Westendorf Poems

Unexpected

2010-03-05T07:23:00.000-08:00

You came so unexpectedly
with a kiss and a smile and a tender hug
Like a phantom in a dream
will I be woken from this revelry by some quick tug?
You'll leave so unexpectedly
I'm sure

Psyche’s columns

2007-11-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

What is this insanity conjoined?

The verity made betwixt our minds and eyes and hearts and hands?

It is the substance of our silence and the flightiness of a step.

It is his outrage and my torrent weep.

It is a distillation in a day’s evenin’ end.

It is the hours by book and coffee-glass spent.

It is the stuff of lips alighting on his brow,

Handsome sprees of payment for his pensive liberty.

Lonesome groans birthed in wordy revelry.

It is between us suspended: oh, aeonian heavenly question.

One, I, insistent in His nature.

The o’er dwelling on nature’s own nimbus

(That Being being beyond man’s cursive start, in any land’s prescribed indite.)

His thoughts a gentle zephyr agitate through psyche’s columns.

The Bosom’s Chateau

2007-09-19T15:19:00.000-07:00

My heart though torn

Knows not wherein lies the thorn

Is it home each unbalanced wave

Of sentiment unanchored craves?

And if being so

Which is home?

Is it here beneath a starry sky

Held aloft by palm branch and mosque’s cry?

Or is the other the bosom’s chateau?

Mother’s embrace and sun setting o’re emerald show?

Betwixt them is consternation held

Oh sweet loves all t’would meld!

But alas an hour creeps here

When one world as a stock faired

Well enough in ripe time is traded

For another promising page yet unfilled

And in those moments of long-dreamt

Reunion to friend and kin, will soul have wept?

None can say, as of yet

Cease, what still not best

2007-04-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

As tears wept for love and passion

Or is it merely blind infatuation?

A love lifelong confined

But if e’er their love entwined

Would not drudgery of the cycle

Turn fantasy to fractured debacle

Realize in each the soiled stink …

Spoilt curds of their drink

What was thought wine –

In spectacular aged kind

Only found rotten filthy brine?

And all a life lay wasted

Discovered of the last: all time hastened

And all those years run past?

What is any desire but longing enjoined in hope

That what’s held beyond one’s grope

Bears greater unimagined bliss

And heaven and earth turned by the kiss

And when gave be just lips and tongue

Not much more moved than when undone?

Then hands reach and bodies combine

To sap the nourishment of life from th’other

What gained, what enrichment I pray?

Is thee satisfied, full, complete and still?

Nay “still” but in its depth, there the truth: still … not best

And there in lies unrest

Such with the smell of every blossom

And livelihood: advancing our ambition

Each would give (we deceive ourselves) what pleased

It is to heavens’ God to our souls release …

Both now and forevermore

Simply know every o’er craving implore

Us to look to Heaven’s door

And cease vain dreams e’ermore

Sui Juris, Beholden But to One

2007-04-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

Sui Juris, Beholden But to One

I beg an hour of mind sui juris,

An eagle hovering in the breezes

Beholden to no one,

No one, no one at all but God

When others applaud, appreciate

The eager works I narrate

It’s then an artist’s complex encumbers me near crippling

An engagement not, no not of God

And then I curl myself,

Wishing I were a little trinket on a shelf

Hoping no one notices, no one admires me

Simply let me be a child, a child of God

And brooding eyes seek Him

Mull o’er His word; tuck in my chin

I remember I am of vast universe a little thing

But a thing loved, loved by God

And finding my Lord’s presence vicinal

Let all fly swiftly to Him administer

Each expectation, every praised successive feat

Let all my works only boast of love, love for my God

Rachel Beach

Monday, February 12, 2007

Stranded in Marrakech

2007-04-10T18:26:00.001-07:00

I'm afraid I'm stuck in Marrakech

But with local I admit I've been blessed

It could have been M'Hamid or Tingdad

Or another particular douar unsaid

Why, you ask, am I sitting here?

Well therein is a tale to hear

The taxi drivers and buses

Are worried and all making fusses

About a new government policy

Regard: driving-accident injuries

Let's say your bus, as along it flies

Accidentally hits someone who dies

Off to jail you go

For five years whole

And 50 million dirhams' your fee

Which you'll be paying for eternity

So that's the new policy rumor

That has made traveling a blunder

For every tourist walks the streets

With miserable, tired defeat

And stare down at their feet

Wishing for comfortable sneaks

Because fancy heals don't cut it, I say

When "no taxis" means walking all day

Thus settling in we all are

Since one simply can't travel far

Rather wander through blossoming parks

And get lost in Jma Alfna's larks

Bound upstairs

2007-04-10T18:15:00.000-07:00

I want naught but to write

But write I do not

Abstractions stumbling through my mind

There’s much I’d rather leave behind

...

Impossible: all upstairs is in a bind

Fathom, nay spasms

2007-04-10T18:14:00.002-07:00

I’ve been warned I’ll not remain detached,

Rather in me something a lot like love will hatch

There’s in me a fear o’r the aforementioned unwelcome, Love – its very name

Joined with a man to me is strange

The hope of immortal bliss

Of unending mirth and happiness

Is oddly hard to fathom

My memory recalls only emotional spasms

Kerfuffled Faeries

2007-04-10T18:14:00.001-07:00

Dashes of notes

Tempting teasing little totes

Flit hither and thither

Prancing through my mind

No solid thought

Could scarce be found aloft

As dancing faeries

Ne’er sure their whereabouts

(Just a scurrying kerfuffle)

And any single production

Tempted to perform itself

Merely mocked before the theater of
My mind is e’en filled

Thus it returns score and playbill

And with apologetic bow accedes,

Turns and quickly flees

Borrowed flames

2007-04-10T18:04:00.000-07:00

True beauty dwells on high; ours is a flame
But borrow'd thence to light us thither.

The Forerunners, George Herbert

The Hashuma House

2006-02-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

There is a place where we can go,
A place that only we will know
Where forbidden things are not a foe

We eat in a month when no one eats
At noon we head into the streets
To find goodies and little treats

We sit on the roof, sunning ourselves
Remove the long sleeves
And toast to our health

In Ramadan even gossips hashuma
To bad no one informed us
Cause we're just spreadin' ruma'

Men and women separate should be
But, we've concluded adamantly
We're leaves fallen from the same tree

You can't take a nap
With a man on the map
But at school, that rule's scrapped

Good thing we don't smoke
O t'would be another rule we broke
And another hashuma joke

The is the house of Hashuma
Keep it on the down low
Else you'll get somethin' comin' to ya

~ Jesse & Rachel

Saturday, November 05, 2005

PS..My favorite Poem

2006-02-15T11:17:00.000-08:00

Is "Simply Words"

In the April 2000 archive.

...what they think

2006-02-15T11:11:00.000-08:00

1/8/2006 11:00 PM

I have found the enemy of my soul’s rest

Every night it beats upon my chest

In the daylight it will not let me be

Nor even ever hide from me

But shamelessly it pursues

Often I was caught before I knew

That its wiry fingers were round about

It tangled me and let me doubt

Let me ponder until despair

Had pressed me down a stair

Forcing me away from where

To go I’d even thought to dare

It would clinch my throat;

And life, bit by bit it would choke

Over and over the agonies

The same sorry thought flurries

Played like a horrid dream

An unchanging wretched theme

A deja vue somehow reminding

In every new place still finding

Me in the last place I just left

Unrepulsed no matter where I drift

I have so many happy dreams

All ruined by one sour fiend

Every night and day and year

The torment and abrasive wear

It is the thoughtless comments that one shares

Who become inside a raging flare

For I simply cannot cease to care

Passion

2004-10-10T17:46:00.000-07:00

It is a thing that stirs the soul

That moves the mouth to smile

The eyes to beam with energy uncovered

From quiet places of the heart

Sweet Morsels

2004-10-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

As with food the overabundance

Of words overwhelms the mind

As a feast doth overwhelm stomach

More is the pleasure of a sweet morsel

A simple truth is more to be savored

And to linger over this one fact

Than to rush flavorful aroma and spice

And lose the sensation

That the first bit of knowledge

Had initially to offer

There is reason in quietness

Not rushing words from carriage of mind

To vocal expression and beyond the lips

Before making sense of them

Of pondering long and deep

And making wonder of their

Sweet or sour impression

seep through me

2004-10-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

I cannot be profound

I can only be myself

I can only offer to a friend

What is in my heart to give

But what is there to offer

Depends on whose audience

I’ve been proffered

And then, either by willful choice

Or passive negligence allowed

To seep through me

The radio in my car

An ungoverned voice blaring

Silly words and sensual sonnet

Foolish banter and a deejay’s foul words

“Let’s get unconscious” Madonna purrs…

I laugh, tossing out a verb

Here or there that I know

Should I be merry for learning

Word and melody feeding

Into me

I shut it off and walk

Through a friend’s door

We joke about making out

Probably both entertaining

The thought

I refuse

2004-06-28T17:23:00.000-07:00

I refuse to let years

Dilute me

I refuse to let normal

Confuse me

I refuse to let ideal

Consume me

I refuse to let you

Still me

If Love is Freedom

2004-06-28T17:10:00.000-07:00

_{To be single or not to be}

_{Is it a question whether to be free?}

_{Can the love of your love be freedom…}

_{As solitary life seems a condition?}

The Father's Love

2004-06-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

A leaf: a touch of nurture

A wooded forest: the Father’s arms

A sweet smile: a glimpse of mercy

A tearful forgiveness: a wave of the Father’s love

Where There Is No Dream

2004-06-28T17:08:00.000-07:00

Running towards the Dream, citizens?

I’m running to find a country’s sons

Who have no dream, no ambition

A Saint of the Idol of the Age

2004-04-27T17:31:00.000-07:00

I rest my high-held chin

On something fading

I square my shoulders…

Against my lack of life

I march far through the street

A saint of the idol of the age

And when I am forty…

And when I am sixty..

What will be my glee?

Will I not simply envy

And rant that I use to be

A young proud girl…

Telling myself God is my strength

Though my pillars are encased in three-inch heels

And claiming the Cross as my soul’s mercy

When I know the mercy I seek

Is sought with a flash of outlined eye

What a fool do I take myself for?

And my God, so much more?

A wretched saint of the idol of the age.

A PROVERB

2004-04-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

Excess proves regrettable,

restraint breeds appreciation

ANOTHER PROVERB

2004-04-19T17:21:00.000-07:00

Better to go slow, planning your course to ensure that you arrive at the intended destination than rush in the wrong direction.

Love is..

2000-06-23T17:47:00.000-07:00

Love Is

Love is

Love does

Love knows

Love goes

No matter where

My heart wanders

No matter what

I wrestle with

No matter how

Today I’m . . . feeling

Love is

Love does

Love knows

Love goes

When _I ^struggle

To make ends meet

When I hurt

From living

When I want

What I can’t have

Love is

Love does

Love knows

Love goes

You can hear

My angry thoughts

You can see

My flustered will

Youcanhold

My _{weary hand}

Because, oh because . . .

Your Love is

Your Love does

Your Love knows

Your Love goes

Passing Faces

2000-04-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

Passing, passing faces

Coming towards and leaving then

Expressions keeping only to the pace

With little left imprint

Passing, passing faces

One looks up with bright smile

A light of life among the glances

Gone soon enough, but in my memory rests awhile

Simply Words

2000-04-07T10:07:00.000-07:00

Words,

Only union of pen and paper, sealed with ink between

So insignificant the marks left behind would seem

But what power in those hieroglyphics lay

What turmoil, mirth, and emotion betray’d

When a pen spills lifeless mark on lifeless page

For each mark becomes a character of the heart’s stage

The Visitation

1999-05-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

He was pale, still; though somber laid, ceased

This bed the last his frame would ever know

He rested ignored, forgotten – or at least

What protocol would allow

Like a ghost, hidden in the subconscious, rather than

De facto, recumbent on the wooden berth

In vain endeavor to remind them of his proximal

Motionless remains; to turn them from their mirth

The ceremonious coffin seemed to repel

Rather than lure the scrutiny of the throng

Whispers glided among disoriented human swells

Inartistically massed throughout the chamber room

Chit-chat and muffled chortles, ladies gossiping,

Admiring dresses, couples, anything but that

Compassionate ones embraced the family

And inquired after their predicament

Yet only when by willful act

Of defiance against an unseen force’s

Natural pull would one cross the tract

And bid himself deliberate glance upon the corpse

The younger son stood by – a warm host

To consolating friends – and pointed out to uneducated

Guests his uncles, aunts and cousins most

Like a museum’s hall of statues sculpted

Was this convocation a sigh of relief

More than a somber affliction

That attends agonizing grief?

“We’d been expecting it”

The younger son enlightened the ignorant,

“He’s been sick for some time”

Yes, a sigh of relief and perchance

An ease of hearts tired

He who eternally slept left no legacy

For a family’s bosom to hold,

No honor in this death, just drowning

Pain, or maybe life just got old

The honeyed emollient of drunkenness

Destroyed not only his heart

But, like a disease of despair, infectious

To two young brother’s blossoming start

Detached far across the room

Stood the elder son smiling

With an infant in his arms, he crooned

His fatigued eyes lightening

The innocent babe’s merry cry,

A subconscious hope, wiped away this plight

It enveloped them with a happy sigh

As they clung to the joy of life

Ushered in as a fresh breath

And blotting out the unsaid

Repugnance of this death

Contrasting from his bed