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Posts tagged “vulnerability

Haiku du jour : Ode to Vulnerability


We are carved from the

same sad stone, only mine is

more wood than stone.

Artwork by Rachel Jill Papernick

Artwork by Rachel Jill Papernick



haiku du jour

plaza-en-bornthere was no letter

instead she chased.

“tug his shirt sleeve,” she thought, beat

him to the dumb punch.

yuppie: haiku du jour

i would

grab your shoulders, shake

you. but, i’m no Fighter and

you’re no Lover, hun.

yuppies wars

Haiku du jour


I dig brain roads to

another place. white wonder

feeling of peace: is.

sea-made milky way

sea-made milky way

train dreams


saw you yesterday 
afternoon, last night woke up 
sweating in my room 


Withholding distorts reality


Into the woods

mujer-bosquemy mother grew up inside a lake,

slopped-off grey clay braided into her deer-brown locks.

my mother whispered into my ear:

the very last winter, the lake was drained,

they found a pair of lady’s shoes, heels up…

. ; |’;.’ ;’ . | ; . .. . : sequence of events

rainy morning balcony
First the smell, the sounds of the water, the way the greens look when the sky turns white. First all of this.
Then, where I am. Maybe I always came to stay. The truth, I knew I would come back, some day… and yes, it’s not the same, but I fell in love five years ago, and who knows, I might be back in that place again.
Yes, there is la crisis, and yes there is clambering for independence…for which, I am for… why not? Do we take all our political decisions so seriously? Don’t we change our minds ever couple of years or so? Don’t we look for excuses to make wars and draw lines and separate ourselves until we are all alone?

I don’t want to make a lot of money. I don’t ever want to be rich, or have a big house, or lots of clothes, or a car or cat, or ownership of object-shiny-things.

I want time. I just want more time.
More time for sex, and poetry; For sitting on the steps of churches with freshly cracked cans of beer; For counting stars as you float thousand of miles from shore in the middle of the ocean; For smelling his cooking; Or falling in love with the pure way in which the little ones laugh; Or the way your father still knows how to push your buttons; Or how your sister or brother or friend, loves you.

If I could just build more time, light it up like a candle and let it grow, as a flame, and then somehow find the chemistry to keep it burning for longer than its wick.

Perhaps there is no magic.

Just this sensation of light being brighter when there is no sun. And seeing in our eyes the simple same-ness we hold.
Just this frame of time, and the way we wake up to find the first rain of Fall.