Visual Music(k)al

my visual diary - all original photography by moi

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God, the way he- 

licks his fingertips before turning a silky page 

of his anatomy textbook, one arm cocked 

behind his head, triceps pulling 

sheer cotton t-shirt taut 

bed-head, untamed, perfectly frames 

hungry eyes memorizing every word. 

To be that textbook- 

pulled onto his lap and 

opened, please study my aching anthology 

read the braille of my goosebumps 

and highlight with kisses your favorite passages. 

They’ll be an oral exam so lose yourself in your research 

master my subject, fill my margins with love notes 

stay up all night if you have to, just 

know me.

- Study Date, poem by me -

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today, you make me feel like a ghost 

tomorrow, make me feel like a queen 

maybe I’m both 

maybe you’re Henry and I 

dead queen Catherine. 

all of us, eight sisters in the grave 

maybe history got it wrong 

it wasn’t murder, but suicide 

maybe you treat someone like a ghost 

and that’s what they become.

 - poem by me -

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Buddha, Buddha

by the road

your heart is granite

your forehead gold

yet you weep, face forlorn

who is it for, that you mourn?

Buddha, Buddha

by the road

I see now- you cry for me

and every passerby you meet

for we don’t know the solace of stone

you want for not, crave no unknown.

Buddha, Buddha

by the road

I could give up food, give up drink

give up everything and the kitchen sink

but I will suffer on, never free  

because my heart’s not mine, it belongs to he

worth your tears and mine as well

are the moments by him that I am held.

- poem by me- 

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how lucky you are

whether you see it or not

never the same

never forgot

-poem by me-

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When you feign lion

And call me prey, why won’t you

Dare come out and play?

-haiku by me-

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One crow for sorrow,

Two crow for joy,

Three crow for a girl,

Four crow for a boy,

Five crow for silver,

Six crow for gold,

Seven crow for a secret,

Never to be told.

Eight crow for a wish,

Nine crow for a kiss,

Ten crow for a bird,

You must not miss.

- old nursery rhyme -

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Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty- the unhidden heart- The playful maziness of art In old Alberto’s daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks- Which glistens then, and trembles- Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles; For in his heart, as in thy stream, Her image deeply lies- His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes.

-“To the River” by Edgar Allan Poe

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you’re me and I, blue

am I mother or stranger

numbly cradling you?

-Postpartum Depression, haiku by me-

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Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

- “The Tyger” by William Blake 

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we treasure cherry blossoms

not despite their fragility

but because of it

- haiku I wrote - 

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“That's the best thing about little sisters: They spend so much time wishing they were elder sisters that in the end they're far wiser than the elder ones could ever be.”

- “A Girl Like You” by  Gemma Burgess - 

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I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox

and which you were probably saving for breakfast

Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

- “This Is Just To Say” by William Carlos Williams 

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The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James, Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey-- All of them sensible everyday names. There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames: Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter-- But all of them sensible everyday names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum- Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over, And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover-- But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. When you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

- “The Naming of Cats” by T.S. Eliot 

(p.s. Her name is Butter)

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

- “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost - 

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Honne 本音 & Tatemae  建前 : the contrast between a person’s true feelings and desires, often kept hidden to oneself, and the behavior  and opinions displayed in public to satisfy society’s demands.