Poetry & the Unconscious Workshop Poems

Dana Levin - Poetry Jam 2007

*The first lines are taken from Japanese haiku. 
The following lines are a collaborative effort from the participants in Dana Levin’s workshop.

Students:  Lucie Clark, Jazmyn Crosby, Emma E.S., Maddy J. (Monte Del Sol High School), Carmelita Jaramillo, Jessica Roberts, Ivan Kenarov (Santa Fe High School), Selinda Garcia (Santa Fe Indian School), Sylvia Holland (Santa Fe Girls’ School), Mariana Gulden (McCurdy High School)

My gloom is only because I envy the birds
who crumble keys at the doors
of grief, wailing.

As the crow flies,
too straight, too far, too cold.

Erratic New Mexico springtimes
snow rain and sunshine
comes in a sky of strawberries.

Bitter, sweet, sour
nippleodeon taste

Napoleon’s left standing on porcelain plates in the rain,
one finger tucked behind a belt,
crumbs falling off a silver fork.

Stab the mind of unconsciousness,
and let it free.

Still not a butterfly
but yet I can fly
but yet I can live beautifully.

What is the point of chaos
only death gives birth to life
the chicken came before creation.

A million flapping wings
is what my dog sounds like in the night.

The birthing of that furry naked form –
so you say, the wings have music?
Well, I have something of a newborn melody.

The melody breaks,
the foul smell of dance.

The harmony sings,
yet is all just a dream?

All that’s left of a warrior’s dreams
hands, feet, eyes out of sockets
the warrior dreams of a coward’s life.

Swirls that talk and tell his story
incomprehendable and messy to the eye.

Scattered in the lies
why don’t we cry?

Can a butterfly cry tears like we do?
Or are their tears crystallized dreams
creating unseen beauty?

Ugly little flaps of gutter
I see dead people in sunsets
where will I fly tomorrow?

Coo coo doo coo doo coo doo
dove lost and sent in blue
bear no kisses or sunrise bruise.

Lighting one candle with another candle
never jump over flame like
the nursery rhyme of burning in between legs.

The flame will burn your memory
your creativity, life’s not worth living.

A baby’s rattle brings her warmth
lures her parents into alien worlds.
Small light in the hallway
shines on your shoe
left trailing you to bed.

House’s noises mask day terrors
night madness brings comfort, silence.

Comforting child’s voice
in the hall
or in the chicken coop.

More than I ever want to see
a world of people as smart as me
who sail in nutshells upon the sea.

Crushed thought
cocoon opens
and self-consciousness sets free.

Drill drill drill
brr br br bring.

School’s out and my dinner’s ready
I want to be master of no one
so that land can be free.

Running in the open liquid fields
our feet sinking farther forever in.

Sand laps our feet up
waves to shore
the horizon a line we’ll never reach.

My arm for a pillow
my head for a rock
thinking rock thoughts:  I can’t sleep!

Sleeping is like day-dreaming on steroids
that’s why I like it so much.

Lunch
ay, there’s the rub
sage between the turkey cooker’s thumbs.

Chocolate between lanky fingers
mind wanders to the serene smoothie.

Of banana and strawberry flavoring
that trip out your tastebuds
and make you wonder.

Electrified, banana smoothie
seductive entrancement.

I had a friend.  We lived with a river between us.
Rivers of red wine
rivers of red deception.

I had a friend
once.

But now I prefer solitude
now I enjoy the locks on the door
you stay out and I will stay in.

Lock lips and seal fates
kites drive out bees of deserts.

In the favelas the crawl of hills of Rio de Janeiro
barefoot men roll kite line in crushed glass
attempt to cut their cousins

and it’s so confusing I do not think
only ride the waves.

This road – no one goes down it.
The trees are twisted, purple with disease
stranger’s silhouettes scattered.

The red is read
blood is shed.

This road:  it’s full of dangers,
like the handsome man
with a pink top hat.

A hat wrinkled with memories of galas
faded, pale shade of it former self
so fitting for the road now less traveled.

“Frost upon my body,”
said the lovely, archaic madam.

Jealous Aphrodite
so warm
the snowflakes melt before their shape is revealed.

I go, you stay
sleep under cloud covers
black raindrops resemble my tears.

Dripping, dreary
fooled night time window.

Stained glass pieces give way to a harshly thrown people
lilies and nightshades with oddly rippled petals shatter
and then silence.

Ewes and foals eye the distance between
as pinon trees shield the waiting owl.

As I walk footfalls soft to me
a cacophony to creatures unseen
in the red and rocky earth.

Trail leads to twisted heart, woven braid
birthed from the black womb of severed limbs.

A bee staggers out of the flower
drunk with the intoxicating pollen
then zooms home. It won’t be late or supper.

Perfume dashes to the start
line of bruise and kiss.

Hearts race as thoughts of cheating arise
a slap of lipstick here
a slap mark on his face.

A slap on the ass for good luck
why don’t you say what?

Pick up the starter’s gun carefully
on your mark
run when you see smoke.

Swirling up through the air
it tells a story of cancerous lungs.

Knocking the ashes off
the black wall
dust filling the air.

Brilliant arias stink
love bears ill winds.

Fish fly fearlessly
the ocean tumbles the seashells
and the bear takes a nap.

The necktie of nature
the love of foreign smell.

But he was only pretending to be foreign
you’re a liar
you’re intriguing.

You’re a total poser
knocking the ashes off
your cigarette.

There’s joy also in loneliness
in happiness there’s wisdom
in the bathroom, a broken pipe.

Which can be mended with duct tape,
until again it starts to drip…drip.

From the tip of the lip
drooling slowly spit.

It makes me gag
slimy things like raw quail eggs
I heard about yesterday.

Tomorrow’s cunt is breakfast food
ish ish ish down survey
cholera and conditions you bless me with.

Can life live beyond eternity?
or do we just trick ourselves into believing that?

They swallow clouds and spit out blossoms
they ate the pumpkin from the hallows
birds chirp yum.

Birds chirp:  gimme more of that
fine fine corn!

Tangible, hungry wings,
eat chicken
eat corn.

Corn growing high
sacrificed for Quetzaquatl.

Sacrificed for the crows
that will be there when you die
hey, it’s New Mexico, there are no buzzards.

But, yet in African plains, buzzards soar,
leaving you lowering your eyes sadly as your
feet begin to burn.

The mad girl in the boat at mid-day
floating along a wet string,
popping red, hearted shaped balloons with a blow gun.

“Blam,” whispers the crocodile
“Blam!”

“Blam, blam, blam,” said the man
with an enormous…smile
blam, blam, and wink.

“Blam!” said the mad girl,
hitting the side of the boat.

Falling in, she hit her toes
on the oyster covered floor
and found herself a pearl.

Holding her pearl
scream bloody virgin insanity.

The things that I hate, I hate
the things that are loved are illusions
hate, love, it is all a façade…yes?

Our emotions are chemicals
inside our bodies.

Writhing, twisting,
nevertheless we leak
sensical nonsense.

Twilight, midnight
both bring ease to the mind muddle of war.

It will end because thought
wants it to…end
power of the cosmos.

With hate, each big, bang
leads simply to another.

I hug a stone burnt in a fire
to feel warmth that cannot be felt from
another human being.

Wood stokes cold embers
heat pushes the ice to the edge of tolerance.

Thunder, lightning flashing in chaos
what’s left to do, what’s left to think
what’s left to live for?

Nothing at all,
only the beat of the wind.

One, two, four
the wind despises the number 3
it harbors an unusual beat and rhythm.

It is not until death
that we learn to waltz.

It’s not like anything the compare it to.

It’s gray, yet not boring
it’s sleek, yet not smooth
it’s nice yet not perfect.

But it is only because they are blind
that their comparisons fall short of reality.

Earth grinds down everything sharp
turns to graceful oxbows
water is more than alphabet

It is a reflection of our outlet
the blue will show the truth.

Eroding at the brain until
your mind goes blank
and you forget truth.

Bubbling up into the cranium of scent,
once again, the mask of that smell.

What fish feel, what birds feel, I don’t know
scales fall, feathers smooth the answer
away from surface – bone center.

The anemones gather up the lost gems
roots embrace hollow quills.

Hollowed out like ribcages devoid of hearts
we embrace the gems of our past
like the crystals that have no futures.

We embrace our pasts
we cling to them like life-rafts.

My feathered scales
your taloned fins
the tension point where air meets water.

Tension breaks the cracks
nuclear fallout impact.