yeeea so i just got to see the last of my 4 best friends, the one i hadnt seen yet: paulette ^_^ ... havent seen her since x-mas...we were all hanging out in la madeleine joking and telling stories like nothing had changed
but everything is changed...i told achie i feel like we all share the same ancient history (middle school and high school) but our modern history is so different...what's unusual is that we were all sitting around the table together, but that moment, unlike before, was not where our thoughts were. we are all waiting to go back to our real lives, which is at our colleges....two in texas, one in cali, one in boston...we were together but i think we all wanted to be somewhere else, and that's never been the case before.
on another note, i go to kung fu tomorrow ...sure i did go to class twice before this summer, but ...i definitely have been out of the loop for a while. after reading a bunch of poems by zen master ryokan, i decided to go work out in this field by the creek, and i wrote some (very crappy) poems about it ^_^
Going to the Creek to Run
I.
Haggard and restless,
I make up my mind to walk to the creek bed.
I pass a group of men but I stare at the sky.
One calls out "Hey look over here" and I smile politely
The distant roar of a bus --
like the beating hooves of wild horses,
and a metallic chirping announces the train.
I gag on the smell of barbeque sauce;
The stench lingers in a cloud on the sidewalk.
Then the forest shoots up from out of nowhere
and the rumbling of the city is swallowed up
by the song of a million insects.
III.
Wandering down the hill,
I pass a silent couple
I smile at the woman who leads
She glares at me like a threatened grizzly
and I lower my eyes as I pass her husband.
I come to the creek,
a thousand cicadas greet me
a chorus of ten thousand crickets are my welcome
I stop on the sidewalk to listen to the gurgling of water.
IV.
What IS that?!
Sunlit ripples create shapes like scales
I see a dragon in the little stream!!
a winding serpent with shining white scales.
A couple of Indian men walk by above, puzzled as they glance at me
where I squat on the side of the bank.
I would share this moment with them
But they, like most people, are not looking to experience a moment of nothingness,
A waste of time.
V.
The branches of a willow hang low over the stream,
reminding me of a goose i once saw, sheltering its baby with one wing.
Walking Home After Running Near the Creek
I.
Ten thousand mosquitos have bitten me
I saw one hovering near my leg
and stomped but missed.
it disappeared into the swampy green of trees
I'm thankful i missed---
It was a wild mosquito
Why should I, an intruder, strike back?
Now I'm left with itching sores all over,
the very air is stinging me.
Or is this the itchiness that comes after a run
forced on a body that has grown lazy and still,
drunk on a summer of complacency?
II.
Overheated, I kneel on my flower-covered bed
The fan's cold wind cuts through the foggy warm thickness
I take out my notebook and write a verse,
through a haze of artificial yellow.
silence except for the bird-like squeak and whir of the fan
(is that really a bird in here?)
and my mother's stilted typing.
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