~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
Goddess
The first blade of grass, my tiny toes touched, made me aware of you.
The first gentle breeze, which tousled my hair, showed me your grace.
The first ray of yellow, which kissed my rosy cheek warm, nurtured me.
The first drops of water, which bathed my skin, made me in awe of you.
Were you my Mother?
To me you sang, pure harmonies from tree tops and ocean depths.
To me you nourished, bone and flesh with the fruits of your vines and trees.
To me you scented, air with sweet aromas of sacred jasmine and lavender.
To me you dressed, autumn ambers, winter whites, spring greens and summer golds.
I knew you were my Mother.
As I grew you called me more and more away into you.
As I grew you showed me ones that walk different than I do.
As I grew you taught me your order, your patience, your heart.
As I grew you encouraged me to trust my heart to your love.
I know you are my Mother.
Your fire warms the bones, it also has the power to destroy forests.
Your water quenches thirst, it also has the power to destroy civilizations.
Your wind carries seed, it also has the power to destroy mountains.
Your earth allows human, it also has the power to destroy all humanity.
You Are: Earth
Water Fire Air
You are: Goddess
My Mother.
Written with all my Love
In Honor of Her,
~Joee Paz
August 15, 2010
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.
