September 2007 poetry project: week 1

 The September 2007 poetry project consists of writing one poem per day in the month of September and putting it up for public consumption regardless of its state of completion.

Sept 1

by Rachel Levine

 

Does the bee levitate on the flower and know

He collects their seeds

That penetrate like missiles into the plumpness of other flowers?

Does the bee know its role in the cosmic order,

Constantly creating, carrying the next generation on its legs?

Or does it only think of the honey and the hive?

Do any of us know what we carry on our legs,

A sacred mission, without which the universe would be less

Without any one of us.

©Rachel Levine 2007

Sept 2

by Rachel Levine

 

If to it dream, then to it make

what grows in the heart,

but not held in the hands.

My crown of hyacinths this,

my wand of daises:

a family, my tribe.

We dance and sing all day, all night

arms raised high above our heads

feet stamping with belled ankle bracelets.

So by our beat, we turn a thin rug plush.

We grow the walls, the curtains, the doors, the roof.

We grow the plants, the sofa, the stairs, the beds.

We grow the garden, the mailbox, the floorboards.

This is the temple and it grew inside me outside.

I walk past the houses and buildings, lit windows

This a sarcophagus, locked in ivy, slumbering, unkissed.

That hypnotized into numbness, dullness, no voices but the automon, no song their own.

This kept as a relic, not lived but preserved in formaldyhyde.

If to it dream, then to it make

what grows in the heart to resonate.

©Rachel Levine 2007

Sept 2

by Rachel Levine

 

I do not want to dig in the dirt, down in the mine today.

Even grey, I want to look at the pink roses, the only colour left.

Their petals hang on in the wind.

I am always dreaming.

I am so tired of dreaming

Where are you love? he says.

I'm here I say.

Sit, sit here with me.

I reach up and we sit above the world.

Why do you only come to me in my dream?

He doesn't answer. He doesn't exist.

the wind rips the petals from the flowers.

They shake their heads from its force.

I am in the park again.

My lungs, plastered in phlegm. They hurt!

I won't go into the mine.

I will not tunnel and dig and find gems.

I want to be here.

My love calls me and

 I say Go away! You're not real. I'm not crazy.

The flowers shudder. There are no petals left, just rose hips.

My heart races from the medicine I take, my eyes swim.

I won't dig. I won't go down.

The wind can blow my body off and I will still be here.

©Rachel Levine 2007

The September 2007 poetry project consists of writing one poem per day in the month of September and putting it up for public consumption regardless of its state of completion.

The Poetry Project 4 (incidentally, participants, you are inspiring me to keep it up. This one came hard to me today, and I think I may have to write a second to compensate... I see how this one can get better, but fuck it, I need to go to yoga) 3 AM-ish walking home and the Roman Senate disputes again. The centres don't work in tandem these days. What Lola wants, Lola gets. Or is that Ani or Svad? Not Ajna, dear Ajna, ruminating and neurotic, unpassioned. Ajna is not consulted on these matters. Carnal matters. There are benefits to being wild. The freedom to, the freedom from. I answer to no one and no one answers to me. We don't bother with their names, the people we only meet in their breathing, strangers who hear me scream. The people I love sleep, or don't sleep at night, but not with me either way. Is it Ani or Lola that wants it this way? Ajna makes the point, "It would be better if you aligned things." Nobody asked you. I didn't make the Universe. If I did, you could be King, Ajna, or Queen. You could rule and all would be subservient. Instead, you just keep me sober in the orgy, sober in the trench, sober in Hades. You peer out and take notes at how Svad justifies Lola and Ani. Svad fixes first, deciding everything in seconds. He tells me when to close my legs, to walk, to run, then says, "Love brings only pain." The others protest. "I'm not wrong," says Svad. "Prove otherwise. I tell you who you love right away so you don't even bother." The others protest. No one will go unless we believe there is love, or that there is at least love for me. I would rather die now than to lose hope, Hope is all I have. We hate Svad. We love Svad. How does Svad know everything? Why is Svad so hard to stomach? Ani and Lola are evil bitches. Ani, so romantic, dreamy, telling Chinese dragons to feed its longings. Her friend Desire whispers to me, a mantra. I don't want what I can't have. Of course you can have anything if you want it badly enough. Stop fucking and hold out. Desire whispers to Lola, blows up into her and she cries. Stop holding out and start fucking. The fighting continues. I'm not in alignment.

 

©Rachel Levine 2007

Fifth Day of the Poetry Project The music in my head is on talk radio and they're talking politics from the same perspective they always take. That media perspective. The same stupid conversation spoken, with sincerity and commitment. Impossible to disagree with, because they are right but powerless to change.

 

©Rachel Levine 2007

T

he Institution I am looking for signs everywhere In tea leaves, in sidewalk cracks In my horroscope, in the Tarot, In bird flights and if I can guess the next song on the radio, In four leaf clovers and pennies on heads On Craigslist, on Facebook, on MySpace I'm trying lucky numbers, lucky charms, Calling psychic hotlines, channelling the spirits I'm shaking the  magic 8 ball, Numerology, I Ching, palmistry. I still don't understand the Institution.

 

©Rachel Levine 2007

Poem 7. California California in denim shorts with the crescent moons of her ass setting on her thighs, One tanned lean leg skims the other as she sails along, Her high heels don't hit the contaminate ground. Hair pulled back in a pony tail, bolted down by Gucchi sunglasses. In her labelled bag, a book, bookmarked to page 32, the spine never cracked. Her Reiki therapist recommended it to all her special clients. She sips Evian and taps the diamond pendant that hangs just below her throat chakra.

 

©Rachel Levine 2007