These Déjà vu Dreams

These Déjà vu Dreams
swirl through my sleepy mind as I shuffle the cobblestones past Frida’s brilliant blue house the coffee houses and the fountain where splashed my memories of a night huddled in the back of a green taxi kisses on the street a market with drag queens incense henna tattoos drums Bob Marley laughter families artists color and senses – body and mind and spirit fully alive. Sitting under the old church and sharing a pancake with stories… so alive, so long ago and near and far. Now the market is gone, shoved into warehouses to repair the fountain and clear the streets… but I remember. The memories of a night huddled in the back of a green taxi kisses on the street a market with drag queens incense henna tattoos drums Bob Marley laughter families artists color and senses – body and mind and spirit fully alive. Sitting under the old church and sharing a pancake with stories… so alive, so long ago. (And round and around we went, my hand in his as he led me through the drums as they cried to us from the stalls while he whispered in my ear.)

Tanya Wells wow! very cool angela! its like a bob song, natural mystic. theres a natural mystic blowing through the air, if you listen closely you will hear, though i try to find the answers to all the questions they ask, though i know its impossible to live through the past, dont ask me why, things are not they way they used to be, theres a natural mystic blowing through the air..... robert nesta marley. one of my favorite songs, but of course, he's my favorite!:)

Norman Garrett

This misty morn'n I can't see no sun. I knew you were in D.F. hav'n fun. Your logos expresses cosmic mysteries, I just can't express! Thanks for this, your more! I can give no less. Your words to my head, like a bullet to my chest(heart) th...ese, my mystic joys we're urged to express. You have help us to express our shared past in presents with a mystic blessing here I conclude with my confessing.
Thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Oksana Agapova After all it is just a memory =))) Don't waste your time with it =)) Go for who matters now - that man that dares to feel enough to be affected by your memories =))) Good luck=)))

 

The Juggler

I am a Juggler;
I wear a mask,
A mask with a huge grin.
A frozen smile,
Forcing me to keep dancing.
The mask hides the mistakes,
The anonymity shields tears and ecstasies.
Yet now this façade that has become my reality.
In my nightmares the mask cannot be removed;
Am I my mask as well?

I am a juggler;
“A paid entertainer.”
They are my fans and my critics
They can laugh and jeer,
Yawn and walk away.
I can only absorb and bewilder.
(There are some,
Some that watch.
Their eyes never leave the balls
Their eyes see every flip of my wrists
Their eyes ask questions.)

A Juggler –
Tossing balls,
Adding more and more.
The secret thrill of the challenge jades
The pride of stirring my audience.
Each ball is a little life,
I refuse to allow failure.
Confession: behind this plaster grin,
I admit – I care for my mini-audience (so)
I study them through the slits of my mask as
I juggle these balls for them.

- Fall 2008 (Inspired by a First Year of Teaching)

Ashley Garner

am i my mask as well?
This is sooooo good! I haven't written in so long and you inspire me, because I love how metaphors help you explain, but also understand yourself. And then other ppl read it and understand you and themselves better too.... We all wear some sort of mask. :)
I love you lady and am so happy to know you. 

Oksana Agapova ‎=))) I think you are not just juggling for them, you are juggling them =)) I love the metaphor =))

Rachel Beetschen I love it. I am learning this year that wearing the mask is a balancing act in itself. 

Spasm

I’m sitting on the porch as the rains whisper gently and the lightning flashes and somewhere the thunder crashes and a little red light blinks on the top of the marble building and Lady Justice shines her faithful light above the golden dome and the cars whiz behind me and the wind blows my hair over my face and teases my toes and I feel a raindrop. I shiver and wonder if the incessant rain cries the tears I cannot cry or explain if the thunder is my anger and vengeance that will never wreak havoc if the lightening is my momentary and fleeting bits of wisdom intuition and understanding. I’m still cold and my thigh spasms as the rain blows on me. Alone yet not alone and I should be in bed yet I must be here – here in my elements with the city and God and Mother Nature weeping for me and the silent people so very close yet enveloped in their own cocoons. This strange suspended seat where I feel at home curled on the wooden planks yet as if my spirit was soaring with the storm a fairie that must run before the lightening yet is emboldened by the wind. Somewhere a bird is chirping – how can she in the storm? Who can interpret the words of the thunder the melody of the tears and the symphony of this night? After the tears my soul feels whole again.

Lorena Ganser I LOVE IT! ...i think i can relate........................with the bird :) hahaha i love you angela this is too cool tooo toooo cool

Lauren Thornton-Giugliano cool..."the silent people so very close..." i like it.

Danielle Klueber wow...amazing. "I wonder if the incessant rain cries the tears I cannot..." Really beautiful girl...  

The Napkin

He sits next to me on the couch after a few beers, and chokes back tears. “I don’t want her to leave me,” he groans. “I love her… but how can you hurt the person you love the most?”

Her blush deepens as the story is told of a shattered romance and unappreciated sacrifices. She wonders if she should leave him, but looks out the window and quietly states that “the problem is that I love him. I look down the napkin she was twisting has become a ring on her finger.

“Twuu Wuv”, crooned the priest. Yet we grind our teeth, swallow tears, and bury heartache for a happiness that is too often only short lived. How few relationships survive. How many hearts have been shattered into pieces only fit for concrete edifices. How many live in guilt and confusion, blaming themselves for the decisions that take two. Whether the agony is worth the ecstasy seems to vary by lover and the time of day. For now, I sit on the sidelines and count the fallen.