Sunday, June 17, 2012

sharp edges

Puddle, 1952, M. C. Escher
in that tapestry
I see a pattern
asymmetry of nature
unadorned in a drab canvass
footprints leads one to parents
the universal one, mother earth
she cushions the sharp edges
zigzag branches imprison the light on the ground
track marks are inevitable
to roll into invisible something

"pour water over me
let the fine details embed into me
I will draw circles
do thumb painting"

under the surface

Changla: Photo stolen from Suchismita's FB page!!
is there anybody there
not a trace I see
in the cracks of subliminal temper
such a racket
who hid the strings
where is the spare
buried in the snow
my chest saves the draft
such a temper
what did it latch to?
I stop myself from a refrain
can't anyone see me me blend in
does it not strike to someone
all that waiting might have killed me?
has it really been a decade
in my current state?

"I will come out anytime
hit back hard upside down-
those big stones helping me"

Sunday, June 10, 2012

deep waters

Copy Right © 2012 Hannah Gosselin ~ Pier Post Persisting
I crawl under the logs
trembled stones brush the earth
willow trees sway in the wind
casting shadows on me
slush and mud rub into me
the stain on my clothes I can bear
the image imprinted in my corona
I cannot see
who called the bluffs
my mind asks
when I hold a log
my nail snags
you could have it all
all of me,
all of my possessions
but you escaped in that vessel
into deep waters
which will take you far away

"from my strategic point 
I watch the vessel sink into deep waters,
loving the smell of mud on my skin"

hang me on your door knob

Still Life, 1670, detail by Jean François de Le Motte
that stub
assorted letters
a notebook
pages from a book
a sealed envelope
newspaper cuttings
I see all those
that expression of yours
when writing
or that intense look when reading
strings of the past lay askew
tied neatly in a disreputable thread
photo frame riveted to the wooden wall
why does it stab at my heart
you hung her head
where did you throw her costume
eyeless she doesn't appear wanting
I can see clearly now
the wicked intricacies of your mind

"I do not wish to be a newspaper cut out,
ribboned to your collection"

Sunday, June 03, 2012


crouching closely to the ground
what do you chisel away?
my nerves are on edge
my heartbeat so fast

the ground splits 
you crumple that paper in your palm
drop it into that slit
why did you bruise the earth?

you could have burnt it.
in the glow of the fire
I would have watched your face
that piercing look in your eyes

when your mind crashes to ground
we both burst into the sky
no one wins nor is it a draw
seems like it is what you are good at

it is your life's mission
to demolish everything
be it for a living
or to wreck my working week

"a buried paper can be taken out
I know you will read my love letter again"

borrow my eyes, borrow my ears

this face and figure
that you bestowed upon us
we like our stature
fruits, berries, leaves
enhance it
we stand proud in our fruit fortress
fragrances reach out to that child
our berry eyes beckon her
tentatively she touches our moustache
tickling the "royal we"
a little push here
a little shove there
we fall apart in front of her

when little children touch with their grubby hands
(it happened not only in our dreams)
picking fruits, berries, leaves, 
we give up our fickle thoughts
loving the feel of their love in their mouths

"eat as much as you can children,
we are not worried about our disappearance"