Sunday, October 07, 2012

REFLECTIONS

You haunt my sleep and waking hours
Your taut sad face stare;
Silence that scream so loud through your eyes.
Trembling lips forming words
Entrapped in the pain you carry within.

I hear you. I do hear you.

You have that nod of acknowledgement
Of pasts; of déjà vu.
Old warnings resurface
And you are gripped with the dread
Of ‘I told you so’.

I feel you, I do feel you.

You define your rhythm
And choreograph your dance
Yet your feet are drawn to the familiar
That gripping crippling tune
That scars you

I know you, I do know you.

There are questions in your gestures
Your rhythmic breathing calls for answers.
You know what you should do
But your will to act is failing
The familiar is comfortable.

I get you, I do get you.

Will you defy the familiar?
Dare you define your ‘now’?
Can you be true to you and yours?
Liberation is within your reach,
O mirror image staring at me.

I see you, I do see you.

©Naan Pocen

Thursday, August 02, 2012

A PRAYER.

Lend me a light

To walk life’s dark nights,

With intentional care,

Bind my hurting wounds.

When the twisted limbs

Of club footed gods trip me,

Please shake down a bed for me.

No one was there

When they set the dogs on me.

No one was there

When the hammer blows

Brought me to my knees;

In the uproar of tongues

When I couldn’t hear

And I couldn’t find someone

To shake down a bed for me.

A terminal distress

Shifts my soul like sand dunes

I don’t want to read on your face

The same telltale runes.

You have plowed an even row

For the seed you sow.

Where the corns grow, kindly

Shake down a bed for me.

A true friend is a sheltering tree

In the howling storm of life

That’s what I hope to find

In these days of strife

Life shakes at me, the black cape of misery.

Please shake down a bed for me.

©Naan Pocen

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Maybe Someday

To be seen; without the blinding glare
That distorts the obvious.

To be heard; without the echoes
That consume what is said.

To be felt without the film
That separates me from them.

To be tasted, truly taste;
For my entire earthiness.

To be smelled distinctly;
A smell that is wholly me

…Maybe someday…..

©Naan Pocen

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Doves On Distant Oaks

People waiting for their time to change
Will rise up to things terrible and strange
The beast in every man shocks and shames
And men hide behind masks, hoping to escape blame.
Life displays its wits in senseless practical jokes
And every furrow must be plowed under the burden of yokes
And till the thunder balls begin to fall
No one ever heeds the warning call
Of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

You learn to hold onto your doubts
But you are careful not to let your light burn out
You’ve seen people reach for the skies
With nothing but the light of a distant star in their eyes
The memory of them is now but a fossil in a rock
Clouded over by Time’s vapors and choking smoke
But for every bleached bone on the burning sand
A cry is heard all over the land
Of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

Life displays its wits in senseless practical jokes
And every furrow must be plowed under the burden of yokes
And till the thunder balls begin to fall
No one ever heeds the warning call
Of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

©Naan Pocen

Friday, July 20, 2012

BALANCE

Squinted eyes stare in exchange,
Smiles roam faintly across lips,
Hearts beat and rhythms lost,
Then found again.

Familiarity is cozy and strange
Its comfort betrays chips
Of verity that eludes the most,
A soul it can drain.

Contentment can subtly derange,
The boldest mind it can eclipse,
Until a soul is but a ghost;
A psyche slain.

To revive, I simply rearrange,
Unplanned, unintended slips;
The echo of repeated riposte,
All for calm to remain.

©Naan Pocen

Saturday, April 21, 2012

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

Saturday, April 14, 2012

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 dont 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 youd 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

Friday, April 13, 2012

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

Ive been where you

Are at.


©Naan Pocen

Saturday, April 07, 2012

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

Sunday, February 26, 2012

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 28th 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.