2014

 

To A Great Tree


 

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You were like a tree,

Limbs silhouetted with love,

And all who knew you

Clung tightly to your branches

Reveling in your strong roots.

Threshold


 

 

 

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Her tired eyes in firelight,

Whisper,

Speaking in broken words,

Softly, yet fearlessly,

fully, wholly,

lovingly

of death, of sorrow,

of joy in the next room.

Warm words fall from her lips, her heart,

Imagery from  a bedside’s “darkest hour”

now at the doorstep,

her Beloved’s crossroad,

meridian of existence evolving in light,

honored

In the presence of Love,

A great goddess whose

Light never seemed brighter,

Or beauty seem so radiant,

Than now, in this moment,

this inevitable moment

when she does not give up, or say good bye,

But remains steady

Despite exhaustion,

She speaks assuredly of surreal dreams,

of yesterday, today, and tomorrow,

A wild flower bending gently

in acquiescence of change,

She lovingly steps away from her fireplace

and lends a hand

in the crossing of the

threshold of time.

 

 

KKLE November 17, 2013

Kealakekua Bay


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There is an oasis from the heat

Where rubbled pathway leads to shade

And withering grass turns

to damp undergrowth for comfort.

That upward winding climb of transformation,

one step at a time,

From the bottom lands of ancient death

And pinnacles of sordid history,

To the cool air of respite, hope,

And joyful laughter,

head-tipped and rippling,

shouting out into the Universe

in deep gulps,

where every moment here,

is the perfect place to be,

A mimic of eternal grace

roots, bark, leaves

on breath, on skin,

In eyes light space of solace

calling me home,

over and over again.

Where once a navigator died,

still yet, another lives.

 

 

 

Poetry

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© Karen K.L.Espaniola and hinarising.com. 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Karen K.L. Espaniola and hinarising.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.