Thoughts Roused by the Light of Spring

Feet press into the soft body of the Earth. A lake of smooth mud has now turned to mountains for the ants and the spiders and the tiny microorganisms you always forget exist. For the unicellular, you have unknowingly changed the landscape of their life. Cool air sinks into the well mark of your big toe, a heel-shaped pond forms nearby.
If you get stuck in the stars and find fear in the truth of your insignificance, sink to the Earth and remember no single truth can ever be true.


------------

Love me as the tide does the land.
Tickle me, gently, imperceptibly,
persistently;
until suddenly I realize:
I am engulfed.
My perspective now lies below the surface
as I look to the sky through distilled, watery light.
It is a different world, being surrounded by your expanse.
It is a world in which I once thought I could not breathe
and yet....
I lay here alone, now, sun on my skin,
land once again.
The tides have turned. You have retreated,
as gently, imperceptibly, 
as persistently as you came.

"You are Kelly Zenn! You'll be fine."

5/29/17, 1:54 pm, I compiled:

"I don't want to live." We laugh, mouths full of sugar–filling time, filling a hole. Or trying anyway.
"It does feel fruitless sometimes."
"That is why we just have to keep going."
"In the wise words of Paul Kalanithi, 'I can't go on, I will go on.'"
We sigh. The sun hasn't emerged from the clouds yet, obstructing our ability to feel grateful. But still we know the world is at our fingertips, nothing to frown for. We frown harder and then we laugh. The sun peeks through.

"I forgot what a broken heart feels like."
"Physically painful?"
A breeze enters through the window, caressing my face softly. I cringe.
"Fuck yes."

"How many women have begged you to stay?
... don't answer that."

"I found underwear. What a day!"

"Why do we fuck with this shit?"
"We're bored. Boys, heroin, hobbies: all one in the same."

Sometimes it is better to have never loved at all rather than to have loved and lost. It is all circumstantial. Cliches are not whole truths.

 "Embrace the pain. Surrender. Release."

Daggers.
"I know you're intense. I felt that from the beginning. I'm sorry it doesn't always work out for you."
"I wish I could be more empathetic to how my actions affect you."
"I don't want to affect you."
"I don't care."
"Whatever."
"I don't have time for you."
"I thought I knew you pretty well."
"Thank you. It has been an honor."

You are not weightless. You move me, I let you move me. I sought you out. I got lost, lost in your sweet nothings since September.


At least there is a goal to reach for. Vegan cherry pie. Someday.

Sharing.

"If poets do what they are supposed to do, which is tell the truth in some fundamental and comprehensible way, then their work is ultimately important, especially at a time like this, when language is being used to perpetuate political lies." David Budbill, during an interview with The Sun writer, Diana McCall, in June 2003.

What We Need
By: David Budbill

The Emperor,
his bullies
and henchman,
terrorize the world
every day

which is why
every day

we need

a little poem
of kindness,

a small song
of peace,

a brief moment
of joy.

-------------------

By Kelly Zenn:

Do not cease the smiles.
Let your head hang low,
as you must.
But when eyes glaze,
exhausted,
strained,
we become blind to our neighbors–
those you fight for, with...
against.
You are not your cause.
They are.

So,
keep your eyes open.
Listen and
do not cease the smiles.

Smiles, without the flash and speedy upload,
are not yet commodified.

---------------------

"The greatest test of courage on the earth is to bear defeat without losing heart." –Robert Ingersoll

"What is certain is that it is sheer madness... when the economy of consumption is absorbing the economy of production, and the exploitation of labour power is submerged by the exploitation of everyday creativity. The same energy is torn from the worker in his hours of work and in his hours of leisure to drive the turbines of power...." –Raoul Vaneigem

"Never despair! but, if you do, / Work on in your despair." –Henry Tyrell

"Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world." –Joseph Campbell

Dire Silence

Where have all the words gone?

Where once they did tickle the tip of the tongue, there is silence.

I feel bereft.

Eh, Uh, Uhg: An Assemblage of Starts Because I Just Feel a Need to Publish Something

This space is a chamber,
adorned with silence, solitude.
For extraction from being,
into the mind we fall.
Focus, now, our eyes open;
the floor moves.
So focused on elimination we did not see.
We sat on the living,
breathing
bodies of the ones that carry
and
we fall.

---------------------------------------

Cease fire, plain sire,
the acoustics are unnerving.


Once swayed by the wind, she now sinks deep in the sands of comfort. Soft, warm, they suck her down moment by mindless moment. Focused on the possibility of losses rather than the inevitability of gains, fear erupts as torment no longer distracts. She stands within forever, watching it collapse.

------------------------------------------

Shit fuck potato mister miser.

Bring on the rain.
Bring on the dust that rises
like sun lit fog.
But you did it
with your kicks
to my shins,
fucker.

There was a dick that hit my face once.
He cackled.
And you ask why I run off,
into the distance?

First it's warm.
But just for a second.
My fingers freeze as you turn away,
your flesh turned cold
just as I began to unzip
and take a brick from my wall.

These young men
who think they know love
better than I.
Act as though adherence to the task
destroys the thing itself.

But I love you, but I love you!
The words froth forth from me and I cannot apologize
for such vomit in your ear. All I see are rose petals.
Your fears are not my own,
so let me be.
I will jump in headfirst
and you can't stop me.

-----------------------------------------------------

On being a manic pixie dream girl:

I'm not a princess. I can take care of myself. I don't need to be put on a pedestal or have my every wish granted. Yeah, the world is gunna make me sad sometimes, and yeah, you are going to make me sad sometimes but that's just the way the world is! Don't deny me the world. I've learned to rely on the wholeness of things, the dualities of life and in treating me like a story book character, you stick me on a 2D page. But I am so much more and, sooner or later, I will reject what you do to me.

I am not your anything. I am me. And if you try to harness me I will run from you.

A Poem for the New World Order: Choppy, Like the Waters We Just Dove Into

Who shall admire the brilliant red trunks of the Madrones,
smooth as the soft new flesh of life,
wrapped in sun-warmed air?
The convergence of the senses–
perception–
lost in a moment,
with one flick of the wrist,
the swift crack of a bullet to the temple of a lifetime.

Who will spread the bird's humble song
cross continents, languages,
space and time;
extolling and sharing the beauty?

I will not bow to cynics
who find solace in the knowledge that it is all for naught.
If you scream love you must believe it.
Not for a while or for a few,
but forever and for all.
I cherish this body that enables life and encompasses soul!
And so, as the only truth I know,
I must cherish you, too.

My heart sits in your chest.
I listen to the beat and recognize my own.
Who gave us this blood?
Who gives us this drum?

I believe it was our mother.

She gave me life, born and bred from the depths of her oceans,
nursed on rain from her skies.
But here,
I present her no lanyard of gratitude.

Wrenching rock-flesh from her belly, I dive into her core,
searching for sustenance to fuel not my life, but my habits.
Mother does not scream.
She weeps acid.

Billy Collins captured her words:
"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered."
And here (I replied), I lay my follies at your feet:
I covered myself in oil and set myself aflame.
My heartbeats weaken, my legs collapse.
My bones whittle to dust and my teeth crack.
My eyes remain wide as the smoke rescinds,
revealing the world I misread.
But with no water to drink,
and no mother to heal,
my last good day ends
and the world goes blind.

I can't convince you to see.
I can't convince you to care.
So I will love while the ship is sinking,
grieve while I still hold life in my palm.
Watching it seep through trembling fingers is the final gift given.
And so, I will stand strong.



Written from the depths of a remembered and ongoing grief:

Mom's Memorial reading: The Lanyard by Billy Collins from Kelly Zenn on Vimeo.

Yesterday Carries Tomorrow

I've never felt true shame about who I was until I found this place. Every facet of my being feels wrong... hollow... obsolete?

Interesting how I felt those little negative thoughts begin to nest in my heart and yet still could do nothing to stop them.

Here, I feel crazy, weak. For here, if you have all you need why would you complain?

My skin is paper thin. Please teach it how to grow.

I want to cease this nonsense.

Excerpt from Tulips by: Sylvia Plath

"I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free -

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

Before they came the air was calm enough,

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health."