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

Ode to a Gardener


How she digs deep into rich loam

absorbing the currents of earth’s hearth

in the palms of  her  hands,

strong and sure,  wet with rain

she must guide tiny tendril sprouts

into the threshold of spring.

 

Mud and sweat, digging, diving into earth,

A firm grip pounding solid pole,

Driving a staff into readied amber ground

made rich with her finger-tips,

pressing softly into the warm walls of life,

her healing hands gently guiding home.

Hair


 

My Pacific Island roots

flow through my hair,

An ocean-tangled savagery

that moves through me

like heightened drumbeats

sliding across soft skin, aching

wind-whipped bending wild grass,

sun-soaked and salted sands

breathing and rising with the tides.

My hair commands the Milky Way,

Spiraling Swirls of stars and comets

dancing like  sea anemone in

Sensual-swelling waves

Synergy Cascading,

Powered by pride,

And chanting, Earth offering,

Absorbing heat and warmth,

Hot magma goddess force,

Mud-spattering, Ehu-streaking

Light of Fire-sweeping,

Navigated by stars and wind

my woman’s glory

is the Universe

Flowing freely.

 

April 2, 2015

Born Barefoot


IMG_20130615_110253_127

 

I was born barefoot

And learned to walk on rocks,

And hot pavement,

Stubbed my toes a lot,

And packed them with red soil

To heal in soft earth.

Tough Samoan feet

That felt hot in shoes

And didn’t fit the narrow, prissy,

Slender girl look.

“Wide!”

I said with pride,

“With rubber tips” that could

Scuffle and kick

Like the best of boys,

My feet took a beating.

But in summer,

They found the shapes of trees

With toes that gripped

The coconut, papaya, mango, guava trunks,

I was the mastermind of gathering fruit

With bulging shirt in teeth

Climbing over fences,

Pedaling bikes,

A solid, fast get-away.

 

I was told,

“Stay outside, your feet are dirty”

And I did.

Who wants lacy white socks that itch,

Or ugly pointed shoes that pinch?

I was born barefoot,

And was proud of it.

March 28, 2015

evolving


IMG_20140405_075944_882-1-1

 

Lead me over stony pebbles

And deep-rooted paths

To the sounds of the universe

Evolving

Empty words

Trailing like the tail

Of a comet

Lighting my mind on fire.

For now,

It is only the smell of the earth that matters,

Rotting leaves and dark soil

In the fragment of bark

And small things that

Have been buried awhile.

 

March 28, 2015

 

 

Unwoven


IMG_20130615_090142_728

The fabric of nature

Woven into the texture of sound

And water

And color

And thought in knowing

There is a reason for knowing

We just don’t know why

And there is an awakening

For a journey to shape Hope

In juxtaposition

To the silence of tall mountains

In juxtaposition

To war in Afghanistan where poppies wave orange

Against bullet blue skies and wind ravaged hills

In all

That matters…

In the end…

How does the curve relate to the angle?

The cross to the star to the sickle

Symbols of fallen snow

And sunset glow in acid rain?

How does blood dry up and blow away so quickly

Like forests

While I sleep

And the thudding discontent of selfhood

Lost in wanting to be

where it matters most

in the veins of the earth

where curvature has no shape and

roots stretch north

To where the stars begin

Treading softly

In what’s been left behind

 

In place.

Years Later


IMG_20140610_180914_462

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

 

 

Fracking: The Raping of Earth


Cape Fear River, North Carolina

Cape Fear River, North Carolina

Our National Forests,

Earth’s forests,

Are just outside our cities,

Rivers and hills

And mountains rising up

Like they have forever,

Despite tunnels,

And traffic,

And high wires,

And cellphone towers

Running through them.

 

Earth still gives

As she always has,

Her dark patches of trees

Calling us into her arms

To soak in her languid waters

And breathe deep,

Her still airs quieting our souls

In a way that ringing colonial axes

For cabins and axels and population growth

Could not defeat.

 

But Drilling,

But Frackers Fracking.

You would mow her down

With ear splitting sounds,

And rape her

Over and over and over again

Until the puncture wounds are too great to bear,

You would force her,

Inject her,

Oozing with your toxic poisons

That can’t be washed away

Until she is broken,

But still giving,

You would take her beauty

To fuel your manhood

Until she has given it all away.

And the sun and wind,

The sun and the wind would still be free.

 

 

In response to Senator Ted Cruz–National Forests are not for sale

Karen K. L. Espaniola                                    July 11, 2014

My Mercury Is In Gemini


A flurry of words slip

from my lips,

unbeknownst,

from my mind,

unmonitored,

an unbridled out-burst,

a hose that’s been folded,

too long held back,

too far from the earth,

too close to the sun,

This dam must be released,

Or burn.

 

 

Frack Is A Ranting “F” Word for State Assessment


What rain will rain is done

Every word

Every metaphor

Rooted in text,

A mental pre-fix of

culture screaming

Stop

Blind paradox

Of a kernel of corn,

A grain of wheat,

Genetically modified,

Frackin’ waterbed of human demise

And population rise

Alphabetically quantified,

Adjectival phrase of

A fish gasp, of a polar bear,

Playful on polluted land and poisoned water

Sandaled hippie tree hugging wasted

Contextual clue lost on

Raving lunatics and razzled Republican rhetoric,

Check out the context of living now,

On earth,

What more can be said,

What more can be done,

Intelligence measured with a rubber gun,

And a dollar bill.

 

 

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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.