Remembrance

The Yellowish green liquid in my glass

Reminds me of you.

It looks like bile

Like cholera,

Like something bitter and rather unpleasant

And it reminds me of you.


©Naan Pocen

Breaking Through

I have found peace in my solitude at last.

I am no longer afraid of the silence

That screams in my soul.

I can embrace the void that lingers and attempts

To cripple my very spirit.

I no longer need a crutch in anyone.

For I have, at last realized that I shall always

Be alone yet never lonely.

And that I have no need to be afraid of myself.

Or of the darkness that sometimes

Eclipses my mind.

I have at last found rest in my aloneness

I no longer fear the loneliness

That never existed.


©Naan Pocen

Shift.

You swallowed me in the depth

of your eyes,

And I melted in the waves

of your voice

As I tasted the strength

of your emotions.

Then,

In the madness of the

sweet, smooth rush

of this goodness

You embraced me in the

promise of your hold

And I believed in you.

But,

In my drunken stupor

to your fantastic promise

I kissed the dust

of your boots.

And while in my state of shock

...you run...

©Naan Pocen

Dusk Reminds me of YOU (Siobhan)

Gloom hangs in the air,

A lot too, lately.

Pain becomes almost cosy,

Even more so these days.

Dawn tells of my failed yesterdays

because mornings drag in bitterness,

cold and a crispy taste

of anguish,

and my emasculate will,

almost overwhelmed, summons it.

Yet with every dawn

Comes dusk,

A promise of the end of now,

Of the start of a tomorrow.

As dawn tells of my fizzled past,

I see in your innocence, an assurance for me

Igniting the flame

Of my extinguished inclination and

Dusk reminds me of you.

©Naan Pocen

I Dance Alone.

An angel with a cloven hoof

Played a tune with a mouth harp

That sent me waltzing across the floor

Stumbling about in search of a crutch.

The infantile idealism of youth

Talked in a wobbly, loose-jointed manner.

But I should have known that

Nothing is safe

To him who nothing is sacred.

Behind that toothy smile

Was a mind twisted and crooked as sin.

Drawing me in and almost drowning me

In my foolish naivety.

Yet I am no longer a reprobate.

I forgive myself generously.

But I'm a perpetual dancer

So I listen for another tune,

And while I eavesdrop on God

I purr ever so gently.

©Naan Pocen

More Than Meets The Touch.

There is a bit on trust,

You don’t want to know,

And I am not telling.

Your eyes are closed,

You grope at the elephant

And grab a hold of its tail

That is all you understand.

There are fatter

Fleshier and even rougher sides

Than that skinny hairy tail in

Your hands.

There is more to me than what

You are caressing.

I wish you’d look at me.

©Naan Pocen

I Sing

I sing the body electric

I sing the shock of doom and dreams eclectic

I sing visions of power

And the power of visions

I sing the spirit ruling

I sing the soul cooperating

I sing you!

©Naan Pocen

Becoming Me.

I've been staring at the sky all day
Trying to live off the sun's rays.
All I got from it was a headache .
I'm searching for the right end of the rainbow
You'd think it should be easy
See, as I am on the wrong end of it.

I saw the sun's faces. Smiles and frowns and
A couple of boo-to-you. It closed its eyes.
And I saw the moon rise with a purple smile
With cotton candy under its feet
I'm searching for some luck from the shooting star
Just a dash to help me stand.

I've been talking all day to the clouds
Especially the big, dark scary ones.
I've been pleading for some rain to cool off
This feisty soul of mine.
Can't seem to be predictable and it hurts
To be too simple to be understood.

I finally perceived as I prayed to the moon.
That it's totally pointless
To hope for what does not exist.
It's becoming quite predictable - this soul dance.
And the faster it gets, the clearer I see
That being a loner is becoming quite cosy
And it's becoming quite ME.

©Naan Pocen

I understand.

I feel the smell

of your heart,

I taste the sight

of its beat,

I see the feel of

Its ache,

Even as it pumps

I smell its touch,

I hear the taste

of its every move,

Because

I’ve been where you

Are at.

©Naan Pocen

I CAN'T

I can’t

Make crusty pizza dough

Nor spaghetti al dente

I can’t

Mix that perfect Martini

Nor sip Champaign like a pro

I can’t

Make the sun come out

Nor stop the rain from falling

I can’t

Pretend to be content

Nor feign indifference

I can’t

Stand the wild activity

Nor embrace the mad noise

I can’t

Open up any more

When there is nothing to let in

I can’t

Shut down and pretend

That the silence is OK

I can’t

Be content with so much

When all it represents is nothing

I can’t

Have it this way.

©Naan Pocen

Time Flies

I have not blogged in ages, and it has nothing to do with having nothing to say, quite the contrary. There is so much to say and the thoughts run into each other that it’s tricky to sieve them and have a coherent line of thought to share.

And for the past two weeks besides trying to stay healthy, I have had a hard time falling and staying asleep, but I resist creating anything in the middle of that night as that is a sure what to keep me even more awake, when I need to rest in order to be alert at work in the morning.

My boss had commented often lately that I seemed a lot more nervous than usual (I wonder if he was trying to tell me I was naturally nervous….?). The thing is, with the lack of sleep my creativity is at its peak. I’ve loads of ideas. I sew (for those of you that don’t know; I am a certified fashion designer), so I have been sketching like a mad woman. I bead weave so I have laid down some ideas of projects I would love to try my hands on.

I have also jotted down a few plots for an anthology we (Andrew and I) would want to put together. Unfortunately the only times I can really get these ideas to production are during those sleepless night…..like now. It is 02:22 hours where I am and I should be sleeping.

My father was the same. My mother used to call him restless but he would say it was not restlessness but creativity. And he was right. I haven’t known anyone half as creative as my father, he could literally make anything. He was an oil paint artist (not by profession) and made all sorts of craft: painted vases out of bottles, carvings, sculpting, tie dye – think anything craft, he did it. I don’t mean to brag but if creativity was in the genes then I inherited most of his, although I am not half as creative as he was.

I found myself thinking of him lately during these sleepless nights, wishing how much I would love to chat with him, but I can’t because he died. And it just hit me a moment ago that it’s the second Anniversary of his passing…..well almost. He was gone three years ago on February 28^th but he lives on…..somehow….but I miss him still.

Anyway, if this posting comes a bit loose jointed, it's the sleep....or lack of it.

Gorilla - A Short Story.

Gorilla has the most interesting face of anyone I have known. There is something profoundly primitive about him. He doesn’t talk much and wears a blank expression until the chance to beat someone presents itself. A glint appears in his shifty eyes, he becomes a ball of repressed anger, and everyone who knows better, splits. His real name is Martin, but I’m not supposed to know that. Gorilla is Azul’s brother.

“Babes, do you like surprises?” I had asked Azul last night.
“No, I don’t” she responded, “surprises always seem to go wrong.”
“Well, I love surprises,” I said with confidence – she’d like what I like, like most girls do, I figured. But she didn’t change her tune, though I still didn’t believe her. What girl doesn’t like surprises?

We’ve been dating for three months, you see, but we live in different towns. It’s just as well, because she says her friends can’t imagine what she sees in me. She’s pretty smart and works at a taco stand. Me? I dropped out of middle school, but I suppose I must be wise or something. She always tells me I am ‘streetwise’, whatever that means.

My surprise for Azul is to show up on her birthday. Of course she’ll be taking me out for a burger... she always seems to have money!

I called her in the morning to set things up. “So Babes, it’s your birthday, huh?” Calling her Babes sounds very macho, eh?
“Yes it is, coming over?”
“No” I lied, “I’m broke. Probably gonna stay home and watch TV. What about you?”

“I’m not sure yet” She said sounding OK with it.

“You’ll be home all day?” she asked.
“Yup, can’t go nowhere.”
“I might drop by later. You’ll be there?” She said.
“Sure.” I smiled. She bought it. I guess that’s my “street-wisdom”. She’ll never expect me.

Later that day I took the bus to her apartment with my last two bucks. I knocked but no one answered, which seemed strange. It had started to rain now, but I went to her window and looked in. It was dark, but it looked like she was doing her nails by the bed. I rapped on the window but she didn’t move. I flipped my phone open and called her. But damn! I was getting wet.

“Where are you?” she said as my phone credit ran out. She’d call back - she always did. I peered in again wondering why she didn’t move. Then I thought how she sounded strange, strained. A little worried now, my mind putting the scene together, I ran to the front door and tried to open it.
“What are you doing?” I heard Gorillas big voice ask behind me.
I turned around to see him staring blankly.
“Azul’s in trouble,” I blurted and resumed ramming my shoulder into the door.

“Are you sure?” the unfazed Gorilla asked.
“She’s slumped over by the bed and not moving! I think someone tied her up!” I screamed.

By now, there was small crowd gathering, and with a single massive kick Gorilla brought the door down and we quickly found the figure slumped by the bed. It was her back-pack.

Gorilla coolly flipped open his phone, dialed and put it on speaker while handing it to me.
“Gorilla?” she said
“It’s me Babes, where are you?” I asked, a little mad and confused now.
“I’m on your front step in the rain, you idiot. Where are you?” she responded hotly. I only heard Gorilla shift and grow, but I didn’t see a thing.

(Thank You Andrea, for rearranging it).

©Naan Pocen

A Prisoner of Hope.

I’m waiting – a Prisoner of Hope
Holding so tight to my dreams of you
I’m waiting – a Prisoner of Hope,
Hoping to take you where the song is new.

All this time together
And we’re still strangers
The hurts and pains are all that we share.

At the edge of town
Where the sun goes down
And the beauty of sunset is beyond compare

There I’m waiting – a Prisoner of Hope.

In the days gone by
We lived a big lie
And pretended every day that nothing was wrong.

I see the light of a new day
Calling me away
Perchance one day we will find where we truly belong

I’m waiting – a Prisoner of Hope
Holding so tight to my dreams of you
And I’m waiting – a Prisoner of Hope
Hoping to find where the song is new.

©Naan Pocen

Count the Abacus

Lovers and Best Friends. Don't we all have them!!

I love my friends, especially those of you that give me a good cue to blog about. I have heard it said that men and woman are from different planets and I always say it’s a lazy cop out for people to refuse to understand someone just because they’re of a different gender. Still sometimes I find myself face to face with a situation where I find it really incredible to accept that the seeming naivety of the man in question is genuine. Unfortunately, for the most part it is.

And I say unfortunately very loosely here, because even though I empathize with the complexity of understanding the opposite sex, I fail to see how two and two won’t give you four if you have the abacus right in front of you and all you need to do is count!

I am not going into specifics here for respect of my muse (you know who you are). I love you to bits, you know that, but it’s very difficult not to touch the core of the matter here, so I’ll use my example and touch on your situation. It’ll make sense, you’ll see.

Now first question.

Why does a woman wear a form fitting outfit that reveals every delicious curve on her body? Yes, it is her size and it isn't tight....just revealing. True, but aren’t there also clothes her size that hang loose? She chose that particular style for a reason. Wanna guess?

Why does a man that is only a friend suddenly interested in knowing why that other fellow seems interested in you? Hey, you’ve both been good friends for a long time and he is only looking out for you…..or is he?

Why does she wear that wide-necked blouse, then tops it off with a very eye catching necklace that rests between her cleavage? OK, that was the size it came in. True, but why do you think it lies there?

Last question, but before I ask, I need to point something out. I have a great relationship with all my ex’s - ALL OF THEM, and I won’t find it out of place AT ALL if either of them calls or reaches out to me…. and they do too, often enough. Now with that said, I (Naan) regardless of what an awesome relationship we had in the past and how great we get along now, will never ( NEVER) consider an ex a ‘best friend’ material, very good friend, yes, best friend. N-E-V-E-R…..but this is just me, and more power to you if you can. That said.

Last week, I received an email from someone in my past. It was totally unexpected, and in a sense a pleasant surprise. It was then followed by a call a few hours later, then the very next day, then another email, you know, to find out what I had been up to and such, nothing wrong with that.

This person and I have a great relationship and we do check on each other often enough. But after 8 calls, five emails and two text messages in the span of four days, my radar picked something in that right away. This person had easy access to me and could call or write whenever they wanted, but for some reason or another had always been too busy with their lives; the demand of the job, parenting a pre-teen alone, living in another city….the usual. And I appreciate all of these reasons as it echoes my situation…..suddenly however this super busy person has the time to suddenly ‘drop by’ for a Pizza.

“Are you bringing the kid along?”

“Oh no, he’ll be at his grandma’s.”

“Aren’t you working? It’s a week day?”

“I could throw away a perfectly good day for a dear friend”

“O…..K……lunch then? Because I work this weekend and love my beauty sleep.”

“Lunch isn’t enough to catch up….you know? So many good memories…?”

Well, yes, some men are rather shallow like that, they just blurt it out. Women are subtle…..I won’t tell how the conversation ended, but long story short…..or rather, last question. Why does this understandably, super-busy person suddenly has a few hours to grab a bite and talk about old times? Hey, we ARE very good friends……could it be that something about my status threatens something about his place in my life?

OK

Let’s quit hiding behind the guise of being naïve when an ex is making their presence felt, even if in subtle ‘friendly’ ways…..there is always a catch…..

So…. very good friends with ex eh? You may want to lay a more solid foundation of what you are building right now before you go playing lovers and best friends. Dude, count the abacus; it’s right in front of you! And I tell you this because I love you to bits and I want you happy….see? I told you I’ll make you anonymous and I pulled it. Yay!!……Seriously though, the obvious is always obvious if we care to look closely enough.