stinetran

sunday, 05 july 2009 at 12:44 |

[poem via text messages]

untitled (mo.lo collab)
--
contradictory perplexities settled on the fringe of thoughts
my gums had been bleeding on and off for two days now
i think i'm dying , but i think that a lot now
especially since the waves of panic masks itself in the wind
i frame my beliefs around moments of fear
because it's those moments i understand my existence better
better than most assume
so i drew a cross on my window
with soap hoping the sun would see it
send me to providence
i promised to pray more
after a while , the soap flaked off and i was left with nothing
more than a cloudy sky and bloody gums
i sat stiffly darting my eyes to various sources of sound ,
of the slightest movements
soon, my room became casket-like,
and my heart's fire grew dim,
creating shadows in all four corners
the shadows followed closer than i remembered
soon, my electricity and water were turned off
and i was left with crumbs from the ravaged


saturday, 04 july 2009 at 13:30 |

[poem written through text messages]

untitled (mo.lo collab)
--
the sap stiffened inside the cove of the tree
as beginnings of amber bits
were fearing the presence of wandering insects .
a dry brown leaf fell freely from above ,
mocking the paralysis of the sap.
it swept side to side ,
swaying before laying upon the muted gravel road
"come rest with me, little leaf, and stay immortalized," said the sap .


thursday, 02 july 2009 at 22:24 |

untitled [mo.lo collab]
--
i am left out of your loop
of solidified intelligence
as cigarette stops in mid-air
from the depths of heaved exhales
flicking ash on wet cement
curdling upon hitting surface.
air sways around smoke signals
as you whisper an allegory of sorts .
you have become a serial number
through an indirect link
as your pupils skim past my lids
calling yourself a " best buy " :
i slumber in my seat
wishing you were chained to me .
i frame your eyes in mine
closing and opening measurably ,
carefully , counting .
i get a call :
it was only a movie prop .




tuesday, 30 june 2009 at 21:56 |

untitled [inspired by mo.lo]
--
spindling minces activate trifling rabbits
carefully crawling with hunched steps
edging the nearing of a darkened hole,
a trap. light glimpses through arching night
hovering between bark and black air.
they nudge through summer brush
with fragmented perches on hind legs,
staggering mildly for better views
of darkened figures and frames
too swift to catch wholly.
breeze barks through muck-thick air
allowing a slight crisp to inhale.
crawling with stiffened necks,
they journey onward.




untitled (based on arnold bocklin painting, "isle of the dead")
by christine tran --
journey with me to the isle of the dead where the horse-shoe mountains open their opened mouth, open water reflecting the bloodied stained rocks smeared with tales untold, insignificant but leaving behind pigments of clotted crimson seeping from cracks calling from the top for salvation, but muted by the clashing of ocean against rock, against rock, to open waters against rock. come to this landing from boat, slow and fated. there is only one path upon hitting shore. the crisp outlines of fresh bodies flow down the arching of a nearing man-carved rock making new streams which flow carefully to soon hit bathing water. we hit shore. i call from cliffs.


poem at daybreak (based on Paul Klee painting, “Poem at Daybreak”)
by christine tran --
my mind strays in ways i myself cant comprehend, stop myself to understand jotted notes already skewed or forgotten as pen reaches surface. but how the hand sways on the page without knowing, just moving at will from thought to pen down down on page. swiveling and stopping to potentially dot an "i", cross a "t" or stroke a comma. how your brush strokes came from you: from brush to surface blotting and stroking - yet, as you stood refining, i sit contemplating on horizontal paper.

bismarkstraße
by christine tran
--
the layered pastel chips from the crackled window
began breaking long before i was born –
those windowpanes have seen more than i
with walls that separate but hold secrets and stories untold.
overlooking city-walkers, aliens, exiles, ex-pats, natives
with your crème-washed green face –
you watch.
did someone ever look at you and ask why you were there?
who built you?
or were you battered down?
did someone build you anew?
mended together by broken lives,
inhabited by those you don’t know –
yet, knowing of a familiar vacancy.
your roof has been beaten by rain and the East and West sun –
harsh hard rains.
what did you see?
neighboring those unlike you, you still sit –
still watching, cracking but soon to be mended
again.





”when the child was a child” (based on film, Wings of Desire)
by christine tran

--

recently, i laughed for the first time in a long time.
i'm too aware to be sad.
minutes, hours, days, weeks, months: time.
what if time was the illness?

what sustains you? your sing-song voice.
where are my heroes? he was too good, that's why he's dead.
"like a fly in amber," i'm caught in borders: native, fugitive.
living in a half-house, no really, half a house.
are you an extra human?
why yellow? why yellow stars? sunflowers. van gogh killed himself.
story of '45, berlin, war. story of wars: spectators are too few.

if man loses its storytelling, it loses its childhood.
when the child was a child: it laughed
forehead smeared in (grass).

even stones come alive when you close your eyes: absence of pleasure.
puddles quiver.
bring a jacket, we are afraid to be cold.
to look at oneself in the mirror sometimes is to see oneself think: what do you think?
just to say: "i'm happy."

when your hands are cold,
rub them together, it feels good:
there's a lot that feels good.
it's warm: i taste it.
that is yellow.
that is orange.
that is ochre.
what is that?

i'm someone with no
roots, no
story, no
country: i know nothing.

it's funny how things go (       ): and it still is.




may 20 2009
--
my hands seep from the floors
walked upon, alike but alien.
sitting, hands on belly, legs folded
silence is the norm.
the eyes look, gaze, glance,
but what do they look for?
i watch two lovers, bodies nested -
i quietly photograph; flash OFF.
i caught them, everlasting.
stepping from platz to platz
i arrive on new-found ways
for the palms of my feet to grasp
and feel and step and feel
new ground, new place.


may 23 2009
--
light hangs from the edges of your eyes and lips
as your voice grazes the edges
of something deeper than i can understand.
the raw breaths and slight inhales are what i hear,
as the words cling to thoughts for later in the day.
your tongue hits the roof of your mouth,
i notice.
i see the hair that sticks to the outline of your pinks –
i smooth away - don't flinch, i say to myself.


may 20 2009
--
braids of your faded voice
twine through images that
repeat, overlap, over, over
in my mind, inside skull,
underneath what i know,
cognition, recognition,
of something once known so well -
vivid when vacant from touch,
your touch, tactile against skin.
presence, physical conscience,
touch to feeling to thoughts,
all over and over again.


may 24 2009
--
it was snowing down Adalbertstraße -
patches of white puff lay lightly on the root's soil
as an apple rots from the disposable mouth of man.
the whites lay upon each other, softly, effortlessly -
like hand on child, contentment in solace,
still on cobblestone street.
take just the crevice of my hand to the tips of fingers.
walk down Dresden,
make moments of idle as our thoughts
lay upon each other.
white speck, why cling so tightly to tree bark?
come lay in my soft hand and i will let you fly again -
be still, and you will be free once more.




saturday, 09 may 2009 at 00:15 |

8.
"upendo": all lowercase with a period, please.
i sat by my lonesome deciphering the meaning to myself;
realizing: u pen do--
as if speaking to me in a way differing from the other.

we sit thinking in differing languages,
differing meanings to the self,
literally or not, we differ.

tonight we lay:
on the back of your head,
the root of my hand,
we believe in one another--
meanings differ, but feelings alike.


friday, 08 may 2009 at 01:44 |

7.
the bristles on your lips
painted the words in my mouth,
as i sang all day with a tambourine
and only saw the sun when i was with you.
i listened to you sing me silly songs,
i promise i was listening all along--
put a fresh flower between book pages,
and waiting for it to dry.
i'm still waiting for the rain to run out.


thursday, 07 may 2009 at 00:56 |

"skipping through the park" (note: mish inspired title)

6.
prisms on your eyes bring me light,
as i turn and huff another puff to the hums of alice.
silence fills the eyes, as another voice asks a question--
could you hear the sound that spoke to so many?
we all speak in our own way, as you speak to me.
speak to me the words of yourself,
and let me hear the voice in your head;
it speaks to you, it speaks to you.
the thoughts are guiding--
as i hear whispers of intimacy.


wednesday, 06 may 2009 at 01:03 |

5.
radiating through the demurely steady drops of dampening dawn; i see you:
we take turns at the pit-fall of it all,
and turn the same pages at the end of the night.
as we face each other our eyes glide, our pupils focus,
one-on-one, it is just us. feel my skin without touching,
as we walk side by side. it has been dark all day--
face the blank stares of the wall,
all things torn down, except us.

see the stacks around my room?
it took me a lot of time to make them.
my pen ran out of ink today--
oh really? at least it's just us.


monday, 04 may 2009 at 23:58 |

4.
revived like tartare to the tongue;
a tinge to the eye as you make your mark.
reflecting simply yourself in others
when you get nothing in return.
a repulsion to the surface
like a fresh drop budding from torpid puddles--
we meet eye to eye, but in a distant land of rapture;
i meet you, but you miss me in passing;
making your mark on a stranger
to keep tears from laughing.


monday, 04 may 2009 at 01:59 |

3.
she grasped on to the short arm of the clock;
it took her to another time and place,
another place in time, pacing on the minutes that would pass,
moving too fast to catch up with thoughts,
yet, too slow to comprehend, again and again--

alas, in a wonderland; fragrant with spring rain,
dense and filling to the lungs, heavy on the sleeves,
light on the eyes. puddles muddle with splashes beneath bare feet,
though soak with murk water and dry dirt on bare soles--

the day winds to another day's morning, overlapping,
layering of moments to similar time-frames, yet, varying frames of thought.
passing silence in a muted room with only a single body; a self.




sunday, 03 may 2009 at 00:17 |

  2.
let down your guard:
come back to a familiar place,
a familiar taste on the tongue,
a remembering sight to the eyes,
a feeling against warm palms--
soft tips to grasp and twine,
memorable scents under closed lids,
open lungs, whispered speech in dimmed rooms,
reading lips and knowing, understanding, even when dark--
let down, come inside.

friday, 01 may 2009 at 23:12 |

  1.
strumming secrets through melodies
as the chords shift like fingers-tips,
like doting lovers in mid-fuck, like a heart once loved.

the puzzle on my desk is beginning to lose its pieces
from my dampened skin. unknowingly sticking to naked skin
and falling in unfamiliar places; cracks, beneath places, in-betweens.
yet, these pieces will not be missed, i assure you--

let us polish the bed with our bodies
and make believe you are allison wonderland.
down the rabbit hole we shall go like forbidden love--

friday, 01 may 2009 at 13:45 |

30.
dew sits on young grass,
as our finger-tips graze here,
we lay palm to palm.


thursday, 30 april 2009 at 12:03 |

29. heartbeats under the rise and falling of your belly;
hands, warm warm hands--vacant from the twining of mine.
i rest on bed sheets, remembering the body which used to lay.
but dull scents replaced--body anew with soft blue eyes,
which glimpse and glare, and perch on mine.
i draw hearts on new found fingers, pure--
i am growing new roots for this budding;
unknowing to the eyes, but its roots,
it roots are there.
so that one day this bud
will be picked by warm warm hands.


tuesday, 28 april 2009 at 16:58 |

pitched shelters of culture jamming
music carries in the breeze
bare feet walk nude with ease on
spring-born grass. the sun, it pulses
my skin, beats my skin, beats my skin.
light air tickles the fresh leaves,
tickles the breeze.
arched trees bend their joints,
grow freely. how many years? how many rings?
you tell me.
am i naked?
or am i nude?


monday, 27 april 2009 at 18:30 |

meat is so delicious because i say so.
i shot JFK. i did.
allergy medicine really does work for me.
i'll take you home, maybe.

--

[portrait poem]--
crawl through my back alleyways and
you will see children at play;
youth's genius fills streets and homes
of the domesticated mother and father;
suburban walkways house the small minded,
while my row-housed, backstreets, "china-town",
hold our nations true gifts and realities untold.
my darkened and dirty paths are from
years of undocumented strife
but at the end of the day the
children still smile and learn today's realities
down the sullied streets our parents left.



[anti-cliche spring]--
calm air, moves soft
through fresh blooms.
bare feet walk again
coming from cold season.





sunday, 26 april 2009 at 14:04 | 

25.
outside with dickinson and
sweet serenity, and you.
closed eyes, beady sweat drips,
glistens, grasshoppers buzz, whispered words,
mouthed words, eyes perching on each other,
sun keeps us panting. unknowing time, breeze passing,
we lay, we watch, each other.

--

26.
morning sun through white curtains beaming to wake me.
i roll over and graze you, clasping you like a yearning lover,
sly-ing eyes catch mine, we wake with morning comfort.


friday, 24 april 2009 at 20:32 |

23. memory of a defamatory secret beneath thicken skin,
haunts my dreams when the days are too cold.
i walk among others with their own secrets;
some are told, some are not--
we walk hand in hand, knowingly,
and with warm hands we trust one another,
with knowing thoughts we trust each other.
one day at a time we see the truth in ourselves
and learn to trust our own minds and bodies, again--
this day, with what we know is right, we take back the night.

--

24. ruin at day-break, desolation surrounding,
but i can still see the sun.
scattered piece of death, stagnation,
fragments of folly,
but i can still see the sun.
ground shattered, hearts collapsed,
disparity imploded, but i can still see the sun.
ash fallen, sirens calling, muddled yells in the collective scream,
but i can still see the sun.
peril, hopeless frustration, frenzied reflection,
but i can still see the sun. 


wednesday, 22 april 2009 at 09:19 |
21. you are a feeling i could get used to,
peeling open morning eyes to see your face,
making the first early bird movements to then touch your skin,
humming the sweet tones in the clarity of day break,
waking to the slow sighs of your waking,
only to be satisfied with together-ness and
understanding that this moment in time is "good."

--

20. hmm macaroon buffoon:
crazed mind in a buzzling world of an unknown field of knowledge,
i wander aimlessly for a familiar face and find nothing but awkward stares
and undeniable glares. passivity is my language of choice.
i do apologize for being seemingly unfriendly but i failed social studies at a young age.
"N" was equivalent to today's "F." i valiantly fumble as if i'm searching for something i had lost,
while in reality i'm avoiding alienation and feeling like a stranger, a loner, nobody,
a body with no companion, a-lone. i'm sweating under this artificial light in a coat too heavy for this occasion, but too embarrassed to show how under-dressed i actually am.
surprised that through the crowd of conversations i cannot decipher a single familiar voice; not one.
but then it hits me "no one wants to take me home" - as they say. i am alone.
i am beyond alone, lone-some under artificial light, seeing artificial smiles, while drinking decent coffee and eating really good macaroons. hmm, i am a macaroon buffoon.




monday, 20 april 2009 at 23:53 |

four-twenty||
dandelion fairy dazzling fluttering over my fingers
tip-toeing as my mind flows and strangles for imagination,
suffocating in more words than can take, the beats beating
on the background as the flow of the words crave my attention,
all the verbiage overtaken by the bass of the base beat,
my mind is poppin in the rapture of the intertwining rhythms,
repeating chants like that of a church choir, temples throbbing
for more as i sway, and sway, and beat-bump, yearning for a top,
catching a rift and flowing on the rocking of the music, riding, bop-bop-
bop beat it up like a drummer, feeling the heat around my fingertips,
the bob of my head, intensifying my senses, rambling in the relaxation,
controlling thoughts in palms, tripping over the overlapping voices,
confusion of color schemes, melting into one flat plain of grassland hills,
water-filled pails and sand-weighted guilt, probably turns into sorry,
throat vapor huffs and puffs from another heated word that heaves passed,
purple tree tops pictured as artificial art, vanilla wafer smoke puffs in the near future,
fire tipped and it's a go, inhales enshrined with pride, swallowed like a chaser,
yellow flag waving in a distance for remembrance in an untitled book cover,
broken fragments of identity placed on desk-tops and left as a far away memory,
clutching on to the past hoping for the best of it all to come back again,
coins stacked on like pillars of a past collected on dimes and nickel heads,
make sure you keep your change, pills popped on the daily,
multivitamins are a health-care hoax, don't believe me i'm making shit up at this point,
paper clipped imaginations lay flat on the desk and are lifted once again as the dust drips off,
light up a match and watch it flicker and burn, and ash,
cork yanking apparatuses remind me of better times laying shiny and still,
stagnant, stop, now slowly move and pick it up a little at a time,
slow-motional, 1-2-3-4, mixing it up until its unbearably genius,
smashing the grunge until it's high art, fading the old until it's new,
unfounded rapture in the novel and fascination in the other side of the picket-fence.




sunday, 19 april 2009 at 23:15 |

next time you buy something..
--
symbolic branding, soul-sucking, materialism,
clutter fucking, room clogging, suffocation,
claustrophobic calamity, artificial flavoring,
made in china, imported, sweetened, concentrated,
plastic, shit-piling, boxed-up, packaged, sodium preserved,
save-for-later, bottled-up, diluted, bar-coded,
mass-produced, consumer expected, customer satisfaction-ed,
imperialist fashioned, capitalist arranged, youth deranged,
paper or plastic, no thank you, man-made,
mindless society -- oh yea, that's me.







saturday, 18 april 2009 at 22:22 | 

  untitled
--
us, pixelated;
nudity in stagnation.
love, beauty and us.



friday, 17 april 2009 at 21:52 |

beauty contest showdown
--
ripping to shreds one's integrity
just to define one's beauty.
ironic that society supports such ideals.
life in favor of the aesthetically gifted?
vanity always gets the best of you.
re-check your self-respect and strip
down your make-up and find your being.
self-consciousness gets the best of us--


thursday, 16 april 2009 at 22:11 |
remember & contemplate
--
my friend lost a friend
two years ago on this very day.
for her, every year is another year to remember,
to cope, to grow. to witness this growth,
to witness humanity's good in each other,
to witness humility, to witness growth in my friend--
gives me hope.



men making noise during sex = an awkward thought.

--
who would have thought that killing bill would be such a task?
black and white wedding scene, this is not a racial commentary;
cinematography strictly. sign of good faith?
drives me crazy you wont tell me something meaningless.
guitar reminiscing as i see a face of my past sitting beside me.
the intensity of the background fades away as i know you recognize me.
what are you doing here? playing my flute and looking at the bride.
are you going to be nice? i'll do my best this week.
sweet flat desolate grounds flow with the winds
as i look down at my naked feet; wiggle your big toe.
what do you do? i work in a record store.
do you like it? yea, i like it a lot smart ass.
i get to listen to music all day. it's pretty cool.
i had the ugliest dream about you--


wednesday, 15 april 2009 at 22:17 |

untitled
--
vanity of desire is a downfall;
vanity itself is a downfall;
desire of vanity is a downfall.
forget the persuasion and listen one more time
to that voice that said to you:
"you don't have to be this."
make believe in your mind that
what happens, happens with will and faith,
but know your limits. limits of reality
and truth and yourself. limits and boundaries
of the possible and the do-able and the conceivable
and opportunities that you must pick and choose
and choose not to pick and know everything
you want to pick may not be there for you to choose.
replay on the down-play and fall on top as
you overlap your faults and flaws,
but remind yourself you too are human,
humane, and comprehend humility.
question: what is your downfall?


prodigy, was
--
i was supposed to be a prodigy--
my eyes were youthful and yearning,
but my dreams are being forgotten too quickly;
though this fire is still burning.

my eyes were youthful and yearning.
i fell in love. it was lusty and empty;
though this fire is still burning
i want more and i need more to this story.

i fell in love. it was lusty and empty.
my happiness was lonely and fleeting.
i want more and i need more to this story.
what happened to my happy ending?

my happiness was lonely and fleeting,
feeling young again seems to be just a memory.
what happened to my happy ending?
i was supposed to be a prodigy--


tuesday, 14 april 2009 at 16:28 |

stranger than usual
--
flip your imagination and re-imagine one last chance,
a time where things were A.O.K. and nothing else mattered,
when you didn't worry about self-flattery or self-doubt,
when your mind was a little stronger than before, you think--
you thought--but in the end it comes down to you, and fate,
and all the things in between. sometimes you have to let go,
let go of the strangle and struggle, and find a little more of yourself
through the unknown and doubt. it all seems too plain and black & white,
but when the complicated gets too complicated you have to weigh your options,
your opinions, your optimism, your doubt. undress the bullshit,
reveal the truth one day at a time. a little more to yourself
and a little more to me. sincerely, me.


monday, 13 april 2009 at 16:45 | 

prose-ish poetry; more like thoughts--

12. i was driving through the roads of rural virginia and realized that i was driving through the shadows of tree tops. i dont get to do that in new jersey; at least in new brunswick. the sad thing is one tree i drove past probably wont be there 10 years from now, along with the three acres surrounding. one day a million dollar suburban housing development will sit atop that tree and its remains long gone; it makes me sad. sad that these days people want more and more and less it too little.

13. un-equivocal reminisces of un-finished thoughts ramble reluctantly through mumbles of muttered speech as i gather these eclectic shambles of fragmented phrases that peer through the window of fleeting ruminations. contemplations that are less than transient, yet plague the mindset of a foggy-bottomed imaginary reality that we drift through co-dependently and un-knowingly. let the phantom look through the static plastered television terminal waiting for the flighty persona to defend itself from the chaos of the suburban population that manufactures identical ideological cookie sheets filled with what they call personality and individual character. oh don't flatter yourself suburbia because the homogeneous melting-pot you produce creates nothing but self-flattery and immutable self-consciousness - so leave while you can before you turn to stone you poor soul. what you may think is a utopian-like society filled with uncorrupted hope and opportunity is simply a demise of an un-pronounced greed that yearns for your self-loathing mind that inevitably turns you into a lazy work habit promising more vacation time after a timely enslavement. why do i insist to stay here? possibly to find the derridian identity in myself to see what i am not, to see what i do not want to be. failed endeavors of the boy's belief in happiness in 'the giving tree' proves to me what those ideal notions of isolated freedom, nuclear family structures and monetary success are simply dull and futile.

saturday, 11 april 2009 at 13:30 |

10. drip-drop as my blinds unfold
gazing at the muddled air
staring at the colour in your eyes
peering through the breaking morning.
wrap my arms and fold my fingers
as they intertwine for moral support.
cling to the slowness of time
and defining clarity in the surrounding silence.
--
11. fumbling textual messages through the winding desolation of tree top streets
waking the sense with another flustered response, wishing for more, wanting for more--
mind strong and needy, but breathe me. chimes to another time i felt more alive
in my mind, more awake in the heart and spirit. music radiating through memories
of times remember and savored, lost in paper, while attempting to re-define again,
and again, and again. 

thursday, 09 april 2009 at 13:40 | 

chagrin
--
internal divide like "parted lips",
banging with bruised hips,
corner trips another break in the wall,
heavy heaves underneath the cover,
drip-drop down the spine,
rewind for that special time,
memory clogs for that yearning,
flip and turning, waist deep in aroma,
sweet sensual aroma, forbidden fermentation, then--
stagnantation of this erotication.

wednesday, 08 april 2009 at 20:28 |

feeling polluted, convoluted,
alienation to one's place, one's home,
a homeland lost, outside of the fence,
less than human, human-less, eradicated
while barricaded, incarcerated, invaded,
alien to a nation, put aside, made to hide,
hide truth of identity, scream profanity,
lost language, internal damage, forgotten past,
guilt too vast, crowd pleaser, ego feeder,
false familiarity, lost clarity, soul impairity,
complete disparity, lack equality,
lamenting latency, fear publicity--
of truth and reality.

tuesday, 07 april 2009 at 13:27 |

eyes closed, lines criss-crossing,
overlapping, tree sapping through time,
amber making over time, wind chime,
nature calls, tree falls in desolation,
quiet awakening at tree tops, tree flops,
another take down, lost life, deep roots,
still life, struggle and strife, time lagging,
tree dragging, chain saw noise, man-made,
cutting life, see and saw, playground balance,
see-saw playground, as children sit on fallen tree tops.
--
reiteration of alliteration, chain-gang consonants,
disconnected with blank spaces, stoic faces,
un-emotional words of bore and snore,
fake empathy, attempting sympathy,
failing miserably, speak hypocrisy,
staple permanency, speak with urgency,
blank blue lines, red divide,
hole punching hysteria, lost area,
punctual periods, chaotic commas,
psychedelic semicolons, pathetic pauses,
unrelated clauses, parental possessives,
grammar messes, poetry undresses,
making muses--eccerta, eccerta.

monday, 06 april 2009 at 10:24 |

[AM]
fever dance to another beat dropped
as shots popped from the room next door--
shut your eyes and ears, innocence is bliss.
hope for another chance and one last kiss.
hold that bliss for one last kiss,
as the innocence is shot from the room next door.

[PM]
i refuse to be your muse
for another day to amuse.
lets rewind one more time
to play on yesterday's sympathy.
these issues whispered through the pews
that are ushering heroic values--
i refuse to be amused.
help me count the number of lies you heard today,
and reassure me that humanity is good.
too many people "act" too good,
but too many people "are" too bad.
reassure me that humanity is good,
and lies are not too bad.

sunday, 05 april 2009 at 23:58 |

breathe me from inside out,
hold me from inside out.
exchanging of heat
from inside out.
--
don't fluster my insides with your smiles;
it makes me fall. don't fumble with my words;
it's making me fall harder. stop it with those
grins, those sly sly grins--
i want to unravel,
come undone and
force restoration of the being i should be.
pit; bottomless, endless, dark pit i should fall
down, deep, deeper into this feared space
of an unknown place in thy self.
hard, harsh reality of it all
that i should call on another's help
to break this hard harsh fall of reality.



saturday, 04 april 2009 at 20:30 | 

hand on warm belly;
heart-beat raises finger tips;
breath slow and steady.



friday, 03 april 2009 at 21:39 |

untitled
by christine tran
--
implosion of internal emotions
being bottled up and broken
as they shatter into speckled pieces
on the naked floor below me--
with the water flowing from inside
that once was held by a promising shelter
but without fail it breaks;
it is broken. the last of its kind,
it is broken. its pieces will be found
by another in time.
mended back into one piece in time.
folded and molded to a thing once found
to be new and held anew.
but now, the water will idle
and flow without boundaries.
will you help pick up the broken pieces?
or will you watch the water swell?



thursday, 02 april 2009 at 16:44 |

untitled
by christine tran
--
please don't break me down anymore
little by little it's getting hard to endure
oh please don't break me down anymore
this struggle is getting harder to endure.

i'm singing in the backdrop, some melodies
of times that remind me of you and me
i'm singing melodies in the backdrop
of times when it was just you and me--

last evening, oh just last evening
i took a walk by my lonesome
oh just last evening, last evening
my lonesome took a walk.


wednesday, 01 april 2009 at 23:29 |

untitled
by christine tran
--
you misconception of me is too plain to see
stereotype my dark complexion and thin eyes
then you realize i do not speak science and math
but utter words of stanzas and syllable counts.

cluttered memories crumple on my desk
as i rustle through my identity and stress.
fold my eyelids under yet another day
as i try to reminisce of things i wished to say.
wishes and wants haunt this inkling of time
that ticks-and-tocks under the sidewalk flock.
the steps trip over each other as my mind flutters
through another invisible page of thought
that i forgot to put down on paper and ink
but the second hand on the clock is moving too fast
and i cant find my last thought after another blink.

while all this runs through my mind
i hear the tv in the background reinforcing labels
through the cables to the screen, while i want to scream
another truth about the reality of it all.
stop perpetuating all this shit to the youth of our nation
and loosen these screws that hold
these materialistic mentalities.



columbus day
by christine tran
--
question history and all the textbooks you read
im sick of all this exploitation and greed
and this need to perpetuate elitist appeals
from those who can afford to publish ideals.
its ironic we celebrate a "no school" holiday
for one who started the American slave era.
you ask who?
christopher columbus who sailed the ocean blue.
probably didn't know that did you..
its ok, i too was tricked by these textbooks
conditioning readers to accept social hierarchy,
colonialism and racism.
besides, the text is everything, the reader nothing.
"textbook history" always has something to disguise,
so do me a favor and question the other side.
give a voice to those who died on boats for gold
or children who were bought and sold.
next time you read a history textbook
remember the hero always has something to hide.
the tale of christopher columbus should be written as:
"once upon a genocide."