Chasing Visions

Life is a rehearsal

Life is a rehearsal.
The future is a puzzle.
The present is a maze.
Once the world was simple,
Now it is upside down.
Nothing like it was before.
Truly, I don't understand it anymore.
I am written history.
Stripped of all hiding behind.
Back and forth my pen is weaving,
Erasing the past, rewriting the present.
I am planning to drape the world in newly- minted shreds.
It is all a stricken landscape.
The world cannot be rebuilt. So we create a replica.
With our bloody hands we create an inauthentic world
Pieced together from the shards of a vanished,
Once human civilization.
We glue it together and standing back by the flickering fire,
We embrace.
Remember history as if you lived it yourself.
I am rewriting the past.
With bloody hands I paint a line, a border.

I am choosing my own colors, creating a rainbow.

I am split, I cradle one culture, I am sandwiched between two.

No trail, no footprint, no map, no way home,
No place to set my feet.

Where do I go? History.
I am lost. No excuse, no comfort in the present

If I don't recognize the shards of a broken world,
The humanity.

I do have bloody hands. They don't wash off.

They are stained from the red paint
I drew a border across my identity.

Tolerance, tell me about it.
I am rewriting history right now.

I am rehearsing. The future is a crazy place.
See you all there!

Infinity Interrupted

Blood shooting through the veins

Dormant nerves awake
Warm tingles of a heart

A line moving up

Strangers holding their breath

Infinity interrupted

Not staying what they came here for

Between too early and too late

Lies a moment

A hand on your sleeve can pull you over

Somebody is turning around.

Six Degrees of Separation

A child's hand
In a grief-stricken land
Six degrees of separation
A line dividing a nation
Up and down and around
Beyond the punch lines,
Four letter words
Screaming exclamation marks,
And half asleep sharks.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

In Vertical Transit

“Sixth floor”, I said, dodging the closing elevator door.

“Are you sure?” asked the aging woman operator.

Many folks get off on the wrong floor,

Missing their one chance in life.

People come, people go, some on improbable errands,

Others just for the ride, I guess.

Yesterday a laughing couple got out at five,

The marriage license desk.

Later they rode down arguing.

I let off a pair of punks at nine last week,

Green and blue hair sticking out,

Leather clothes, chains-a-clunking.

Haven’t seen them since.

Did they slip by?

A woman with seven children went up this morning.

They’ve been coming down one by one
Every hour on the hour.

Once a distraught fellow said he wanted

To jump from the top.

I let him off the third floor
Instead of the twelfth.

I spend eight hours a day in vertical transit.

“Well, here you are,” she said. “Ground floor.”

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Ein Gast überall und nirgendwo

Here he goes again,
A thousand miles
Remembering him now
As I did then
A thousand miles.
Lost to nowhere,
A guest everywhere.
Footsteps descending creaking stairs,
Living life between two chairs.
Little does he know
Little does he expect
A long way gone from perfect,
Watching the past go up in smoke.
Feeling hot, feeling cold
Like a flower on a stone:
Ein Gast überall und nirgendwo.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Walking With A Stranger

On the road of life, every once in awhile
You meet a stranger who asks to walk with you.
He doesn’t want to know where you have been,
What you do or where you are going;
He doesn’t want directions,
A commitment or a place to stay.
Go on, you are in for maybe
The best conversation of your life.

© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.

Diagonals in Squares

Diagonals in squares,

A life between chairs

The mind’s eye buried deep

Nothing is certain but the unforeseen

Thinking as intermediate state between

All the flora and fauna there are in the world,

And every kind of artifact too

Eikasia, pistis, dianoia, nous –

As being is to becoming

So intellect stands to belief

Knowledge adds confidence

And thought to conjecture

A divided line

Nor scale nor progression

There may be coherence

But comprehension -
Out of the question.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Karma

Tonight on my drive home, a radio moderator explained the concept of "ghosting" and then proceeded to tell her listeners what to do, if they have been ghosted:

"(1) Delete everything you have of the person (pictures, texts, emails) until you have nothing to remind you; (2) Stand up for yourself and tell the person what you think, even if they never respond; (3) Be thankful, you would have never wanted this person in your life anyway."

That's it. Her words were followed by some non-descriptive song, another, then another. I stayed with the station, hoping to catch that mysterious woman giving therapeutic advice on the air, surely there would be a talk of some sort on the phenomena of ghosting? Nothing. Apparently deleting or unfriending a person takes care of your ghosts.

Coincidentally, Professor Robinson, a renowned mediator with the Pepperdine Straus Institute of Dispute Resolution, gave a thought-provoking lecture on "apologizing" today. Specifically, he introduced the following hypothesis, using the scenario of a car accident as an example: What if you rear-ended another car, got out, and apologized to the driver? Now, the law student in us silently screamed: "No, no way! That is admitting liability." However, over the next hour, Professor Dr. Robinson led us into a dazzling world of apology, forgiveness and reconciliation. Can we not ever just apologize, he asks. Do we really have to enter that vicious cycle of denial, guilt, pretending, and going forward without ever seeking closure or reconciliation? Can we not as lawyers and as decent human beings step up, admit mistakes, admit weaknesses and face consequences? Are consequences really bad?

He provides another example of a child who threw a rock into a neighbor's window and tells his papa: "No one saw it. No one will ever know." He takes one long glance: "As parents, what do you tell your child? Do you tell him, 'oh, okay we shall lie low then, no one will ever find out'. Or do you teach your son about responsibility and facing consequences? Why?" "Because I need to preserve my integrity as a parent," a student answers. Integrity. A guide post in our journey to accept responsibility and to grow up. Professor Robinson tells us that he got a call from a former student recently. He had made a stupid mistake years ago, and now believed his life was crumbling into one messy pile before him. Professor Robinson reminded him that we all are vulnerable in some form or another, and advised him to reach out to people and tell them the truth. As it turned out, the consequences were nowhere near the total apocalypse the former student had envisioned. Professor Robinson's lesson to us today: "Be the person you want to live with. Face consequences. Do apologize, do admit your flaws and weaknesses, do express your feelings. Be human."

I think about that moderator who suggested fixing the ghosts in our lives by forgetting them. I wonder what experiences she went through that made her abstract a person to a mere thought that can be expunged. Grieving can be a long and arduous process, and we suffer through all the phases of it. Yes, it is painful to have a ghost living in your heart, and not really knowing why, but there are many reasons why people ghost and without knowing more, no one should ever advise anyone to delete a person from their lives.

"How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours." - Wayne Dyer

Rome wasn't built in a day

Swimming the flood, wading through snow

Transparent to another dimension

Easing a tension

Before something else explodes.

Echoing note from a harmonious whole

Flash of a touch, whirlwind in a sigh

Fire climbing up invisible stairs

Life in one bounteous answer:

Rome wasn't built in a day.

Dream of a Child

There is a child,
Who goes forth every day
Discovering life in her own way.
The horizon's edge,
Every cubic inch of space,
She dreams in her dream
The dreams of other dreamers.
Choosing a smile
For all that remains
Unexplained.
Innocent and yet so wild
The simple dream of child.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Between Jest and Gravity

Beyond the fading moonlight
Creatures of the night
Life on standby
Honking guy
Flipping the bird
This is the start of something good
Open trenches
Zombie game of Stenches
Occupied benches
A lesson unlearned
A life turned
Between jest and gravity.

© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.

And I shall never be the president of Funafuti...

I always prepare for my meetings with Jack. When I ring his doorbell, I am armed and well rehearsed with new life wisdoms. The circumstances force me to. Jack is unlike any guy you know or will ever meet. He is single, and he turned 25, 30, 35, living from one moment to the next.

Every year, just before the Jewish New Year, Jack discards the recent year. He gives away books, which he is not going to read - too much time has passed and he hasn’t read them. He tries to recall the pictures that he didn’t take and to remember the letters that he didn’t write. And after some hours of reflection, he departs from the documentation of lived life. He says, separation makes him free. After all, all that remains of life is a memory, which is not dependent on things.

I tread carefully: “What about your resolutions, Jack?”, as he opens the second bottle of red wine. His eyes sparkle, and he smiles. Jack has never given up his resolutions. This is as certain as the fact that I will never become president of Funafuti. “They aren’t worth anything,” he says. “Every feeling has been felt. Every thought thought of. You do it yourself. Fill it with purpose and meaning.”

I try again: “Why start over every year, Jack? If you didn’t have a calendar, you wouldn’t even get the idea…"
He interrupts me: “Let's not have this discussion. Have some wine. I want to spare you the bataillone of New Year aphorisms. Seriously, I am armed. You don’t stand a chance.”

Well, for what it is worth, Jack and I have been friends for decades and I know we will remain friends, until life itself discards us to a memory past.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Tears of a Clown

Questions with no answers forgotten

Problems unresolved left alone

Fresh things gone rotten.
Unwritten lines replaced with time

Memories of color

Turning to black and white.

Oblivious care,
There's nothing there,

Departed to somewhere

Grey shaded mare

The absurd of unsaid words

More silver than gold

Hidden secrets,

A confession untold.

Grip of steel, lifesaving tip
Achilles' heel, a lost trip

Faith gone to Hades.

Smudged wedding gown,

Another back and forth,
From north back down

Turned around
And met the tears of a clown.

That darn Cat

They come in all colors and shapes.

But the cat knows the flakes.

Every morning I hide vitamin C

Every evening I see

The darn cat knows its food too well.

The crazy thing will only drink

Water from the sink.

We go round after round.

I want the cat on the ground

It found a way around

Don't touch the glass table,

Go back to your cradle.

Paw after paw

Waiting until it gets dark.

Making its mark.

It flies from the cupboard,

Dangles from the curtain cord,

Claws its paws

On the refrigerator.

It knows how to open the door,

The butter lands on the floor.

The cat is an excellent skater.

But the smell will be greater.

You want to be home sooner than later.

The jam is for the ham.

Don't let the cat find it.
Heaven forbid!

The teaser opens the freezer.

I am so going to scream

When it eats my ice cream.

The stupid thing sticks its paw into the jar

And paints the wet bar.

I curse when it goes after my purse.

But then it crawls on its belly towards me

And meows its apology.

Odyssey

Racing in circles

Against the clocks of time.

The arrows move fast

And we won't last.

How stupid it seems -

Dancing on beams

Try as we may

We don't have a say

Our hair will still turn gray

Night becomes day

500 years of Sistine

An everlasting scene

Perfection of a moment grand

Captured by human hand.

Inside your Mind

What would I find

If I could tour your mind?

Take a ride

Across points and lines

Colors and signs -

Explore the depths

Of what happened before?

What if I saw more?

Stranded ashore,

A locked door

Hidden from view,

Something large asleep.

Ghost of the Night

Haunting, taunting your mind.

If I could I would

Pick a fight.

I wouldn't make a sound,
But stand my ground.
And I won't back down.
I know what I need to beat
The heat inside your mind.

Snow Falling on Cedars

So many choices, so many chattering voices,
Keeping our eyes on the door

Wanting something more evermore.

Some of us wander all their lives

Some of us simply do not have the time

To wonder about how now why when

Too much keeping them occupied.

Driving through hot places,

Dealing with white spaces

Stacking trophies on book cases

Land of a thousand dead faces

Looking for a connection

Amidst the extra ordinary selection,

Longing for the extraordinary complexion

Going through reflection,

Objection and rejection,

Building up high walls for protection.

Stuck at intersection.

Green light, red light, warning sign

I wish I knew what's on your mind.

What would we find

If the snow fell on cedars tonight?

Red Light World

We live in a red light world

With nothing but our soul.

The kiss of a stranger,

Feeling the touch of danger.

Someone behind the locked door,

We don't know who they are anymore.

Hits or misses,

A thousand kisses.

A woman's hand,

High in demand

In this strange, strange land.

Disconnection under soiled sheets,

Moving to electronic beats

Show me your sale pitch.

Lets talk about the hard sell.

Man, it's all shot to hell.

An exchange of intimacy,

The brush of anonymity.

No impenitency

In this city.

We live in a red light world

With nothing but our soul.

So Much for a Book

A phone call
That was all
It took
So much for a book.
Many choices
But they are all the same.
Gluttony,
Lots of puppetry.
Losing her balance,Her grace,
For he hit her in the face:
"You are so easy to replace."
They are all watching,
It is all so entertaining, so eye-catching.
Losing her touch
She knows
She cares too much.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Camouflage

Paper thin,
Bristling raw.
Someone is waiting off the shore
Faded colors of something else
Hiding it so well.
A blurry exit sign.
It is getting dark outside.
She looks away,
Another mask falls.
It was just another day,
Tomorrow has already begun.
The only way out is in.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Socrates' Cup

Socrates' cup
Or a Colt
If she chooses to be bold.
The reflection of a possibility
She doesn't recognize.
Alea iaca est.
House of cards,
A scream buried inside.
Resilient to what's next.
Cut to the bone,
But still on hold.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Candyland

I walked a minute in her shoes
But they would have never fit
For I will never take the cues
And choose to live in a zoo.

More a question than a curse
I rather be a comma than a full stop
How could it get any worse?
Living in candyland is easy
If you are a lollipop.

She can't walk
He calls for a taxi
To take them from sixth to eighth
Money talks.
More wine someone, anyone?

The whole world is going insane
When you are a candy cane.
Plastic surgery, white teeth
More bust than butt
When is enough enough?

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.

Cliffhanger Ending

He hangs his little dream on a coat hanger

Slides it between hope and faith.

It turned into a clanger.

An occupying wraith.

He sorts through the others:

Nothing seemed to fit now

Who was he anyhow?

A guy fell from the sky

Faster than the speed of sound

Between hope and faith
Something changed.