Compost you and me.

It’s been decided.
I’m un-invited to the possibility.
You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.
Worth fighting about.
Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.
That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.
Compost is the option.
Compost you and me.

Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers.

***

Performed, recorded, and mixed by Odawni AJ Palmer.
Original song by Emily and The Woods.

Photograph taken by Odawni AJ Palmer.
Copyright 2011.

I don’t feel it anymore.

I have been itching to do some recording. And here something finally is. For the past few weeks I’ve been thickening my fingertip calluses while working on covers of songs by everyone from MJ, to The Cutting Crew, to Porthishead, to Blonde Redhead. I’ve also been trying to get something original out. Like trying to squeeze the last bit of minty freshness out of a toothpaste tube.

All those many hours. And yet. I feel my musical self has been sub-subpar. I’m not entirely pleased with the end-product of this one but being OK with creative endeavors that are, mmm. OK. Is, well.  Just fine. It’s all part of the process – indeed.

Must. Keep. Practicing.

This is a cover of a song by William Fitzsimmons, “I Don’t Feel It Anymore”. With Priscilla Ahn. I stumbled upon a remixed version of it on my M83 station on Pandora while studying today. Please excuse the crunchy bass end on this tune. It was wanting to be the life of the party this evening.

If you want me.

A cover.  From the movie, “Once”.

3 tracks.  No filters.

I am the valley in your embrace.

I am the valley in your embrace (Mountain love poem).

Striations on its many faces
tell its techtonic tale –
The Himalayan Mountain range.
Though jagged and unforgiving,
they hold me.

Atop the peaks
a caerulean sky;
its azure fingertips
fill the crevasses.

And at every glance
fly
strings and strings of prayer flags
like caterpillar legs
in wind-tickled dance.

Once starched cloth-cut squares:
yellow, red, blue, green.
Now pastelled and parched
by countless days of ferocious sun,
and months of rain;
weathered and tattered
by the years I’ve wept

in reverie of your embrace.

Written Thursday, 10.12.11, in Leh, India.

***

I’ve been traveling in India for the past week, which is why, dear reader, I haven’t posted a peep in a little while.  My apologies for not supplying a heads-up re my webber-tube absence.

At any rate, it has been a ‘word-that-surpasses-amazing’ experience.  I cannot say enough about how special and important it is, as a living breathing being, to travel.  And to travel abroad.

I had planned to spend this time away to read read read and write write write but, and I am not saddened to say, I haven’t had a chance to do much of either because we’ve been a bit busy exploring and experiencing India.  Our visit to Leh inspired me to write a love poem; a companion piece to the desert love poem I wrote during my trip to China last summer.

More India-inspired postings to come… 

 

Through this movement.

I don’t have many memories
of staying in one place.
I carry images
of vistas through windows
of moving vehicles,
landscapes, seasons, and faces
sweeping or inching by.
Some places I remember well,
others I don’t.
Some countries I remember,
some I remember through stories my parents tell.
But, through this movement,
I was always with my thoughts.
They could race ahead,
or stir and churn into a paste in my skull,
or breathe through the tip of a pen
onto paper.
These would plug me into sedentary life:
thoughts in the shape of words.

Written 7.12.10.
On the Bus – Qarqan to Qarqlik, China.

The shape of words (Desert love poem)

The shape of words
Along the Silk Road
Xingiang Province, China
7.12-15.10

**

The shape of words (Desert love poem)


I found you
folded in the armpit of a megadune
you were crying
and the winds of the Taklamakan Desert
whipped up sand –
it clung to your face.

I had been stepping through sand
on all fours
in search of a lake.
After two days,
I was trying not to believe
it to be fabled.

I had been left by my Bactrian mate,
not long ago,
for a Uighur man with dusty black hair
and green eyes of jade.

To bide time,
I had been pushing a poem,
endlessly trying to find words that hung together
but nonsensical strings of adjectives
tumbled out in the heat.

I tried to find verse
in the sun and the sand,
I looked for inspiration
in the stars and the wind,
in my breath;
in my fantastic illusory oasis,

no words came ::

but more sand, and more sun,
more wind and more stars, and my breath,
and more sand,
and more sand,

and then you.

**

Addendum: This poem has been published on the New Zealand-based poetry blog, Tuesday Poem.