\”Brave\”

(Collaboration-Deborah Spake & Robert Jensen)

..sometimes art and life are a cyclical refrain of mirrors..

Posted: January 25th, 2009 under Baby D's Original Music, performance.
Comments: none

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

Under the snow you wrap yourself into fear.

Out of the cold I emerge to hold you,

Indifferent to the elements my vision to cut through.

The flower that opens and closes with time,

As the stars no longer living retain in my mind.

Once worn thoughts linger in the space between,

To gather on the silent steps unseen.

Posted: January 22nd, 2009 under my poetry, NY Chronicles.
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Ah this familiar deflation,

the air compressed – the chest crushed inwards.

Ah this free fall into the abyss,

the tightening and constriction – the curtains close.

The lights go dim and I land on the hard deck of a sunken ship..

..gnarled with barnacles on my sandy castle floor.

Bring up the barricades, let no one in!

I wasn’t here. (a comfort if not to know I was alone)

Bring on the sharp objects and the elements of drowning!

I float to the bottom, weighed down by the armor of unmet anticipations.

So quiet and still, the faint echo of laughter in the distant corridors.

I question the point of being up there in the open.

I question the point of being up there grazing on poison.

I question the point of being up there in potential exposure..

..to that which gives no answers, clogs the valves and stops the breath,

pulls me in and flings me to the scavengers.

This bitter taste I’ve grown accustom.

Salty tongue to cure the raw marinating taste of rejection.

Or be it the other side of someone’s procrastinations -

to whistle away the days of precious taking.

I cannot litter my loves away.

I cannot toss them, like once worn socks, towards a corner to migrate

under the bed – mingling with dust bunnies and an old penny.

When every day is a chest of possible treasures –

what could take precedence over that rare moment of connection?

Posted: November 11th, 2008 under my poetry, NY Chronicles.
Comments: 1

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..even as I read.

The words on the page become your face, your eyes,

the moment before you speak.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

.. like traveling to a familiar place.

And in that journey – there is no ache, no need,

no feeling of incomplete.

As if in our busy strides we accidentally landed side by side.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..and strangely I feel patient and trust the unrevealed steps.

Strangely my heart can flutter while my feet still touch the ground,

walking forward on my path – seeing you on yours.

A lightly woven parallel set of seams

seamlessly strolling into each other.

And where we are headed in some convergence or crisscross pattern –

does not matter. 

Only this chiasm here,

the gift of where our vision meets in the present.

Posted: November 3rd, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts, NY Chronicles.
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Spinning round and round until the thoughts spill out.

Lux up, I went alone tonight.  The place was bump’n.

Out at the back fire, up late with smokes and laughs.

Sat and hung with a Lux regular, a friend that’s quite funny,

with his whipped sarcasm – that with a twist of truth serves a slice of belittlement.

Some inward commentary and frequently outloud I observe.

Strange men, some awkward and wordy and other’s a bit drunken

who utter in unintelligible soundbites close to my shoulder.

Circus ladies and loud squakers and a girl, with her pack, turning 21.

This piggy backed on earlier this evening

when charm and intellect took me out to eat Fo

(a reminder of home, nights in San Jo).

And I made an adventure out of a ladle and sticks

with noodles and chicken and broth.

His words like a rope stretched out to me. 

The tone – a soft collaboration of steady beats to rest my head between.

And eyes that were the kindest, most sweetly placed on a slightly bearded face.

We rondavue again ‘not too soon’..

such a refreshing turn from the quick dive into a pair of pants.

First level: to navigate each other’s minds and facial expressions.

What a beautiful dance across Fo, eyes in a tango, at a small table, furtile conversation. 

As the bar lets out and I wait over 45 for a cab,

I am comforted in reflection of this man of towering stature and vast insights.

And a demeanor that says it’s worth it to let things..  just..  simply..  fall… into place.

Posted: October 19th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts, NY Chronicles, Uncategorized.
Comments: 1