A beautiful blossom on my flowering plum tree.








 ~You      Open~


I opened you up 
to cause you to look 
into the deeper part of you 
and everything inside of you 
came falling out onto the floor.

Look at it.
Do not be afraid.
Look at what you are now 
so that you can know what you can be.  

Examine the pieces 
as if they are rune stones.
Each stone representing 
something incredibly unique in you.

Lift them up.
Look deeply into their luster.
Know them intimately 
so that you can know the depths of you.

I opened you up 
and you looked into 
the mess lying on the floor.
It frightened you to look 
at some of the bloody inners 
lying on the hard cold floor.  

Take back only what you need.
Leave the rest there on the floor. 
It no longer serves you.

Let it stay there.
Create space . . .
to allow new experiences 
to enter you and keep you 
open.

-Joee
April 16, 2009



















     To dance

When the poet writes
    maidens gather
       wanting 
             wishing
                 that his words
                           belong to them.
 
   It is a ritual 
         of hope
              a dance
                       the poet embraces
                                               alone.
                  			



-Joee
3/05/07 


















-one

hushed sound
white blanket
snow floats



-two

little face
hides behind
sticky hands
fingers part
i see you




-three

her lite eyes
could not hide
the anger
of a soul





-four

mother's wings
glued tight
daughter
set
free




-five

words without character
lined in a row
wanting a heart beat
to allow them to grow




-six


red lacquer thumb nail
slips slightly under
thin black strap



-seven

i stopped
looking
made myself
forget



-words by joee
december 2006














     Lovesick


Fingertips      
               outlining

Silhouette     
               warming

Center 
               urging

Desperation   
                claiming

Savior           
               tormenting

Jasmine         
               soaking

Sunrise          
               entering

Rapture         
               braiding


        Being 



-joee
december 2006






















"Affecting"
 
  
he 
      touched

the dark hand's print
that was painted 
onto her soul . . .

a shadow place
      far away 
             neverland
   awakens.

She remembers
                       pain.

   vicious wounds
        protected
  become uncovered
                 through doors 
        long 
              closed


            ugly marks
                  worn in secret
    that by no means 
               would ever
       be permanently erased

        he carelessly hurts. 

 the stigma is only
      an occasional
        annoying fog to her
           until someone
                 touches.

she is no longer
    defined 
         by it.

still . . . 

a 
tear 
falls.

-joee
Jan 29, 2007


















A Gemini Dream


by Joee


I follow a scarlet horse with a gold-feathered plume into an open door of an enormous brick 
building.  Doctors and nurses rush along cement hallways, charts clutched to their breasts.  The
 small and scared bed restricted patients nervously sit as they wait for their prognoses.  Even with
 all of the commotion, the cracking of wood as a roller coaster soars over head startles me
.  I realize that this is not just a hospital, but also an amusement park. 


To my left I see two girls eating cotton candy, giggling and pulling their mother's hand.  To my
 right, is a crumbled man, whose bedside monitor spells out the last moments of his life.  A clown
 honking a horn toward a child then handing him a yellow balloon at the carnival to my left mutes
his wheeze.  The world of the laughing blends into the world of the suffering and in the middle I
 am overwhelmed by the contradiction.  


A doctor pushes me out of his path as he enters a patient's room, and to avoid being in the way 
any further, I sit on a bench next to a young girl.  She is singing a song about butterflies and how
 she wishes we all had wings.  I turn to a woman that I assume to be her mother.  


I ask her, Why are you all so happy when you are witnessing so much suffering just a few feet
 away from you? 


She continues to laugh as though my question is of little significance.
 
 
At a distant picnic table an older woman captures me with her eyes.  A young girl near her seems
 memorized by the ground, instead of her frilly anklets and patent leather shoes.  The two females
 feel ancient, powerful, but also alluring as I am drawn to sit next to them.  There is a
 pleasantness about them, but not an overwhelming giddiness and it calms me.  I repeat my
 question.  The little girl momentarily looks to me and then averts her eyes.


She tells me, Our joy helps those who suffer.  It is like ying yang.  Our positive energy heals
 those who suffer.


The old woman, taking my hand, tells me, She thinks that you can see.


See what?


The little girl sneezed as a response.  Her sneeze is like a vapor mist that clings in the air.


Did you see the images? The little girl asks.


I dont know. 


If you were a seer, you would know.  The young girl turns away from me, but she sneezes
 again.


I force myself to focus on the pockets of moisture that make up the mist.  They swerve together
 in chaotic waves, but the stronger their vibrations, the clearer the images.  The mist transforms
 into a fountain of butterflies, then each butterfly intensifies into a light.  But I only see the
luminous image momentarily and while I know it is the most beautiful image I will ever know, it
 is gone before I can commit it to memory.  


Seeing and then not seeing leaves me feeling hollow, until I hear the laughter of the carnival 
around me.  Its beauty is the voice to the image I saw.  The little girl and the woman are gone, 
 but somewhere in this coexistence of suffering and joy I know everything is okay, or at least it 
will be soon. 





Love, 

Joee

June 2007