ALIEN LANDSCAPE
Author : NHJ
MSN: crescent_cage@hotmail.com
email : spherickey@gmail.com
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MRH
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echoncyllan
Before Gargoyle
One Million Footnotes
Read My Poetry.
Playing:
Between the Bars (Elliott Smith Cover) by Metric
Friday, April 28, 2006
liberating walls of tomesan old scholarly reader scrutinised me and smiled at my nonchalant counter-stare, like a grandfather proud of a child. unconsciously obnoxious, i looked away. both of us got back to our reading; him with an old battered book which did not seem to belong to the library while i clutched my thin copy of Plath's poetry. around us was a world of fluttering, crackling pages and of wonders spilling from eyes mouths and papers. how i treasure my isolation in a place like this.the library is a second home. save for the teen and children sections (which are filled with loud youth with no intention of reading), my family roamed the levels, deep in paraworlds. from the bespectacled girl deep in a biology reference book to that grand old man with a twitchy eye rifling a book as old as he.it is the only place where i feel undivided by colour and religion. we are all readers; seekers of knowledge, hunters of laughter, tears and companionship. each desperate, each somehow content.and of course it's a place where i don't get overwhelmed with society's stupidity, bigotry and ignorance that seem to be rampant on the streets these days, forcing plagues of misanthropy that leaves me sick.marionettes on weakening cables
huddled up with fear and hate
because they know their fate and it's a lot to put them through-The Shins in Fighting in a Sack
Posted by NHJ 4/28/2006 02:38:00 pm
Thursday, April 20, 2006
lilting songswhen she speaks to me, my mother always use a neutral tone. i don't know why and never question it. childhood was of warm silence, pampered only with material wealth. i suppose i should feel neglected but this is my mother's way and there is not a moment when i cannot feel her love in my blood, bones and heart.my mother has two constant expressions in her eyes, taking turns now and then; love and sadness. she is beautiful as she is.when i hear her laughter from my room - a rare occurence - i would press an ear to the door to listen and smile. these are the moments that count. there are also those few times when her tone of voice softens and she speaks to me in a lilting song, just as she did just a few minutes ago. it makes me so happy i could cry.i made her cry before, in my younger teen years with theft, truancy and other acts of delinquency i'm not comfortable sharing. i die when it happens. there is nothing as devastating as my mother when she cries. i never know what to do. i don't remember the last time we hugged so physical consolation stopped crossing my mind long ago.i do what she does when i'm sad. i stay close and share her sadness. it doesn't really help. but maybe one day she will know i love her as much as she loves me.
Posted by NHJ 4/20/2006 04:31:00 pm
Sunday, April 02, 2006
lunar-white intimacy.
it has been a while since the moon and i held a proper conversation. memory fails me how many times she has since waxed the last time i laid eyes on her pale and painful beauty.
recently i came across several websites attempting to sell land on the moon. pity, these sacrilegious fools. going about their ways as if the moon is some common whore. of course those who see her as just a mere lump of rock floating in space is entitled to his/her own opinion. i mean, we people treat each other likewise.
we walk faceless among each other. fellow man and ladies brush past each other without so much as eye contact. just a flicker of recognition and a small acknowledgement of existence. face it. most of us see each other as mere lumps of flesh drifting about aimlessly. each man and lady is his or her own planet.
the moon is at the very least, an untouchable tangible myth as far as dreams are from the waking world. she is a lover, a muse, a mother, a friend to those who truly sees her with an open heart.
which lover has not gazed upon the moon with his heart a-flutter? which poet has not written a secret ode to her beauteous scarred cheeks? which dreamer has not envisioned whole journeys of in between the moon and yous? which man in his lonely years has not sought her cold distant embrace as he sat with his beard soft and brown? which child has not wondered wide eyed and locked the moon twice for always in twin depths?
there have been times she drove me moon-mad, locking me in the open prison of a silent scream. contrariwise there were still times when her furious whispers grew calm to comfort and be a companion to the hermit heart.
the moon is cold and intimate.
she is a sonnet when i have no words.
Posted by NHJ 4/02/2006 08:47:00 pm