Girl Sailor

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of the open sea;
to be a girl sailor & explore the vast blue, guided only by her dreams
& Polaris. Each person she grew close to on land knew of her hearts desire,
& in knowing such deep-rooted dreams, each took a piece of her heart to be kept close to their own
(in the case that she would one day sail away). For she had a big heart and always offered her love, to those in need of love.

A day did come when the people closest to the girl, each with a piece of her heart, had changed drastically- into unrecognizable souls... the changes in each had been subtle, but added up to grand differences from their original form & nature. Taking notice, after trying to convince herself that, somehow, they were still the same people she had so selflessly shared her open heart with; she could no longer deny that they were transformed.
Upon this acknowledgment, she wept. She wept, filled with sorry & pain that her love could not suffice their insatiable hunger for contentment. She wept for nights on end & soon her tears had accumulated to form a salt-water estuary.

From this estuary, she was swept away- floating among the heron & the dolphins & all aquatic beings she once so longed to join. They welcomed her. From this estuary, she was carried past towering reeds & cattails lining its banks, so beautifully swaying to her sobs. The reached out to her as the current of her tears delivered her towards the sea. They offered their long, strong, stick-like bodies as a vessel for her in safe passage over the ocean she approached.Crafting a hand-made boat, she cut her hair which grew to the ground. Using her body-length locks as a sail, she embraced her life-long dream to travel the great endless sapphire of the world's waters.

Years passed as the girl grew to a woman, learning much from her venture; not only about the world & humanity & life, but herself as well... As these years passed, the people on shore who still kept pieces of the grown girls' heart discovered that they felt incomplete at her absence. They thought that without her presence, the pieces of her heart were not strong enough to sustain them with the memories of her love. So they individually bottled these pieces up & heavily tossed them into the sea, consumed with despair for ever taking her love for granted. Over these years, a lone fisherman began to intermittently reel in bottles with his catchings in his handmade nets... Bright, clear, gleaming bottles tinted with olive greens, midnight blues, & some you could see right through. Puzzled, he collected them hoping they would one day be complete & obvious, able to answer some age old question he held in his own chest.

One day, a tumultuous squall whipped the waters of the world into a storm of legendary proportions...

The grown girl held fast to her vessel & stared Poseidon square in his eyes. The lone fisherman, however; was dislodged from his boat, cast into the hungry waves. He undoubtedly thought he'd began his end... the blackness of unconsciousness engulfed him as his lungs could only breathe in water. He awoke the next day to sounds of scavenging gulls, hovering overhead looking to make breakfast out of anything that didn't survive the storm. The sun greeted his face & warmed his eyes open, which was when they met her. Her face, bright; cheeks red from the prior days wind-whipping, strands of long brown hair pasted to it in the most artistically strategic places... & that smile. Oh, if the sun didn't warm him, her smile surely did. Even under soggy blue turtlenecks & sopping yellow hats, they could tell right off- their souls were kindred. Servants to the great open blue, both of water & the map above that held the compass of the stars.

But as he recalled the previous nights trial, he at once was overcome with sorrow at the knowledge that his own vessel had sunk... along with it, all the puzzle pieces of hearts he'd been trying to solve. After explaining this to the grown girl, who had been listening all the while with perplexity on her face; she smiled that warm smile once again & did something the fisherman could not have expected in his most outrageous thoughts... She offered him a piece of her heart to help rebuild his collection. It was the last remaining piece, for as far as she knew, the rest were still among those she once loved on land. And then the fisherman, mouth agape, eyes wide as a blue whale's tale, understood. He was certain, he felt it in every fiber within (which were all regaining more feeling with each dot he mentally connected). He knew he had met the final piece of the puzzle, & instead of taking her heart, he offered half of his own.

It is said they still sail the seas, high & low, together... their hearts beat, together, as the tides change & the moon turns to sun, turns to moon. For if you follow your dreams, they lead you to your truth.

Sometimes we give little pieces of ourselves away. But never are we any more empty for it; just more able to house the love & care of someone who'll give back to us.

c.marie

what going deaf sounds like

that high-pitched pop that echos when a T.V. turns off.
that muffled fuzz that dilutes dialogue in a long distance call.
that "woh-woh" sound that comes from any adult in Peanuts.
that vice-like pressure on the sides of my head during altitude ascent.
that continuous ring of an unanswered phone that goes to voicemail.
that split second when i think i hear my name called by a familiar voice

that is not really here.

that laughter inside my head to old jokes no longer shared.
that ocean-mute when cupped hands are held to ears.
that tock of a ticking clock in the dead of night.
that trapped-in-a-box sound when a conversation is held in-

that trachea is talking,
but that mouth doesn't open.

that hum from a kazoo.

that fluid in my ears,

that drains to my nose,

that drips down the back of my throat,

that causes me to spit up phlegm when i'm sick.

sick of the silence.

c.marie

"And It Stoned Me"

for when things get to a point where the echo of a message reverberates throughout your entire body. when the force of moment or lesson or epiphany or memory hits you so invisibly hard.... for when it stones you to your soul.

my mom used to blast this from the stereo when i was a youngster... but still, in my undeniable youth, i felt that i understood what it meant (except for the jelly roll part, which i now know is in reference to an old motown singer from back in the day). every time my mom had some van morrison bumpin', i knew it was "feeling" time. i would sit back & listen & watch & f-e-e-l (except when it came to 'gloria' & 'brown eyed girl'- yes, these were always songs to shake it to & sing at the top of our lungs).

i've been missin' my ma terribly, lately. i've also been experiencing some surprising personal revelations... for these reasons, van morrison has been gracing my speakers intermittently the past few nights. let's just say, "i'm feelin' it."

The Fire in Frost

A man named Frost wrote mostly of winters.
His words oft caused thoughts
to stick like splinters;
under tips of tapping fingers
that linger,
on wooden desktops.
Peel away the veneer.
Discover what lies under the surface,
dear.
Freshly infected questions
burn with curiosity
from within;
the desire for answers sears
just beneath the skin.
Let the heat from these tiny fires
radiate,
satiate the mental appetite.
Fight the sloth named
"I don't care",
cross boundaries.
Fortune & knowledge favor those
bold enough to dare.

So dare to dream,
for in the realm of possibilities,
nothing is as it seems.

c.marie

In the Rubble

These shy walls keep secrets
spoken to them in the dead of night.
These shy walls have seen
the front-lines of fights.
These shy walls receive the brunt
of verbal force.
But these walls are not too shy
to deny remorse.

These shy walls are
too timid to talk back.
They're not well enough acquainted
to recognize what lacks.
These shy walls are fortified
in silence.
But these walls are not too shy
to learn self-reliance.

The walls next door
are not shy at all.
The walls next door
cause shy walls to fall.
So all the walls around
fell down; they did so
with resolute sound.
Revel in the rubble,
in awe of open space.
Revel in the moment of feeling found
in the sun rays that warm a shielded place.

c.marie

Sparks

I think shadows are attracted to light.
I think there's a battle only shadows
want to fight;
to engulf all in darkness & keep
truth out of sight.
But I think
I know
the might of a single street lamp...
I see it shine
through my balcony at night,
it burns away
the questions & doubt
that darkness may entice.

I think a flickering candle however,
draws questions like moths
to its flame.
Tiny little ponderings of
life's little aims.
Is it possible we're never meant to
return from whence we originally came?
Even if humanity is completely predestined,
one can't help but wonder all the same.

Sarah Connor believed
"There's no fate but what we make."
Well I hate to break it to you baby
but ours are not the only actions
to equate...
There are innumerable other
factors of give-&-take.
We work for what we get;
do the best with what we've got,
and from that
we are able to create.

c.marie

Rachael Cantu "Make A Name for Me and You" with Camila Grey

"Hard Lovin' Woman"

Well I'm learnin' to be myself again
and I'm learnin' where to find my voice
when I'm done listenin'. It's liberating
to finally have the choice, again.

But I'm thinkin' maybe it's too soon
for me to be whistlin' that happy tune;
the one that's sung by lovers
under a full moon.

Oh raw Juliette, beset them with a song
they won't forget.
Help them remember it won't be long,
til I am ready for my duet.

c.marie

Sticky with the Sixties

Today, I followed my feet- as if they were a needle to my hearts compass; guided by unseen magnetism, toward one of my life-long dreams. I followed my nose- as if it were the snout of a bloodhound; trailing the scent of soul food. I followed my ears- they heeded the call of a soundtrack [posted at the bottom] of different tracks listened to throughout the afternoon that exemplified my mood. The below is a recounting of the sequence of beautiful events that ensued:

I woke up naturally around 9:27a.m. I opened my eyes to the bright glow of immaculately clear blue sky, highlighted by a vibrant sun shine; both were mellowed through my maroon curtains. Feeling unusually rested, & immediately restless, I moved about my room a bit... knowing not what my feet had planned for me, but understanding that they were acting of their own accord. First to the shower in an attempt to face the day as blank photo-paper; cleanse myself to make space available for the imprint of today to seep into my skin- develop me. Turn on iTunes: blaring "L.E.S. Artistes" by Santogold, my hands effortlessly picked the apparently predestined clothes for this day from my closet. Gray tank w/ teal peace sign, cut-off corduroy shorts (which frays tickle my knees in the wind), blue vans authentic's. Hmm... I want coffee.

Turn right on California St. in downtown Ventura. There's a public Polynesian festival radiating ukulele strums from Crown Plaza by the pier... good thing I brought my longboard, Zephyr (named for what I feel while gliding around on it: a slight breeze...& yes, my blog URL was named after my longboard... which was named after a breeze). Park Duke (my car, which was named for a famous founding father of surfing... also, a chain of tropical restaurants) in the structure, thus allowing Zephyr as my primary transportation. First, to Chill... Brianna makes me my standard white mocha & tells me they're looking for help (see you in the morning!)... Zephyr skates me down to the Polynesian fest... enjoy some music, dancing, & the rest of my coffee on the strip overlooking the pier.

Time to glide up Main St. where consumers are actively sustaining downtown businesses. There's a Hippie (whether he was homeless I knew not) sitting on the cool concrete of an abandoned entrance to a vacant shop window. He is weaving macrame; hemp bracelets. A small, old looking green ceramic bowl sis next to his hankerchief of a table-cloth on which his handful of creations are displayed... I dig into my pocket, stuck to my leg after a steadily pedaling uphill; I empty all my change into his bowl with a nod & "S'all I got, brother." He smiles in humble appreciation.

Then, my feet led me into the CSU Channel Islands art gallery on Main; for the first time, despite having the desire to explore it for months. [ "The Minnow & the Trout" is playing by A Fine Frenzy upon entering]. Spending more than 30min inside has left me in awe of the displays accumulated, from present students & some alumni; praising works that have oozed inspiration into me. [ During my perusing, I unconsciously hummed along to "The Scientist" by Coldplay, & "Better" by Regina Spektor] I have a lovely chat with the recent graduate girl, Bethany, at the front counter. We talked about A Fine Frenzy & art & the idea of taking my kids on a field trip there. Thank you! Nice to meet you, see you soon. I step outside, reach into the newspaper dispenser & retract an issue of the V[entura]C[ounty] Reporter: John Lennon coolly gazes out from its cover... Happy Birthday, John. Now I sense the invisible force guiding my body is the same essence of the man who stares up at me from the paper.

The urge to play in Santa Monica perfectly overcomes me & I make my way back to Duke. We blasted No Doubt's album "Tragic Kingdom" to initiate take-off... Perfect. PCH is beautiful. There's no traffic & the Pacific is so blue! Halfway there, cd switch - Nelly Furtado's "Folklore". YES... Perfection again. Oh look... Paradise Cove, so conveniently on my way to SM, invited me with a call I answered in search of where the song "Droplets" by Jason Reeves & Colbie Caillat was written/ recorded. That was a fun pit stop :)

Santa Monica is packed. It takes 20min to slowly proceed 4 blocks downtown through the 3rd St. Prominade foot traffic to the parking structure. It's an easy feat with the likes of The Who & Ted Nugent gracing my speakers. Stretching upon shutting the door & securely throwing my backpack over my shoulders, I spritely took the stairs to ground level, & reveled in the sound of Zephyr's wheels hittin' the pavement. Carefully weaving in & out of pedestrians along the sidewalk for a few blocks, I finally reached my starting point (in a sense). One of my favorite vistas in memory:

I carve the pavement in wide slalom-like motions given the wide berth of the path. Even around the frequent pedestrians, there is enough room for long pedaling strides. I stick to the sidewalk of Ocean Ave. for about 1 mile until I reach a parking lot I recognize from my childhood- one of which I can distinctly describe the memory of toting boogie boards & towels to the sand with my aunt & sister, though I can't exactly recall my age: a group of guys were on rollerblades playing street hockey in a somewhat vacant area of the parking lot. I wanted to play so badly to play (it must have been around the same time as "The Mighty Ducks" movie based on the hockey team). But as we neared the bike path I gawked at the traffic of skateboarders, rollerbladers, & cyclists alike, with whom I so desperately wished to join; all streamlining up & down this glorious path which parallels the great, blue, Pacific.

Smiling with nostalgia, I step back on my board & zoom down the driveway's hill, waving to the lot attendant/ toll guard as I roll onto the smooth concrete of the path that curves along the beach... It was at this moment exactly- simultaneous with my first giant pedaling stride in the south bound lane- that the realization of a life-long dream had just occurred. I was now among the streamliner's I had dreamed of joining 15-or-so years ago. I embarked on my sidewalk surf-session with no need for headphones. I was enjoying the music of the world, the many sounds carried by the sea breeze: laughter, street performers, battery-operated boom-boxes, bicycle bells, seagulls, intermittent beach restaurant patio chatter, the light crunch of sand under my left shoe with each push for inertia. All of these sounds came together in a symphony of public collaboration to the drum of the faint crashing tide some yards away. I couldn't stop smiling: at people, at life, at the sky & the trees & the curb-squatters & the lot-rats of the parking spaces, at children (not in a creepy way... but more in that won't-you-let-me-share-my-exuberant-happiness-with-you sense).

Following the lovely path with the beach on my right & the pleasant knolls of comfortable looking well-kept grass separating me from the Venice boardwalk of legitimate business vendors & street peddlers on my left, I took notice of a girl. I recognized her face, not as someone I know, but more with regard to her expression & following movements: with large, but fitting, sunglasses & little more than a picnic-checkerboard bandana for a top paired with her brown gaucho pants & golden brown skin... she lifted each eyebrow as she slightly peeked from left to right, checking her surroundings atop her red blanket (strategically placed on a down-slope of the lawn). She peacefully raised both her hands to her mouth as if in prayer, cupping something small that made a clicking noise. All of this in a span of 7 seconds as I rode past her releasing an approving, "Yeeeeah, girl." that was only audible to her. Looking up, she exhaled with a funny sputtered laugh & quickly called after me as I rolled by, "Want some!?". I raised my arm, thumb up, u-turned my board 10 yards away, & skated back to introduce myself to Jennifer. "Nice to meet you! Glad you stopped.. Hey man, gotta share!" With her stoner laugh through a dolphin smile of perfect teeth, she handed me her pipe. It smelled rich & fresh; I thanked her after my hit, relinquishing her piece. "Nah, girl, you can have another. It's so beautiful today, I can't help but spread the love... That'll have you feelin' good!" We parted, both thanking each other for sharing such a lovely moment with equal understanding.

Now, seemingly floating about 50 yards along the path, my ears perked up with excitement as I looked out across the sand to witness a medium sized circle of people. They had gathered in kindred spirits playing drums of all sorts (accented by a harmonica or trumpet here or there) with a central dancing man- he looked of Mayan or some ancient Latin heritage. The man was glowing with the warmth of the sun as sweat covered him while he danced; non-stop with vigor, pounding his feet, waving his arms, & simultaneously shoveling sand out his dancing pit with his toes. Amazing.

After my brief enjoyment at the drum circle, I continued my skate journey. After a few minutes, I recognized I had entered Muscle Beach (a famously historic location in Venice, Ca). I skated through the basketball courts where several pick-up games were in session, past the boxers using the punching bags & pull-up bars, zig-zagging through the far walkway that led back to the bike patch after observing all the athletics. I greeted a homeless squatter burning incense under a blanket while following the maze with an, "Evenin'!". His reply was, "hey, wha'ss happ'nin, slim!" in a voice reminiscent of an smokey jazz lounge skeet guy. Awesome.

I turned around after the next parking lot, beginning my 4 mile trek back to West Santa Monica. This time I traveled along the Venice boardwalk, weaving again through pedestrians (offering skate-by-high-fives to those I could feel would reciprocate) & street performers & vendors haggling sunglasses or t-shirts, (& in some cases "medical marijuana") as residents in their studios above the street businesses looked down. They watched at what I can only imagine to be a daily environment in amusement. Being too crowded for my desired cruising speed, I jetted across an open quad area back to my previous path, this time heading north. As it was now close to 5pm, the wide path was nigh empty but a few cyclist's far between... giving me room to really sidewalk-surf-slalom around the white dashes dividing the lanes as I was dropped almost knees to my board, leaning slightly for my quick in-&-out motions (this earned a few impressed hollers from surfers packing up their trucks in the adjacent lots... which, truth be told, I thoroughly enjoyed).

Back up on the 3rd St. Prominade, I was direly parched with an inescapable craving for lemonade. I sauntered up the walk & waited in line at an outdoor cafe. In my peripheral, I noticed an amazonian-height black girl with a deliberately messy fro; strategically placed fluffs & bangs & tufts stuck out through a presently-fashionable thin indie headband... She was being followed by a camera man, though I did not distinguish whether he was filming or taking photographs; I kept trying to remove myself from any shots of which I was clearly in due to the angles he was planting his self in... But alas, he re-aligned his angle to include me in the background (it felt more like I was the intended back drop). Another customer asked her why she was being photographed & apparently she is a musician with a website whence she posts various daily activities. Maybe I'll check back to see if I'm in any photos... can't help it :
http://margoworld.com/welcome.cfm

By the time I reached my my car, I was slimy with sweat & sticky with the sixties-esque air I had been sailing through all day. It didn't take me long to be free of Santa Monica traffic calmly enjoying the sunset along the Pacific Coast Highway. Even still, it felt like my smile would be permanently affixed to my face as I headed home to Ventura toward the setting sun.

 

SOUNTRACK to SATURDAY:
1) l.e.s. artistes - santogold
2) paper bag - fiona apple
3) the minnow & the trout - a fine frenzy
4) the scientist - coldplay
4.5) better - regina spektor
5) different people - no doubt
6) sunday morning - no doubt
7) powerless - nelly furtado
8) com uma forca - nelly furtado
9) picture perfect -nelly furtado
10) santa monica - everclear
11) baba o'riley - the who
12) stranglehold - ted nugent
13) it's dare - the gorillaz
14) bigger than the sound - yeah yeah yeah's
15) two tickets to paradise - eddie money
16) gimme some truth - john lennon

c.marie

"Painters" by Jewel

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago.
When she used to color carelessly painted his portrait
A thousand times-or maybe just his smile-
And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go
'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall
He put water-colored roses in her hair
He said, "Love, I love you, I want to give you mountains, the sunshine,
the sunset too
I want to give you everything as beautiful as you are to me
'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.
So they sat down and made a drawing of their love, an art to live by
They painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful child
in the winter they were weavers of warmth,
in summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow
'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running
through the orchard screaming,
'No God, don't take him from me!,'
But buy the time she got there, she feared he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, 'Damn you man, don't leave me
with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
to remind me!

He said, 'Love I leave, but only a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real.'
So many seasons came and many seasons went
and many times she saw her loves face watering the flowers,
talking tot he trees and singing to his children
And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
and how he seamed to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her
when she was crying
'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover
how he left her and of times long ago, when she used to color carelessly,
Painted his portrait a thousand times, or maybe just his smile,
and she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas still follow
Because they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world

By the Faint Shine of Garden Lights

Feathers rained down,
falling like a soft, warm snow
tickling you into happy sneezes;
leaving you breathless with giddy.
And I will breathe you in.

We have dimmed the lamps,
with sheer, maroon scarves,
& midnight blue curtains.
We have left the bright lights off,
only to watch our desire
dance by the faint glow
of hanging garden bulbs;
miniature orbs, dressed in tissue paper
with beautifully modest marks
painted on.

I see you. Luckily,
I see all of you; through these frames
that are too over sized for my face.
Every dip,
every curve,
every line,
every inch of you
shyly boasts beauty
under this mild
flattering light.

You feel like cashmere,
head to toe-
inviting,
warm,
soft,
precious.
I feel like a Christmas gift,
the way you look at me;
unwrap me with careful haste,
for my heart beats inside.

c.marie

Picture a Picture

Flashbulb sparks fly,

with the blink of an eye,

mental memories capture still frames of life;

blinking orbs float in the after-ether

as mental polaroids develop,

your smile envelopes me.

c.marie

frozen

i can't sit in silence the way i used to.

not without you.

thoughts of you hang in suspended animation,

bits of mist

in a fog so thick, every breath aids the corrosion

of my heart.

plunge through the icy surface 

of your memory

submersed & stabbed by the ghosts

of your fingertips.

it used to be a pleasant silence...

one that wasn't so silent.

we were quiet & smiling,

on my front porch facing the field;

& kids would be laughing

& birds would be singing

& music would be playing.

it was a warm silence.

we were warm, in silence, together.

but now the air is so cold

bones shiver.

lungs quiver & breath freezes

as it leaves lips.

c.marie