The obvious statement that roses are red and violets are blue, never sounds more sweet yet more trite than on Valentine's day. It is a day of love for the professional prose lyricist and the novice alike. A day in which we all become poets. After all, there is nothing more worthy of being called a poem than the raw, honest words that pour from a lovers heart--both starry-eyed and scorned alike.
I don't know about you, but no bouquet of roses or box of chocolates would make my heart beat quite as fast as a few simple words written straight from the heart--love made legible. And if the words don't come so easy to you, below are a few from some of the all time greats. I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing it with you for your someone special. I can guarantee your someone special won't mind.
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
By Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood
Juke Box Love Song
By Langston Hughes
I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.
When I Met My Muse
By William Stafford
I glanced at her and took my glasses
off--they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.
--
So this Valentine's Day, immortalize your love, timelessly etch it to the page and into the soul of your other.
xox
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
art without limits...
...it is almost a redundant statement. The inherent meaning of art holds that there are no limits to creativity. Still, our modern society seems to have forgotten that notion. We have put a higher importance on subjects like math and science which, without pushing the boundaries of the imagination, would never have made the advancements they did. It is a relief then, that there are groups like Art Without Limits that remind us when it comes to art, limitations should not--and do not--exist.
No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.
Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.
xoxo...lika
My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.
Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.
“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.
I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.
“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.
Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.
--
For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.
So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.
The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.
Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.
The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.
The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.
Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.
Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.
No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.
Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.
xoxo...lika
My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.
Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.
“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.
I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.
“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.
Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.
--
For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.
So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.
The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.
Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.
The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.
The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.
Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.
Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.
Friday, January 25, 2013
unfinished business...
the way you hold my hand,
it makes me wonder,
do you see me?
do you feel the pulse beneath
my callused knuckles?
can you see the blue veins
of my roots flowing
as my great grandmother did
east across the pacific
and as my father did too,
generations later,
and with so much less to lose.
and because of those journeys
here i am.
now your hands glide
smoothly across mine,
through each finger
with such detail.
yet your eyes float east.
filled with a glaze.
maybe you cannot see
where i am from;
how deep my story runs.
so you cannot possibly see
how far i will go.
--
i don't remember when i started that poem, or where it was going...but i just found it and don't want it to get lost to my endless clutter. it definitely is worth revisiting and massaging into something greater. stay tuned to watch as this poem evolves...
some other notes i had from that day lost to my memory:
Rumi - harder place to start
"follow the golden thread"
"art for art's sake vs. the second level/deeper meaning"
William Stafford: "Down in My Heart"(years in prison for peacefully objecting to WWII)
take on a mentor, even though they are dead. she took william stafford on as her mentor, and from beyond the grave, he took her on too.
Most famous "Traveling in the Dark"
--
oh yes! all those notes were from my first talk with sojourner! my mentor telling me about her mentor.
a writer's work really is never done...
xo...lika
it makes me wonder,
do you see me?
do you feel the pulse beneath
my callused knuckles?
can you see the blue veins
of my roots flowing
as my great grandmother did
east across the pacific
and as my father did too,
generations later,
and with so much less to lose.
and because of those journeys
here i am.
now your hands glide
smoothly across mine,
through each finger
with such detail.
yet your eyes float east.
filled with a glaze.
maybe you cannot see
where i am from;
how deep my story runs.
so you cannot possibly see
how far i will go.
--
i don't remember when i started that poem, or where it was going...but i just found it and don't want it to get lost to my endless clutter. it definitely is worth revisiting and massaging into something greater. stay tuned to watch as this poem evolves...
some other notes i had from that day lost to my memory:
Rumi - harder place to start
"follow the golden thread"
"art for art's sake vs. the second level/deeper meaning"
William Stafford: "Down in My Heart"(years in prison for peacefully objecting to WWII)
take on a mentor, even though they are dead. she took william stafford on as her mentor, and from beyond the grave, he took her on too.
Most famous "Traveling in the Dark"
--
oh yes! all those notes were from my first talk with sojourner! my mentor telling me about her mentor.
a writer's work really is never done...
xo...lika
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
with both hands over my heart...
...I solemnly swear to stick to my resolution this year and write on. In an attempt to stay on track with this goal, I WILL post at least one blog a month, fingers crossed for more!
Ok, so this may have been last years unfulfilled resolution...but I shall simply stand back up and try again--with much greater effort this time. I can't think of a more important time for me to do this than now. 2012 proved to be a very significant year for growing my creative writing. I owe this in large part to my work with mentor's found through the non-profit Art Without Limits. A huge MAHALO goes out to these brilliant mentors of mine, Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle and Ann Dusenberry. They continue to shed a phenomenal light on my craft and my life. In keeping with that momentum, 2013 will bring even more growth and changes on that front, so stay tuned...
A big part of my journey with creative writing and poetry has been to start sharing my work in front of an audience. Last year I began reading my poetry on a stage for the first time in my life. What a nerve wracking thrill! I thought though, how much greater the impact of one's art when it is shared with others--the transference of inspiration can continue to flow!
This Saturday I will be participating in an emerging artist showcase in which different aspiring artists from Art Without Limits will share their work. I will read two original poems: The Rhythm of Time and My Wolf and His Dog.
Come support local artists and check out the show! It will be on Saturday, January 26 at Ayni Gallery (216 State St, right next to Union Ale) from 5-8pm. Please RSVP here:
http://www.awolsb.org/
Whatever your resolutions are for this new year, I stand alongside you with a renewed sense of motivation. Get inspired, and stay there.
xo...lika
Ok, so this may have been last years unfulfilled resolution...but I shall simply stand back up and try again--with much greater effort this time. I can't think of a more important time for me to do this than now. 2012 proved to be a very significant year for growing my creative writing. I owe this in large part to my work with mentor's found through the non-profit Art Without Limits. A huge MAHALO goes out to these brilliant mentors of mine, Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle and Ann Dusenberry. They continue to shed a phenomenal light on my craft and my life. In keeping with that momentum, 2013 will bring even more growth and changes on that front, so stay tuned...
A big part of my journey with creative writing and poetry has been to start sharing my work in front of an audience. Last year I began reading my poetry on a stage for the first time in my life. What a nerve wracking thrill! I thought though, how much greater the impact of one's art when it is shared with others--the transference of inspiration can continue to flow!
This Saturday I will be participating in an emerging artist showcase in which different aspiring artists from Art Without Limits will share their work. I will read two original poems: The Rhythm of Time and My Wolf and His Dog.
Come support local artists and check out the show! It will be on Saturday, January 26 at Ayni Gallery (216 State St, right next to Union Ale) from 5-8pm. Please RSVP here:
http://www.awolsb.org/
Whatever your resolutions are for this new year, I stand alongside you with a renewed sense of motivation. Get inspired, and stay there.
xo...lika
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
not beautiful or remarkable things...just things
my mentor sent me a writing prompt a few weeks ago: write down 6 things you see each day, then at the end of one week, compose a poem out of two of those things. the lesson being that poets, and artists in general, should strive to be "more attuned to the physical world and to find concrete things that possess a special vibrancy" (Linda Gregg, "The Art of Finding"), then incorporate these things into their craft.
over the course of a couple weeks, here is what i came up with:
freeway signs
glass jar
turquoise
tea
sunflower
stripes
my reflection
bangle
laughing baby
toes
new haircut
stress
style
leaves
relief
so i only did it on three of the days, but i did manage to use all the words in my newest attempt and literary creativity...
the things i see each day
as i drive along the highway,
i roll the window down to feel
the breeze of time passing.
a wild wind whips through
and my earrings sing a song
of pennies dropping into a glass jar.
freeway signs point to places
i'll never see,
fields of sunflowers
i'll never know.
white clouds paint stripes across a turquoise sky
as i cease to cease.
my reflection in the windshield,
a loose reminder
of what once was--
a laughing baby with squishy toes
turned adolescent with body woes.
and now i fight the tests of my twenties
by speeding faster
in search of relief.
i chase change with a new style,
new haircut, new shoes
a new bangle filled with jewels.
beautiful objects,
permanent as leaves on a growing tree.
when i finally exit
this whirlwind
wind of a road,
in search of a cure to my saturated stress,
i see a man sitting on the sidewalk.
living in his permanent present,
his sign reads:
a quarter for a cup of tea
...
interesting how the little things we see each day, ultimately paint the big picture of our world. what did you see today?
over the course of a couple weeks, here is what i came up with:
july 11:
earringsfreeway signs
glass jar
turquoise
tea
sunflower
july 25:
testsstripes
my reflection
bangle
laughing baby
toes
july 26:
man sitting on sidewalknew haircut
stress
style
leaves
relief
so i only did it on three of the days, but i did manage to use all the words in my newest attempt and literary creativity...
the things i see each day
as i drive along the highway,
i roll the window down to feel
the breeze of time passing.
a wild wind whips through
and my earrings sing a song
of pennies dropping into a glass jar.
freeway signs point to places
i'll never see,
fields of sunflowers
i'll never know.
white clouds paint stripes across a turquoise sky
as i cease to cease.
my reflection in the windshield,
a loose reminder
of what once was--
a laughing baby with squishy toes
turned adolescent with body woes.
and now i fight the tests of my twenties
by speeding faster
in search of relief.
i chase change with a new style,
new haircut, new shoes
a new bangle filled with jewels.
beautiful objects,
permanent as leaves on a growing tree.
when i finally exit
this whirlwind
wind of a road,
in search of a cure to my saturated stress,
i see a man sitting on the sidewalk.
living in his permanent present,
his sign reads:
a quarter for a cup of tea
...
interesting how the little things we see each day, ultimately paint the big picture of our world. what did you see today?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
the transfer of inspiration
a good friend and sister of mine shared with me a TED talks video featuring the French street artist JR who won the TED talks prize for a "wish to change the world". watching him speak about his wish, got me thinking about my wish. with so many things i wish i could change about this world, where do i begin?
i sat and thought. as that video was passed to me, the inspiration was too. now i sit here letting the inspiration well up within and flow through me, and i hope as you read this, into you. we all begin to fulfill our wish to change the world through the transfer of inspiration.
this past week i was inspired by my mentor to do my very first open mic reading of some of my poetry. offering me yet another attempt to transfer inspiration. when we continue to pay it forward for whatever cause may be, we create a chain reaction of people thinking about how, they too can change the world.
following is one of the poems i was inspired to write and read for the open mic, and below that the TED talks video on JR. may you greet this day inspired, and one step closer to making this a better world.
for brandon elizares (02.04.96-06.02.12)
i didn't know you.
through scattered stories and collaged memories
now i know,
they knew you even less.
how much did your spirit endure
before it gave out?
the way a wall will fall
from unending thrown stones.
had those hands lifted you up,
would we be laying you down?
if those hands were taught to heal,
to instead use stones to build an empire
filled with warriors
for peace,
we would be walking on a path of love,
and not drowning
in your loss.
a special thank you to a couple of my inspirations: b. alia & sojourner
i sat and thought. as that video was passed to me, the inspiration was too. now i sit here letting the inspiration well up within and flow through me, and i hope as you read this, into you. we all begin to fulfill our wish to change the world through the transfer of inspiration.
this past week i was inspired by my mentor to do my very first open mic reading of some of my poetry. offering me yet another attempt to transfer inspiration. when we continue to pay it forward for whatever cause may be, we create a chain reaction of people thinking about how, they too can change the world.
following is one of the poems i was inspired to write and read for the open mic, and below that the TED talks video on JR. may you greet this day inspired, and one step closer to making this a better world.
for brandon elizares (02.04.96-06.02.12)
i didn't know you.
through scattered stories and collaged memories
now i know,
they knew you even less.
how much did your spirit endure
before it gave out?
the way a wall will fall
from unending thrown stones.
had those hands lifted you up,
would we be laying you down?
if those hands were taught to heal,
to instead use stones to build an empire
filled with warriors
for peace,
we would be walking on a path of love,
and not drowning
in your loss.
a special thank you to a couple of my inspirations: b. alia & sojourner
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
freedom writer.
one thousand times over.
i would paint the pastures of switzerland and sing
the songs of africa;
write a poem for every brick
of china's great wall.
i would be free
to fly.
but never did i dream that freedom's ride
began on a bus.
for in my dreams we all dance
together to the chime of india's
bollywood beat.
our vibrant colors melt together
and flow
down the mississippi,
where blood once flowed.
the road alongside it
paved by bus riders,
paying the price
so we could be free.
free to ride
free to dream our wildest dreams
and wake
to live them.
some day i will walk
from the sands of egypt,
to the shores of hawai'i
and write in stone along the way:
freedom—
and equality—
for all
is no longer just a dream.
::
last week, while mindlessly surfing our umpteen cable channels, i stumbled upon a PBS broadcast American Experience: Freedom Riders. since then i've tried to make an ongoing conscious effort to refocus my spirit from frivolous worries to gratitude for things we haven't always had: love. equality. freedom.
this february, i remember these things. i celebrate african american history and those who stood up against the face of hatred—in peace. may we honor the freedom riders and those like them. may we seek universal equality. and choose love > hate. always.
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