Collis, Jelani, Skeeto.

the most beautifulest music to be squeezed from my island pulp.

the whethers

Maybe I don't cope well with luxury but today i'm outside, doing what seems to be thawing from the house. the cold air is drying my skin out beyond recognition (as my own)and i etch reminders on it in my sleep. scales and scars.

I have settled to more comfortable days this week, but the moon will not turn for me. she must have peeped into my old bedroom through my window and realized how I didn't sleep there any more. maybe she can't find me yet. more an annoyance than a problem.

i seem to be still avoiding the thought of exams next week. i am not studying. I will have to, at some point. Ryan says artists avoid numbers because they are fixed and are less able to be manipulated into something else, as music and words and colours are.the unmalleable.this is one time i cannot dance my way around things.

We're still in the business of making the right plans. opens us up to so many possibilities. wherever life takes us, it should be something to look forward to. Here's to faith that he makes it here for Christmas. Maybe by then, God will give us the smile we've been waiting for. so, maybe it's time to get back to the house.

placing.

I look at him sleeping sometimes, and I miss moments before their arrival. anticipation turns memory and dream, something familiar. My mother says I should not be so serious about love just yet, I am young and life needs teach me more of itself. I do not see the need (or the possibility) of outgrowing this one blessing, my spirit has vowed it so.

Washington is dry air, toco heat and dull shades- grey and pastel. I should get used to cold nights by the time we leave here. the poetry festival started yesterday, some hundred miles from here....and I am still on the polar end of the country. What miss yuh ain't pass yuh. Things will come up...maybe. I've recognized the need to start over, from scratch. everything, poems included.

I have not written much since I left home. I am still building image in my head. who I am here, and now. there will be change. Responsibility will make me woman and I will choose how I should live. I cannot move forward until I have consulted with my God, and made a fast. I cannot think straight enough to write on crooked lines, for myself, not here.

School is on its way. It seems a long way off for me still, but that too will pass quickly. I am tired of shopping. It must stop. now. I would like to spend more time relaxing, thinking and sleeping long hours rather than running around everywhere like sales were salvation.

This week should lend more quiet. less tears, more love and greater peace.

first impressions of a land not-so-strange

been three days in this corner, here is crowded but more comfortable and cosy than most apartments in these parts. saw my new home tonight. i am comfortable with the thought of a new life there. it is cold here for me, cold summer. no anticipation for less gentle seasons. i am learning quickly, street names, dialects, that people aren't too big on appearance on these streets. i am two blocks from the park and yet to visit it. bobo shantis smile with me here too. i have said the word- 'perdon' 4 times and- 'oui' 2 times today... unintentionally. latinos and haitians are everywhere. a haitian woman said to me last night "we are almost the same"...i think she was trying to make me comfortable. we are the same. who we became was an accident of floating earth. brooklyn has too many familiar things to be so far from home..

be-leave.

my grips are in garbage bags.

I'm tired of throwing dreams out.
the only thing that gets collected
on mornings,
is dust,
skinning teal-coloured plastic.

They would always come back
stare you still,
and spill empathy
from air-tight recall.
like the begining of a breath,
short but pronounced,
and there in every pull.

one suitcase will
not allow room
for so many things.
can't store anymore problems
in this closing space,

nomads trace their leaving
behind them.

up.

Of things eyes brighten over.
but comes daylight with a drag
less tug, more escorting.
easy walk from smiles,
to less crooked lips
straight to the point,
rushed goodbyes
and kissed sores.

I'm in no hurry
for bitterness.
For dried salt streamed
like tribal marks,
buried into my cheeks.
these eyes are marble
and flint and opal.
with no last words,
only better hopes.

Arielle John copyright © 2010

fate.

Stubbornness.
That will teach faith to have self-worth again,
Remind trust how to believe in itself
Lend light to sulking mornings,
And baffle a whole lot of people.

All I have left,
is a handful of promises,
a heartful of hopes.
and it's all I have left.

copyyright © 2010 Arielle John.