Poetry | An old cup

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.

Poetry | Untitled (Thoughts on Writing)

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.

Poetry | 静か (Quiet) | Japanese & English

Image from Unsplash

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.

Translation | Untitled Poem (Italian)

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.

Poetry | Untitled (Wanting You)

It’s not quite time for Valentine’s Day, but…

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

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.

#JusJoJan & #SoCS | Jan. 23rd: Half Not

Many thanks to Ritu from But I Smile Anyway for making me aware of Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness writing challenge.

-Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “close eyes and point.” When you’re ready to write your post, open a book, a newspaper, or whatever is handy and close your eyes and point.-

Photo by Paula Guerreiro on Unsplash

“…half not–“ I opened my eyes. My fingers gently touched the words in Mary Oliver’s poem “The Winter Wood Arrives.” What do I do with this? The words overwhelmed me yet released me. I feel half not, like some satisfying yet incomplete project. My life is filled with half not moments, things, and people.

I really should do something about this.

I started writing this blog, too, in a half not manner. I am half not dedicated and half not inspired to share my life. Still, I want to find ways to become whole and experience life wholly. Live in some place as a whole being, not halved, divided by countries, things, people, and feelings. I am wanting to bring my halves together to make one whole.

It is possible.

Recently, I realized just how deep my half not-ness roots are. Who knew they could get so far down? In love, in work, in self, just how willing am I to remain satisfied yet incomplete? I look at Oliver’s poem now because, although the use of half not is different, the meaning of the poem seems aligned with my sentiments.

She speaks of the struggle of steps and thoughts, the love that leaves yet never does, the practicality of what it means to live, and yet the need to burn away the things that no longer matter. Of course this is just my interpretation. I am not yet a poet.

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 341 FROST and Glint.

早朝の雪、
みんなは家で、
でも一人。

Early morning snow,
everyone is at home now,
alone, however.

Früh Morgen schneit es.
Ja, alle sind zu Hause,
aber ganz allein.

La neve d’alba,
tutti sono a casa,
però da sola.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve participated in the haiku challenge. Today seemed like the perfect day to try my hand at it again. The theme for this challenge is frost and glint. I used the above photography by Fabian Mardi as inspiration. Also, I wrote the poem in Japanese, and then tried to translate it to English, German, and finally Italian. Of course, my native language is English, so it is likely that I made mistakes in the other languages–my apologies in advance.

Haiku | In Autunno (In Autumn)

Looking up

Tranquillamente
le foglie cadono,
cielo d’oro
.

Oh so quietly,
leaves are falling, creating
now a golden sky
.

Poetry | Nel Silenzio nel Cuore

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.

Poetry| This face.

Self-portrait, 2020
This face.
You don’t want to see my face.  This face.  
This face that I wear in delight, in sadness, in fear, and in madness.
This face that speaks of African roots so deep that the depth leaves you shaking.
This face that will not and cannot apologize for not blending in with your expectations.
  
You don’t want to see my face. This face.
This face that stares at you in bewilderment when you reach out to touch my hair,
when you reach out to share your advice of how to get rid of my unproductive nappy care. 
This face that wonders who the hell and where the hell you think you are, trying to trample on my space,
  
acting like I’m part of some petting zoo 
or some wild animal to tame and, of course, then later temporarily woo.
  
You don’t want to see my face. This face.
This face that has learned how to smile after years of shaming:
big lips, five-finger forehead, high cheek bones, and broad nose, but no collarbones.
Too thick, too thin, too dark, too light, sounds too white, but never too white enough, for whom?
  
Too aggressive, too talkative, too loud, 
too strong, too proud, too much, but not enough, but again for whom?
  
For whom? This face
  
is a reminder of historical shame, yours not mine. 
Be you White or Black, curious or well-meaning, ignorant or misguided,
Privileged or desiring to be, above the glass ceiling or below it, 
jumping on the diversity bandwagon or barely hanging off of it…
  
This face that is mine 
that wears upon its crown a halo of my ancestry, 
this face that is mine 
that wears upon its lines the wisdom of my struggle,
 
neither seeks nor needs approval, 
neither recognizes nor considers status,
neither looks to nor looks from behind you, 
neither looks up to nor even beside you.