After the sullen storm brings the dust to a halt,
Please permit me to settle like the silence that buries
These past memories.
–
I come from the tide like scars and flowing ashes
To recline in the desert of your ignorant compassion.
The silence sears a million more secrets as clear
As your watery eyes; secrets that should have
Stayed secret behind my pursed, trembling lips
That render me speechless before your listless concern.
–
Iris Zhang, May11
Communication, the high brick walls
Of words and pause;
Pause like a mouth just about to
Open; Open those cold, indifferent walls,
For I cannot climb, for I cannot
Suffer your insurmountable walls
That bear no meaning, that bear no weight
On this burden of thoughts that compel me
To keep banging on those formidable walls.
–
Iris Zhang, May11
If home be my destination, you are the voyage–
The walk from here to where:
The barefoot trek on pebble gravel,
The journey that grows garish and weary;
The adventure on calm bullets of inexplicable silence,
The trip desperate to prove functionality on a fatal Tuesday morning.
The crossing on smothering brick-red stones smooth like water;
But water splashes like the feast of starvation rushes through each bloated vein–
The refreshing expedition to a familiar dread,
The travel designed for the traveling rather than the destination.
And before expected, home, is where my reflection ends.
Sand and dust;
Soil and dirt;
Scars and dreams;
These memories and footsteps never liberated
attach ingrained to the souls of my worn-out sneakers–
Know that the road on which it lingered later absorbs footprints of immovable weight, of companionship and cheerful comraderie.
Voyager lost at the end of the voyage–
Yes, if home is where the voyage ends, you are the voyage and I the vessel drifting at sea.
Iris Zhang, Dec09, edited April11
You always seem to know where to find me and I’m still here behind you
In the corner of your eye.
I’ll never really learn how to love you
But I know that I love you through the hole in the sky.
Where I see you
And that’s not an invitation
That’s all I get
If this is communication
I disconnect
I’ve seen you, I know you
But I don’t know
How to connect, so I disconnect
Communication, The Cardigans.
Stay
Shadows of the sun of wind
Surreally running through my fingers
Undress me with strands of casting flames
Like slenderer wisps of smoke sinking
Seeping through a diaphanous resolve
Suddenly we are projected back onto the sea
Mulling in the moon as if we forgot
The way we drowned or the way back to
Where we stemmed from a thought or the twisted
Innocence of a tweaked momentum that propels
Us on our haunted journey till we arrive as empty
Shells somehow with a nautical story to tell like how the mast rose
Above the tide while we sat on the deck like waking shadows
Shadows of possibility and what it means to be afraid
Of an elusiveness that keeps returning
As what we knew right from the start to be simple
Shadows.
Iris Zhang, Aug10
This is my latest revised edition of ‘Frolicking Theories’
If home be my destination, you are the voyage:
The walk from sky to earth.
The barefoot trek on pebble gravel.
The journey that grows weary with energy.
The adventure on calm bullets of inexplicable silence.
The trip to prove functionality on a fatal Tuesday morning.
The crossing on brick-red stone smooth like water.
But water flows like the feast of starvation down through each bloated vein.
The refreshing expedition to familiar dread.
The travel designed for the traveling rather than the destination.
And before expected, home is where the journey ends.
Sand and dust;
Soil and dirt;
Scars and dreams;
Memories and footsteps never liberated—
Attach ingrained to the soles of the worn-out sneakers…souls?
Know that the road on which it pressed later absorbs footprints of immovable weight, of companionship and cheerful comraderie.
Voyager lost at the end of the voyage.
Yes, if home is where the voyage ends, you are the voyage and I the vessel at sea.
Iris Zhang, Dec09
You always seem to know where to find me and I’m still here behind you
In the corner of your eye.
I’ll never really learn how to love you
But I know that I love you through the hole in the sky.
Where I see you
And that’s not an invitation
That’s all I get
If this is communication
I disconnect
I’ve seen you, I know you
But I don’t know
How to connect, so I disconnect
Communication, The Cardigans.
Castle made of sand.
Came charging with ice cold water,
And soaked.
Soaked this heart made of paper.
Thoughts made of cellophane.
Came charging with resplendent light,
And shone.
Shone through all my transparency.
Tears made of fake promises.
Came charging with soft gentle caresses,
And left.
Left to abandon this weak battered body.
Hopes made of fears,
Hopes made of nothing,
Hopes made of illusions.
Iris Zhang, October09
A Collection of Original Poetry - Poetry Blog 