Sunlight tapping on moving cars,
Neon lights circulating in black bars.
Dazzling skyscrapers lit from within,
Words poured into a glass of gin.
Dreams and nightmares,
Truths and dares.
Broken hearts, broken minds,
Overnight successes of all kinds.
Chinese characters, a Kanji letter,
Translations lost for the better.
Pasta and poultry,
Chili and cheese,
Fish for me please.
What else is good?
A town shaped by
The make and say of Hollywood.
Generations of strong, creative forces
But too few resources.
Life in constant traffic,
Hoping, waiting for something big.
Far beyond confines of two-dimensions,
And lost centers of attention,
Headlines and cultural tensions,
Strange lessons in propinquity,
The ethic essence of a divided city.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Equidistant
He was looking at something
That which, by all rights, should not exist.
Everything he thought he knew about her
Turned out to be
Nothing more than memories.
She was no longer here,
That much was certain.
She was, in fact, not here.
The man cleared his throat, then fell silent.
This was a definitive silence, one to judge
The qualities of other silences by.
To find himself equidistant between two points
Gave him the funniest feeling.
She had decided to forget everything.
She had already lost what she was supposed to lose.
There was no other reasonable explanation possible
From such unreasonable circumstances.
He decided that a long time ago.
His fate was, and always will be, that of a dreamer.
© Colleen Yorke.
That which, by all rights, should not exist.
Everything he thought he knew about her
Turned out to be
Nothing more than memories.
She was no longer here,
That much was certain.
She was, in fact, not here.
The man cleared his throat, then fell silent.
This was a definitive silence, one to judge
The qualities of other silences by.
To find himself equidistant between two points
Gave him the funniest feeling.
She had decided to forget everything.
She had already lost what she was supposed to lose.
There was no other reasonable explanation possible
From such unreasonable circumstances.
He decided that a long time ago.
His fate was, and always will be, that of a dreamer.
© Colleen Yorke.
Serendipity
Strange serendipity
Melody of an echo close,
Just when a moment froze
Thought encounter unexpected,
But standing corrected.
Out of odds, no explanation
For this strange vibration
Of gravity's causation.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Out of odds in this city
Shaded colors of daylight
Stepping into the night
Sphere of life
In continuous strife
Light synthesis
With no clear dividing line
Or memesis.
Bold branches, strong roots
Silent sounds of walking boots
Thinking outside the box,
Fleeting sight of love on the rocks Melody of an echo close,
Just when a moment froze
Thought encounter unexpected,
But standing corrected.
Out of odds, no explanation
For this strange vibration
Of gravity's causation.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
A Little Bit of Everything
Between expression and illusion
Reality of error and light of fusion
Touched by the phantom of truth
Vintage fountain of youth
Headlines of the hour
Buildings of power
Tangled trees
In the chilly evening breeze
Skaters with red cheeks
Poetry on the ground
Diverse street sounds
De todo un poco
A little bit of everything
A seat on the side
Of a circus ring
No apparent reason
But in due season
Swift and startling conversion
Colorful immersion
And personal association
With a particular occasion
A quick peek, hide and seek -
A mother sneaking up on her child.
Two delighted squeals,
Little sneakers with blinking heels,
Chasing across Pershing Square
Remembering a moment so rare.
In the center of the park,
Captured like a punctuation mark
It suddenly dawned on me,
This was the place to be.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Reality of error and light of fusion
Touched by the phantom of truth
Vintage fountain of youth
Headlines of the hour
Buildings of power
Tangled trees
In the chilly evening breeze
Skaters with red cheeks
Poetry on the ground
Diverse street sounds
De todo un poco
A little bit of everything
A seat on the side
Of a circus ring
No apparent reason
But in due season
Swift and startling conversion
Colorful immersion
And personal association
With a particular occasion
A quick peek, hide and seek -
A mother sneaking up on her child.
Two delighted squeals,
Little sneakers with blinking heels,
Chasing across Pershing Square
Remembering a moment so rare.
In the center of the park,
Captured like a punctuation mark
It suddenly dawned on me,
This was the place to be.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Always Running Against the Wind
Far across the cornfields I go
Little twigs nipping under my feet
While my heart is at home
Underneath a road so steep
Surrounded by fog's mask
But up to the task.
Can't remember when it was dark
When the sun came up
A folded pocket somewhere
Holding your stories close
Ghosts they reappear
In mountains stacked with fear
Said I could not get anywhere
Though far away
We are still the same
Beyond the blind jungle
Signature of a rainbow
My heart is at home.
© All rights reserved. Colleen Yorke.
Little twigs nipping under my feet
While my heart is at home
Underneath a road so steep
Surrounded by fog's mask
But up to the task.
Can't remember when it was dark
When the sun came up
A folded pocket somewhere
Holding your stories close
Ghosts they reappear
In mountains stacked with fear
Said I could not get anywhere
Though far away
We are still the same
Beyond the blind jungle
Signature of a rainbow
My heart is at home.
© All rights reserved. Colleen Yorke.
Origami Memories
Please excuse the mess
The children are shaping memories
Using paint, crayons, clay to express
What only they know best.
Scraps and crumbs land on the floor
Something I once wore.
We all have been here before.
Looking at the rest of a dress
Knowing you didn't expect any less
The children are shaping memories
Using paint, crayons, clay to express
What only they know best.
Scraps and crumbs land on the floor
Something I once wore.
We all have been here before.
Looking at the rest of a dress
Knowing you didn't expect any less
Collecting little pieces
nonetheless.
Memories come in all shapes and
sizes
And stories colored with new
surprises
Wide-eyed wonder and adventure
An old memory and a new venture.
© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.
Lines in the Wind
How do we get from A to B
Can not be up to me.
In the storm,
Beneath the stars,
High waves on a lake,
High waves on a lake,
Here we are ...
Lives in the wind
Caught up in a breeze.
If this is a dream,
Could somebody wake me up please?
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Could somebody wake me up please?
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Tints of Vanilla and Rose
Chocolate on my hands
Tints of vanilla and rose
Flour on my clothes
Exotic notes
Taking me to foreign lands.
Grandma is looking over my shoulders
She would have laughed aloud
But I know she would have been proud.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Tints of vanilla and rose
Flour on my clothes
Exotic notes
Taking me to foreign lands.
Grandma is looking over my shoulders
She would have laughed aloud
But I know she would have been proud.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Stroke by Stroke
Homage to a friend and a teacher:
Dots of red corn roses
Sketching happiness in doses
Wonders of life under your spell
You taught us well
Dots of red corn roses
Sketching happiness in doses
Wonders of life under your spell
You taught us well
The stories you fed
The strangers you met
The face they couldn’t forget
Words and wordsThe face they couldn’t forget
Line after line
Stroke by stroke
You took note
To speak what no one hears
To write what no one reads,
To retouch a life seized
In black and white
To recolor
Piece by piece.
You played your part
In a lifetime captured by art.
You played your part
In a lifetime captured by art.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Prism of Light
Colors of the night parted
Prisms of light
Not for the faint-hearted
Reflecting the dispersion of an affair
Saying that now you are not as you were
The frontiers are not north or south, east or west
A nervous matter at best.
The renewal of broken relations
Lock safe with a million combinations
A thousand scientific equations
Undiffused, separate and rigidly alone
House of one room, piled up stone
The corner of creation
Shines through a temperament
Framed for another time
The sentiment is evident
Given the image of what is actually seen
Forgetting everything that has been
And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is to blame.
The answer remains the same.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Prisms of light
Not for the faint-hearted
Reflecting the dispersion of an affair
Saying that now you are not as you were
The frontiers are not north or south, east or west
A nervous matter at best.
The renewal of broken relations
Lock safe with a million combinations
A thousand scientific equations
Undiffused, separate and rigidly alone
House of one room, piled up stone
The corner of creation
Shines through a temperament
Framed for another time
The sentiment is evident
Given the image of what is actually seen
Forgetting everything that has been
And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is to blame.
The answer remains the same.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Sticky Truth
The ecstasy of hallucination,
Patience of an eternity
Hanging onto
The frown of a clown.
Breathing in a moment
Without a sound.
A brief high
Sugary trip along some brim
Until gravity kicks in.
Et tu, Brutus?
Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.
Dancing along a balancing beam
Towards the horizon's gleam.
© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.
Patience of an eternity
Hanging onto
The frown of a clown.
Breathing in a moment
Without a sound.
A brief high
Sugary trip along some brim
Until gravity kicks in.
Et tu, Brutus?
Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.
Dancing along a balancing beam
Towards the horizon's gleam.
© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.
What the Fish Taught
A spider web
Sticky threads,
Absurd at best.
Cut through the haze,
Long past the daze,
Not much left of the maze.
A dragon to replace
The torn space.
Smile of a bird.
This isn't a first.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
On the Outside Looking In
Images on a screen
Traveling a time machine.
Picturing him in between
Hearing his heart beats
And his silent screams.
He left his door wide open,
Point of no return,
He tells her she doesn't understand,
But she could learn.
In a corner, trying not to blink,
On the outside looking in.
Traveling a time machine.
Picturing him in between
Hearing his heart beats
And his silent screams.
He left his door wide open,
Point of no return,
He tells her she doesn't understand,
But she could learn.
In a corner, trying not to blink,
On the outside looking in.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Hidden Forces
The wind sings a song
Of man's passions and desires.
The starry skies keep quiet
Of man's dreams.
And every snow flake
reminiscent of a tear not shed.
The total silence
We surrender to only rarely
It is filled with unsaid words,
not shown gestures,
Denied propositions of love,
Unspoken curiosities.
In secret kept, in silence sealed
Lies our truth hidden:
Yours and mine.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Of man's passions and desires.
The starry skies keep quiet
Of man's dreams.
And every snow flake
reminiscent of a tear not shed.
The total silence
We surrender to only rarely
It is filled with unsaid words,
not shown gestures,
Denied propositions of love,
Unspoken curiosities.
In secret kept, in silence sealed
Lies our truth hidden:
Yours and mine.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Ghosting
It seems to be a curse of our
generation. Surely, emails and text messaging have contributed to
it. We make friends, we become intimate with someone, and then we stop
talking. The urban dictionary provides a word for that: "ghosting."
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
"Ghosting" is when our
partner ends the relationship by cutting off all communication, without
explanations nor forewarning. Every attempt to connect gets the ultimate
silent treatment. Someone we laughed with, cried with, hugged and tasted
the world with suddenly disappears without a trace. We dive into our
deepest insecurities for answers, not quite believing what is happening -
wasn't he or she the one? - and we resort to inner conversations with
ourselves, trying to rationalize our feelings. And then there is that
faint beacon of hope that we will see them again, that it is all a short-lived,
bad dream, and we look to the door, waiting for the person to walk in, because in the end love conquers all.
There are psychological reasons why
someone ghosts; at its core, ghosting in its essence is avoidance – wanting to
avoid confrontation, difficult conversations, or hurting someone's feelings.
However, this choice is probably the worst outcome a ghost could hope for – for
one, too often emotions, frustrations, misunderstandings are blown up disproportionately.
Stepping back a second and putting ourselves into our partner's shoes place
things in perspective. Instead, the ghost clings onto an one-sided
view of things, overthinks something said in
the heat of human dimensions – and easily fixed in a face-to-face
conversation. An insurmountable mountain of "problems" ensues,
and the ghost vanishes. Unsettled feelings remain, often for years to
come. Maybe we move on with our lives, and find someone else to fill up
the void, but at what price?
People are not mirror images of each
other nor should they be.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Snapshot below the bridge
The old man, wearing a hooded jacket which covered up half of his face, tattered along, heavily relying on his crutches underneath the dark bridge just below the freeway.
I sat in my car waiting for the red light to change, my heart aching with every step the poor soul took. As I looked on, I fought with my inner spirit to just pull over and offer the old man a lift. God knows I would have, had I not known the risk of a single white woman in Los Angeles stopping in the middle of the night to let a strange man, whose face she couldn't see, into her car to be greater.
As the light turned green, I looked back over my shoulder one more time, wondering, if I was doing the right thing and feeling pretty certain I wasn't.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
I sat in my car waiting for the red light to change, my heart aching with every step the poor soul took. As I looked on, I fought with my inner spirit to just pull over and offer the old man a lift. God knows I would have, had I not known the risk of a single white woman in Los Angeles stopping in the middle of the night to let a strange man, whose face she couldn't see, into her car to be greater.
As the light turned green, I looked back over my shoulder one more time, wondering, if I was doing the right thing and feeling pretty certain I wasn't.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Suitcase Heart
I carry my heart in a little suitcase
Through time, through space
Through mad banners of wind
Holding the secrets of a dear friend.
I carry my heart in a little suitcase
Walking through empty streets and
Through rain
Through rain
I am soaked from love and pain.
Hearing the crumbled pieces of my own.
Hearing the crumbled pieces of my own.
My cover is blown.
Planting the roots on the shore,
Knowing I have been here before.
Passed the street of your heart,
Closed gate and a security guard.
Stood there for a minute or two,
Watched your dark window.
And heard the accord of a piano.
Then the cops came around too.
I am too early or too late.
I wrap pieces in a little suitcase,
Keeping a steady pace.
Balancing on my toes,
Tip point of the world,
Basking in the moonlight.
Tonight I am traveling light.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
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.
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.
No place to set my feet.
Where do I go? History.
I am lost. No excuse, no comfort in the present
I am lost. No excuse, no comfort in the present
If I don't recognize the shards of a broken world,
The humanity.
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.
I drew a border across my identity.
Tolerance, tell me about it.
I am rewriting history right now.
I am rewriting history right now.
I am rehearsing. The future is a crazy place.
See you all there!
See you all there!
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
Infinity Interrupted
Blood shooting through the veins
Dormant nerves awake
Warm tingles of a heart
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.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
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 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.
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.
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.
© 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.
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.
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.
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
"How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours." - Wayne Dyer
Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved. 2020.
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.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.
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.
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.
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All names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this blog are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. © All rights reserved.