JKH Poetry

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	Julie's Word Gallery
By Hands of Time		Cold on My Heart
Say Nothing		Under the Cover of the Night
Swirling in the Eddies		Greek Week Ball
The Canvas		Wednesday in Boston
Words		Mr. Tree's Light
Underwater		Who will walk me home in the rain?
Nirvana Not

By Hands of Time
t 02/13/96, w 10/30

Living, walking art,
by the hands of Time.
Time needs us.
For what else
but human experience
differentiates
one moment
from another?

Unshaped plaster, white paper, and canvas --
How long have I kept them,
Hoping to keep them forever pure?
Someday I would take them out and
Do something --
Think of the possibilities then!

One day I did take one out.
Marked it.
Did the whiteness scream
or was it me?
The violation reached into fibers and gouged out a pocket of white.
Stop! It's still spreading.
I stared for a long time,
Feeling that I should apologize ---
But whom to?

Now I stand surrounded by mistakes old and new ---
But just as many successes.
The hardest part is still
taking out the paper and picking up the brush.
But brushes are my friends,
and paper is expendable.
With paint, I draw the curtains of blankness.
Show you what lies underneath.

Some things I will never be ---
With every stroke, Time
erases paths that might have been.
But every stroke also paints ---
paints joy into my consciousness.

Swirling in the Eddies
t 02/20/96

What is Need?
A mere psychological condition.
What is love?
I though I'd feel it always.
But at times it fades.

What is caring?
You said you did.
But never wrote.

Friends ---
I looked around
And expected to see
No other way
That I could be.
But each one I met
I met by chance,
By fate:

At the airport.
Running away...
I don't remember.

Yet somehow I am here,
Swirling in the eddies ---
The Estuary
Between the River Yesterday
And the Sea of Days to Come.

The Canvas
t 02/27/96

A blank slate.

A splatter of mud
A drip of red
A dab of green
A splash of yellow.

A splatter of laughter
A drip of vision
A wash of despair
An ooze of rage.

Stand back.
Squint.
Is it right? ...
Not quite
What I had in mind.
I close my eyes.

Look again.

Where's the picture?

In my head.

I raise my brush.
Drip.
Should I?
What if it doesn't turn out?
There are no spare canvasses
In this game.

And the canvas stares back,
Blank,
Except for the shadow
Of my hand.

Words
f 7/19/96

Words.
A wonderful system by which
We record knowledge.
But they cannot convey
That which is not based on experience;
To the unprepared mind with no filter in the brain,
Words go in one eye
And out the other.

Underwater
w 9/25/96

enveloped by fluidity
lifted by gentleness
the water held me
somewhere between oblivion
and clairvoyance

the water and I reach out
thru space
and time
to surround all
that is mine.

Nirvana Not
r 9/26/96

i have reached a state
of nothingness.
no sorrow. no want.
no need. no yearning.
as tho i've lived thru eons
of dusks and dawns...
nothing will surprise
or delight
me again.
if this be Nirvana,
then I want it not.
if only i could feel...
again.

Say Nothing
r 9/26/96, passing Baker

i want to do nothing.
i want to say nothing.
i want to sing nothing.
just let the peace say to me...
the world can wait
for i am sure---
that the watchful zephyrs
will keep it,
safely suspended in
the stillness of the night.

Cold on My Heart
r 9/26/96

a little cube of vacuum
sits on my heart.
it is cold
and will not be filled.
but as i carry this lack-there-of,
it becomes ever a part of me,
forever a mistletoe
over my heart.

Under the Cover of the Night
u 9/28/96

I look through the taxi window,
past the orangy-lit tree tops above Com Ave,
to the turquoise of the Hancock Tower against the pale violet sky.
Alone in a way, you and I.

Under the cover of the night, I put the thought of day away.
The night is alone.
The night is sacred.
Party. Music. Dance.

Always the same under the cover of the night.
Only in the anonymity of noise
Only there and then can we be alone.
Only there and then can our thoughts be as one.
Only there and then can we pretend.
Only there and then can I forget
That in the light of day I mean nothing to you.

Greek Week Ball
u 9/28/96

I see the Pru through the door.
Singles and couples come.
"Good evening."
"Hello...
Tickets?"
Windy night!
"No, I'm fine."
"I'm manning the ticket booth."
Short black dresses.
Suits and ties.
Jeweled green dresses.
Long red one.
Smile to the freshmen.
Smile to the girls.
Smile to the guys.
Those who remember me.
Those who don't.
Smile to the guards on duty.
Dance at the table.
"Okay. Just don't tell anyone."
"Bathroom's downstairs."
"Ni mn shie dzai dzaw Kresge ma?"
"Ready? One... two... three."
"You're welcome. Good night!"
... You can dance.
For inspiration...
The door is closed.
... Maria says she's dying.

Wednesday in Boston
w 9/30/96

The battle honks of Boston cars
at the junction of Com Av and Mass Av---
The ringing cut short,
gone with the sounding of the next beep.
So falls the SALE sign at Newbury's corner.

Mr. Tree's Light
u 10/05/96, on the way to Andover

Five lemon-yellow, heart-shaped leaves,
rimmed in red,
Shine out
among their green counter-parts in the dimming light---
Five teeth of the widening smile
Of Mr. Tree
at the prospect of autumn.

Who will walk me home in the rain?
m 10/14/96

I try to find a world without you.
I look into new faces, but
there is no one here that can make me care;
no one I care to smile for.
Who will take my hand...
Who will hold me close?
Who can do all that you did and then the things you didn't?
Who will walk me home in the rain?