May 13th: Untitled.
Dandelion suns sprinkle through emerald green grass pastures as pinpoints of happiness scattered carelessly by the young Nature of spring. She knows not the cultivated rows of daffodils and lilac trees that line the paths in a regiment form, placed carefully by landscapers to optimize beauty. But still the light of dandelions brings a smile to passing wanderers of the field. Enticing yellow...
April 13th (revision of yesterday): My Favorite...
Entangled bodies sleep snuggled safely in their passion. Licks of fire linger longer, embers still glow fiercely. Like breath, lips brush soft and slow. Pent up rain, released from summer’s dense clouds. Entangled limbs stretch waking slowly to the dawn: Sun kisses the horizon with golden, rosy hues; “these first signs of morning are better shared with you.”
Lovers sleep, their entwined bodies resonate passion. Licks of fire linger, embers of elm still glow. Lovers’ lips brush soft and slow, like breath. Dense clouds in summer’s sky release their pent up rain. Lovers stretch entangled limbs waking slowly to the dawn: Sun kisses the horizon with golden, rosy hues; “these first signs of morning are always better shared with you.”
Words trip on the tongue as you try to express yourself eloquently, barbarically, softly, sweetly. Your voice transformed before my ears into an incommunicable mass of sounds as I swallowed salt water smiling. She speaks for you, he speaks for you, but nobody ever says what you really mean. Subtle nuances have lost their touch in the translation of human gesture. True words are lost to...
An ass slap is like a sexual clap; congratulations on a job well done, it’s been fun but I’m done it’s on to the next one he says smiling slyly slinking out the door. Me lying naked on the bed still wanting more I feel like a whore not because I fucked him but because I didn’t love him, didn’t want it when he started but now that he’s finished I want love from him. Ah, you’re so cool, you were...
Encased in ice, work to rub down the exterior with the warm friction of love. Superiority blows in a wave of frost that covers. Attempt to peer into the Arctic waters but the plunge leaves no breathe. Retreat. Unreciprocated warmth is hard to sustain: fingertips turn blue. A groove is hollowed in ice but until fire melts ice from the inside, it remains Wait, patient and chilled hopeful for...
December 26th: Photosynthesis by Moonlight
Light brighter than stars illuminates the full moon’s high tide tonight. Waves worship the sacred silence as they crash upon the shore. The beckoning water holds little orbs of phytoplankton shining religiously on sand. Salt water stars beg me to wade in to this cool, aquatic sky. A goddess reaching towards chimerical twinkling stars, I float through the sacred aquatic cosmos.
December 25th: For my Father, an ode.
I dreamt I heard my father’s voice while I was gone at school, and as he spoke I heard the words he’d told me as his rules: “Remember who you are” he’d say when I left for the night “You represent our family” and boy was he so right. I’d see his friend while I was out -I admit it pretty weird- but it made be a better kid, for his opinion I did fear. He had some other sayings, less ominous...
December 9th: Perhaps the World Ends Here.
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on. We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knee under it. It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make...
Angel Dust Blush The harp-like sounds—amplified angelic laughter in the highest octave—rain down in the form of powdered dust. A harsh bristled brush coats an eery cotton candy glow over the natural hue of already rosy cheeks from a compact conveniently pressed with Angel Dust Blush. Pillows of innocence—generally reserved for small girls and dolls—exudes false...
The light scent of freesia buds floated through the night, as intrepid fingers danced across the air, blooming emphasis into each word. The juicy mandarin undertones inevitably enveloped innocence as punctuated movements now smooth with expertise peel the rind, exposing insides. The subtleness of cucumber lingers, coating the sweet thirst-quenching moment in a thick green skin, impervious to...
The trouble with daydreaming or, how I came to be alone. Things aren’t the way you think they are, when you’re in your imagination. My night is blurred by constant fictitious interpretations of mundane things blown out of proportion by my mischievous mind. The cosmic size of my insides are present in my actions as the mental block that holds back emotion unwinds and I am free to feel. ...
The leaves of hope on my gingko tree heart have fallen together in complacency. I will settle for less, I will be satisfied with what I have. I will only cry alone.
Soothing scents of coffee pierce my nostrils, reasoning me out of my plush twin bed. The cold sting of autumn rushes to greet My bare skin freshly exposed from down warmth. Cascading the stairs to the cold kitchen, I embark on my daily life cycle. Autopilot opens the fridge, creamer Blends a liquid performance in my cup. Blurry eyes and slurry speech self destruct As delicious first sips dance...
My bike cycles me through life cycles; ups and downs and ins and outs with overlaps in between of horizontal and vertical interlays of living beings. You moved in from out and up from down after a single after dinner coffee group get together with mutual friends. It’s funny how the negation of one can bring so much more positivity.
Encased in ice I work to rub down your exterior with the warm friction of my love. Your air of superiority covers me in a wave of frost; I attempt to peer into the Arctic waters that are your eyes, but the plunge leaves me short of breathe. I retreat. Unreciprocated warmth is hard to sustain: I can feel my fingertips turning blue. I have hollowed a groove in your ice where I stand but until you...
Body language plants a seed of intrigue as your movements converse with mine. Fertilized by smiles and small spurts of carbon dioxide, a shoot emerges. Aware of its’ frailty, every step is consciously calculated for neither of us want to trample the plant before it blooms (or after, for that matter). Careful observations confirm the roots have taken hold of the surrounding dirt, as nitrogen...
Your presence roots me; the present of this moment is all I need now.
Lurking you wait poised to pounce from the dark shadows on an already dark night. Selfishly you imagine having your way with my physical being where I used to play. Tenderly you gaze as you watch me arrive; sexual demons are seen swarming my head. Retreating you decide to leave me be, attempting to understand what makes my body shake.
Tender words ripened my world at an age meant for development intending to create a mature ripeness. I am bruised by careless mishandling, imprinted by fingertips positioned most detrimentally. Despite premature sweetness I embrace the world openhearted exposing my bruised fruits proudly, knowing it makes me modest. For if we can expose our most damaged goods, we are free to change and become...
June 28: So, I have this bruise on my forehead...
that I then wasn’t happy with and rewrote. And then thought it was fun to manipulate and rewrote again. And again and again. Until I had 14 haikus. Each one a slight variation of the one before. Here are my favorites: #1 You gave me a bruise on my forehead. Good thing I can remember you. #5 Pleasure’s cost is man- ifested in the form of a bruised forehead. Ow. #7 Ow. A bruised...
Looking for someone: Stretched over six feet tall and slender. Defined eyebrows curving gracefully above eyes with a nice lash. A prominent ridge in the nose slopes to supple and full lips that pull back to reveal an imperfectly stupendous smile. The tongue inside works effortlessly to produce words that leave me hungry. (Only later am I fed). -Emily Penna
I sent you a message today telling you that you’ve been on my mind. Frankly, it’s nothing new. Always, you are there. Lurking in everything that I do. What is something new; I embrace the memories replaying in my head on loop, triggering bursts of love and anger and passion all in one. And at the end of each one a twang of hurt that used to overwhelm me. I have turned the hurt into strength and...
I dreamt of you last night (or to be fair, early this morning). After getting into bed you came and sat on the edge. Brimming with excitement, you enchanted me. The pull of your body just makes me want to be close to you. I slide my feet down under the comforter until they scrunch up against you. I only dare to do things you can’t quite really see. An exchange of words meaningless as all the most...
Ten dollars’ worth of stems that will be daffodils A wallet-full freshly plucked, from fields untilled Anticipating beauty of petals sun-filled Rays of lights dancing through the trees Casting animal shadows onto a forest floor… Naked, poor like we never were, we shout into pale, yellow cups that once held churned butter the sort that made man animal, thus animal man our feet grasp the...
I know I haven't been posting.
But I’m picking back up once school lets out.
Arrival: disappointment bubbling out of my Erlenmeyer’s flask of a heart disposing it’s contents dripping down the lab equipment. Reflection: Hours of tender care have been lost with one misstep, as the integrity of our little experiment is compromised and cost the lives of valiant artemia. Solution: We trash what we had sending the shells of hoped progress to the autoclave bin to be...
Slaving away over research like a bee carefully collecting pollen I piece my hive together allowing development and complexities to overtake the structure before I had finished laying it out.
Disconnecting from the body, my head just doesn’t fit right today. If the skull were to crack open, my shell of a brain would float away. Last night I abused my senses, dulling yet heightening them at the same time experiencing newness and oldness and everything in between. All great things have an opposite and equal greatness. All that is is all there will be, just in an opposite form.
March 25: A response to Walt Whitman's Perfection.
Perfection Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls -1860 Walt Whitman You say I am not the grass, but am I? Am I the tree, the rock, the bird the sky? Are we not all made of the same essential particles? And if so, how can we say we are separate from them? As people, are we not similar and different; and not separate because of...
I turn the moment into a solitary line. I scribe the actions. I observe. The irony lies in my eyes That are slowly failing me. I hope to write All that I can see and at the same time view All I try to write. Soon, I won’t have either. -Emily Penna
The words of Whitman are ringing, running, dancing through my mind making moments materialize into significance, threading constant streams of concrete consciousness into my memories. The language Dickinson, lilting playfully, powerfully, yet subtly inserting herself, or maybe myself into poems, ambiguous enough to linger thoughtfully on objects dissected. My own inner voice, yearning to be heard,...
The onset of inebriation is inevitably inhibiting my cognitive abilities. The weight of my hoop holds me down as I spin madly out of control. At least I can predict where something in this life is going. -Emily Penna
I think I was depressed Due to lack of Sunlight and Friends. A few days of Sunshine and Friends made me happier than I’ve been in weeks. -Emily Penna
As individuals are evicted from their houses due to debts, climate change...– The Great Undwelling: how the wealth of the few spells eviction for the rest -Jay Griffiths
The length of sidewalk from me to you seemed infinite and minuscule. I’m not quite sure how that works. It’s been two months since I’ve seen your face; my palms grasp together tightly, doubting my strength. Another step closer to tears I finally exhale, not knowing I’d been holding my breath. You glance in my direction and cross the street, completing the most selfless...
Lazy Sunday smiles as I waste the day away that’s what they’re for, right? -Emily Penna
I finally see you. Conversation flows freely between the two of us Except for the most important thing; which keeps circling through my mind. I cannot bring myself to tell you, ruining the light hearted afternoon. The words stay locked Inside my mind, no matter how strongly I want their expulsion, so I can share the load, if for moments. -Emily Penna
Variations on the sky change faster than the scenery as we drive through the flatlands of New York state. The clouds have never looked quite so three dimensional, allowing the sky to take on the vast infinity of possibilities it was meant to inspire. Illuminating light filters through cracks in the vintage colored clouds, creating a golden scene reminiscent of a time accessible only though...
Communal ties shift with the additions in an alarmingly subtle way; I am unsure about my thoughts. Startled, I leave to find solace in the last place you would think to look; a crowded party house. Returning late, my absence is complained about through your absence of mind; my thoughts return. Music blanks my mind, dancing to the beat making it my own; impressed musical members watch me from the...
As we walked around campus littering people’s vision with signs of life at the end of a long week I realize how pathetic I am. Staying up late, I ruin my chances of a productive Thursday.
Bleary brained and jumble eyed You enter my thoughts: tongue tied words stay stuck inside as I try to hide from a memory of a different place and time. The quiescent nature of my being overlooks what I’m seeing I slip into your binding my mind you’re unwinding from the inside out. I screamed as you tried desperately to redeem yourself from the steady stream of lies; all your schemes...
To Be Alone
To be alone & watch the dawn It could create a silly song About a girl I used to know She was the star of the lost side show She wasn't me She wasn't you Believe you me Knew what to do & say to a man on the end of his tether "Hay, fine handsome Man, there'll be a change in the weather" So what am I Supposed to do Just sit alone & chew my shoe I need love No more than...
March 5: Rewrite of John Clare's sonnet, I Am.
Multiple dimensions of personal awareness living out my days detached and empty: Man’s inventions have frozen my heart inhibiting my hopes of grandeur, I hide my passions from my own mind, exhausting— Cognitive thoughts allow me to learn the creation of my people— A soul that moves through the ages Like a sublime entity of sound and movement, creation finds me, frees me— ...
Frothy snow falls in front of the picturesque window that’s been distracting me all afternoon. Flurries fill the corner of my eye, evoking a playful smile to grace my face as I replay the events of the weekend. Showing off before you were quite ready, and waiting for fans to show up screaming. I stay in the back, hiding from him. From red to blue to yellow to green I manipulate the visual...
Candid, words tumble off our tongues in a tornado of thought, engulfing the silence. The change of pace perplexes me; but I have learned not to question a good thing. I soak in the moment. I bargain a trade for more time. As the seconds tick, I question your sincerity. The calm that you embody is borrowed from the Earth. Your perspective is warped with me as your subject, toyed with and examined....
March 2: Reverse Haiku. (7-5-7)
Anticipation excites my mundane routine of a Friday afternoon. I am a child waiting by the window for the wind to blow you to town. Our likeness is uncanny everyone exclaims A shared look, a knowing smile. Introduction awkwardness is overlooked as we are two peas in a pod Your presence brings me back home and comforts me. I feel free, now I am truly myself. -Emily Penna
March 1: Rewrite of Ode to Autumn by John Keats
Autumn rains and the blazing of the sun beckon ripeness as they work together in harmony to produce blossoms on the vines scaling the walls, and the apple trees to bend under the weight of ripe apples ready to be picked; Everything in the garden is left untouched, continuously ripening and budding alluring the honey bees with flowers and scents until their hives overflow with nectar. If you...
As a multidimensional being I have surpassed your understanding. Transitory in position my perception is changing constantly. I do not know who I am; but I am solidifying myself to make the world absorb me. I do not want a revolution of the world, I want a revolution of Emily. Emily Penna
My thoughts are hollow but my head is congested. Futile attempts at memory recall leave me exhausted. Understanding lags as I struggle to stay awake. The formidable day ahead is less than half over but I already feel as if I’ve been awake for the whole semester.