Slow winter morning,
pass leafless tree, cut branches,
waiting to begin.
2.
Dried sweet potatoes,
so many–my bag is full.
Eating, hands shiver.
3.
My bare skin now lined
like a map of Tokyo–
spring, summer, now fall.
4.
I will go home now.
A morning walk without snow,
yet frozen flowers.
An Old Cup
Shattered,
glass fragments
scattered
like a mind tormented
by irrelevant
matters–
it’s only an empty cup
that was never once
filled up
with anything
particularly wanted.
Tonight, I want
to write freely,
without pretense
or consideration.
I hold in my hand
a book of poetry,
seeking inspiration
or emotions,
long lost and unknown.
In this moment, too,
my hands shake.
yet still,
I reach for my pen.
静か
一人なので、
私の心は静かです。
冬の静かな深夜に
思い出や雪が
いつもやって来ます。
Quiet
Being alone,
my heart remains calm.
In winter, a deep silent night,
memories and snow
always seem to come.
I tried to translate the previously posted poem into Italian. 😅 Perhaps it makes no sense. I am sorry. 😓
(Ho provato a tradurre la mia poesia. 😅 Forse non ha senso. Mi dispiace.)😓
Senza Titolo
Ti desidero.
Non parliamo di piacere o d’amare
come ingenui amanti.
Desidero il tuo aspetto fisico
che posso guardare, con gli occhi
E, ogni giorno, lo tocco con la mente.
Non mi interessano
la tua posizione ed il tuo prestigio.
Il mio desiderio è, certamente,
una cosa volgare.
Il mio desiderio non ha il tempo
per le sottigliezze di un appuntamento romantico.
Non ci sono nè vino, e nè lume di candela.
No. Ti desidero.
E questo è tutto.
It’s not quite time for Valentine’s Day, but…
Untitled
I am wanting you.
Let us move beyond
the child’s play of “like” or “love.”
I am wanting what my eyes can see
and my mind touches daily,
not your title or prestige.
It is vulgar this want of mine.
It makes no space
for the delicacies of dates
with wine by candlelight.
No, I am wanting you.
That is all.
Stamattina, nella tranquillità dell’alba,
mi sono svegliata.
Non potevo più ascoltare
la tua voce,
sentivo solo le gocce di pioggia
sulla finestra
ed il suono del mio respiro.
Le mie mani toccavano
lo spazio vuoto accanto a me.
Mi sono sentita l’euforia
di essere libera…
di essere senza di te…
Si trova la pace nel silenzio
del cuore.
Domani e dopodomani,
il mio mondo è ancora mio
di creare come desidero.
Comunque
Stamattina ti ricordavo.
——
This morning, in the quiet of dawn, I awoke. I could no longer hear your voice. I listened only to the raindrops against my window and the sound of my breathing.
My hands touched the empty space next to me. And I felt the euphoria of being free and being without you.
One finds peace in the heart’s silence. Tomorrow and the day after, my world is mine to create as I desire.
However, this morning I remembered you.
Forward.
Isn’t that the way we should go?
Nostalgia.
Isn’t that what we need to let go?
We cannot live in what has yet to be and can no longer stay in what has already been.
I am digging in yet resolving to keep moving…
forward.
I am confronting and honouring my scars.
Nostalgia,
when did it become so unpalatable?
– D
It’s been ages…well, almost a year. During that time, I’ve been working on my clearing through the clutter of my mind, redefining my path, discovering love in multiple forms, finding community, and learning to cherish each moment.
I’ve laughed a great deal, cried a heck of a lot, and worked hard to nurture my child-self. I suppose that will always be a part of what it means for me to be living.
Speaking of living: I’m still living in Japan, finishing up my second year. I’m still teaching English, and I truly love my work. I love being around children, and I especially love sharing knowledge.
I’m learning Japanese (it’s a process), and I wish I had the chance to speak Italian and German more regularly–now, I’m just reading books and doing some personal writing in those two languages. I’m learning how challenging it is to keep language skills when you aren’t able to use them. So, I’m sorting through how I’d like to resolve this particular issue.
Well, this has been quite the ramble. Still, I wanted to write something, and so I have.
Until Next Time,
D
Photograph by Diedré M Blake, 2018
Cicadas call now,
10,000 steps to nowhere,
“Will I find myself?”
-db
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