suicide letter—
words drown in saltwater
unopened
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
memories unbegun
by Karyn Huntting Peters
riding steed called reverie
in heat of midday sun
random memories come to me
though most have yet begun
backward glances catch my eye
cross miles yet untravered
future moments fill my thoughts
so light and unrehearsed
stirring me from reverie
a voice as yet unknown
speaks its words of sacred thought
that once were but my own
riding steed called reverie
in heat of midday sun
random memories come to me
though most have yet begun
backward glances catch my eye
cross miles yet untravered
future moments fill my thoughts
so light and unrehearsed
stirring me from reverie
a voice as yet unknown
speaks its words of sacred thought
that once were but my own
Monday, June 26, 2006
mind of yours
by Karyn Huntting Peters
your mind moves so close to mine i can
feel it breathing, feel the
heat of it in the cool night air. it makes me
shudder with awareness, like a
million cilia propelling my thoughts one by
one through a maze with no beginning
and no end. it changes sensation from the
inside out, starting where the past
stopped and stopping where the future
had never dreamed of ending. move
closer, mind of yours, find your
solution in the swirling
colors and elements of this
chemistry we stir.
your mind moves so close to mine i can
feel it breathing, feel the
heat of it in the cool night air. it makes me
shudder with awareness, like a
million cilia propelling my thoughts one by
one through a maze with no beginning
and no end. it changes sensation from the
inside out, starting where the past
stopped and stopping where the future
had never dreamed of ending. move
closer, mind of yours, find your
solution in the swirling
colors and elements of this
chemistry we stir.
gift
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Invisible presence
Prometheus
Hand to heaven
Hand to earth
Fire traveling down
To your outstretched hand, to mine
Only to cleave apart
Each to his own altar
To burn in the pyre
Where born now are two
Apart until
Flight of the Phoenix
Cleaves together
With heat of ashes in the sky
Invisible presence
Prometheus
Hand to heaven
Hand to earth
Fire traveling down
To your outstretched hand, to mine
Only to cleave apart
Each to his own altar
To burn in the pyre
Where born now are two
Apart until
Flight of the Phoenix
Cleaves together
With heat of ashes in the sky
first rain
by Karyn Huntting Peters
tonight. first rain of the season. i see
life reflected on the wetness of the streets.
raindrops on the sidewalk disturb the pattern
like reality disturbs the illusion.
i see now that no season is going to
remove you from within me. what alchemy
is this? what element flows between?
from what metal have we been forged?
what colors, and how luminous. how bright,
even in the darkness of the void! tonight.
the first rain. a prism in every raindrop. a
world of color within and without.
are we to see ourselves on such scales
big and small? look to the sky. look to the
street. they are only the illusions. we both
recognized reality a long time ago.
tonight. first rain of the season. i see
life reflected on the wetness of the streets.
raindrops on the sidewalk disturb the pattern
like reality disturbs the illusion.
i see now that no season is going to
remove you from within me. what alchemy
is this? what element flows between?
from what metal have we been forged?
what colors, and how luminous. how bright,
even in the darkness of the void! tonight.
the first rain. a prism in every raindrop. a
world of color within and without.
are we to see ourselves on such scales
big and small? look to the sky. look to the
street. they are only the illusions. we both
recognized reality a long time ago.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
tendrils
by Karyn Huntting Peters
heavy, almost tangible
tendrils of night
black reach with longing, stretch down
from the spaces between the deep sky stars.
they wish to leap the last million miles
to settle soft on the earth
between brittle broken branches
and warm carpets of fallen pine needles,
to spend evenings in comfort, wrapping round and round until they feel no sharp edges
and forget the lonely vacuums of nowhere.
but the leap is a dream
and the journey long.
unfurl, tendrils, unfurl!
there is no sun-warmed earth to lie upon.
it is only to dream of and see in the distance
with longing and stretching.
tendrils laden with blackest
night cling to memories of bright stars
as they once danced in the magic skies, but
have such faint shimmer of remembrance for the
elusive world across the endless canyons
of time to come.
heavy, almost tangible
tendrils of night
black reach with longing, stretch down
from the spaces between the deep sky stars.
they wish to leap the last million miles
to settle soft on the earth
between brittle broken branches
and warm carpets of fallen pine needles,
to spend evenings in comfort, wrapping round and round until they feel no sharp edges
and forget the lonely vacuums of nowhere.
but the leap is a dream
and the journey long.
unfurl, tendrils, unfurl!
there is no sun-warmed earth to lie upon.
it is only to dream of and see in the distance
with longing and stretching.
tendrils laden with blackest
night cling to memories of bright stars
as they once danced in the magic skies, but
have such faint shimmer of remembrance for the
elusive world across the endless canyons
of time to come.
light of dawn
by Karyn Huntting Peters
by truest light of dawn
thy tear-struck eyes be shown;
now-lowered veil opaque,
eternal gates swung shut
dream secrets disappear
into the great unknown;
thy waking mind doth yearn
yet knoweth not for what
by truest light of dawn
thy tear-struck eyes be shown;
now-lowered veil opaque,
eternal gates swung shut
dream secrets disappear
into the great unknown;
thy waking mind doth yearn
yet knoweth not for what
Thursday, June 22, 2006
laws
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Stop!
You have reached
The end of reality.
(Or is it the beginning?)
High walls keep men out.
The Phoenix flies over still.
Laws are different here.
Speed of light chases thought.
Thought jumps laughingly
About time and space.
Energy is the air we breathe.
Do we belong here?
Is this a dream?
Or did we just wake up?
Stop!
You have reached
The end of reality.
(Or is it the beginning?)
High walls keep men out.
The Phoenix flies over still.
Laws are different here.
Speed of light chases thought.
Thought jumps laughingly
About time and space.
Energy is the air we breathe.
Do we belong here?
Is this a dream?
Or did we just wake up?
Monday, June 19, 2006
ChiaStang
by Karyn Huntting Peters
It's warm here, sunny. I like how my trees are growing in the back yard. I watch them from my office window. I remember how gingerly I stuffed the 6-8' sprouts into my Mustang five or six years ago. Four of them at a time. Problem is that you can't get the dang doors closed that way. I crammed in what I could (so much for ginger) and let the rest hang out the open windows. Wish I had a pic of what my car looked like from the back. ChiaStang.
I was the only one on the street that hadn't planted trees yet. I was still working on gettng grass to grow. Don't ever let anyone tell you that building and being left with what is known as an "unfinished" yard is easier than bartering over an already-built house and having to rip out a few gauche, lanky rhodies.
The pears trees are finally starting to bear fruit. And the pears are really good. Bartlett. Then when the Bartletts start to dwindle, the other half of the tree starts spewing forth some other kind. I didn't know that I bought a freaky tree until it started bearing fruit. But I like it.
Then therer's the Shasta Daisy bush I planted in front in the little garden area in front of the porch. Things are sprouting out like there's no tomorrow. I'll have to pull out the digital and take a few pics.
Seize the daisies, baby. Seize the daisies.
It's warm here, sunny. I like how my trees are growing in the back yard. I watch them from my office window. I remember how gingerly I stuffed the 6-8' sprouts into my Mustang five or six years ago. Four of them at a time. Problem is that you can't get the dang doors closed that way. I crammed in what I could (so much for ginger) and let the rest hang out the open windows. Wish I had a pic of what my car looked like from the back. ChiaStang.
I was the only one on the street that hadn't planted trees yet. I was still working on gettng grass to grow. Don't ever let anyone tell you that building and being left with what is known as an "unfinished" yard is easier than bartering over an already-built house and having to rip out a few gauche, lanky rhodies.
The pears trees are finally starting to bear fruit. And the pears are really good. Bartlett. Then when the Bartletts start to dwindle, the other half of the tree starts spewing forth some other kind. I didn't know that I bought a freaky tree until it started bearing fruit. But I like it.
Then therer's the Shasta Daisy bush I planted in front in the little garden area in front of the porch. Things are sprouting out like there's no tomorrow. I'll have to pull out the digital and take a few pics.
Seize the daisies, baby. Seize the daisies.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
understatement
by Karyn Huntting Peters
When it’s almost over,
I may tell you that it’s begun.
You see, I’m not one to risk
OVERSTATEMENT.
(at least not when it really matters).
When it’s almost over,
I may tell you that it’s begun.
You see, I’m not one to risk
OVERSTATEMENT.
(at least not when it really matters).
Friday, June 16, 2006
ivy
by Karyn Huntting Peters
tiny new and tendergreen
the ivy awakens in spring
to frame the torn edges
of the photo of time
tiny new and tendergreen
the ivy awakens in spring
to frame the torn edges
of the photo of time
Thursday, June 15, 2006
neon restaurant
by Karyn Huntting Peters
sitting in neon restaurant
crowded signs lining the streets
just this side of walled windows
shoes come and go
with people attached
voices foreign and muffled
between carpet and heel
faint trickle of muzak
pinging worn stainless steel
windows echo reflections
of haloed headlights of night
trancelike cars meander
through the aisles and people
white noise cancels out falseness
of lamp and its cloth shade above
and through frosted glass
laughs the trickster of light
who never forgets
the multitude of neon restaurants
within each of his photons
sitting in neon restaurant
crowded signs lining the streets
just this side of walled windows
shoes come and go
with people attached
voices foreign and muffled
between carpet and heel
faint trickle of muzak
pinging worn stainless steel
windows echo reflections
of haloed headlights of night
trancelike cars meander
through the aisles and people
white noise cancels out falseness
of lamp and its cloth shade above
and through frosted glass
laughs the trickster of light
who never forgets
the multitude of neon restaurants
within each of his photons
Monday, June 12, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
tesseract
by Karyn Huntting Peters
if your eyes are now four-dimensional cubes,
you are overtessereacting.
watch that you don't hyperextend yourself.
keep sight of the future first and fourthmost.
if your eyes are now four-dimensional cubes,
you are overtessereacting.
watch that you don't hyperextend yourself.
keep sight of the future first and fourthmost.
Monday, June 05, 2006
die hard
by Karyn Huntting Peters
word hard, play hard
hurt forever, cry hard
dream hard, risk hard
love forever, die hard
word hard, play hard
hurt forever, cry hard
dream hard, risk hard
love forever, die hard
to you
by Karyn Huntting Peters
to you
who kindly smirk as my tears stream onto the
phone and say sorry i will offer no comfort in this hour,
i answer with a simple fine and shake my head…
to you
who feel i should not have cared and say
i asked for it, that i asked for this pain, i say that’s
not very kind while i look blankly out the window…
to you
who answer my admission of hurt, my saying that i
so much need to hear a friendly voice in this moment,
and the telltale sound of a woman’s crying, with a
monotone i-don’t-feel-like-talking-anymore,
i say and all these years i thought we were really friends…
and to you
who must have heard the sound of tears falling
hundreds of miles away as you hung up the receiver,
i say if this is grace,
grace me no more.
to you
who kindly smirk as my tears stream onto the
phone and say sorry i will offer no comfort in this hour,
i answer with a simple fine and shake my head…
to you
who feel i should not have cared and say
i asked for it, that i asked for this pain, i say that’s
not very kind while i look blankly out the window…
to you
who answer my admission of hurt, my saying that i
so much need to hear a friendly voice in this moment,
and the telltale sound of a woman’s crying, with a
monotone i-don’t-feel-like-talking-anymore,
i say and all these years i thought we were really friends…
and to you
who must have heard the sound of tears falling
hundreds of miles away as you hung up the receiver,
i say if this is grace,
grace me no more.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
land bridge
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Stormy seas passed
waters calm
waves lapping on distant shores
stopping in an instant
time holding still
seas dividing.
The bridge opens
for a moment
in timespace.
Forever meets now.
The moment passes
yet as the seas crash
together again
forever remains.
And we have crossed over
apart from earth and sea
now in a universe
where time is primitive
and all is one.
Stormy seas passed
waters calm
waves lapping on distant shores
stopping in an instant
time holding still
seas dividing.
The bridge opens
for a moment
in timespace.
Forever meets now.
The moment passes
yet as the seas crash
together again
forever remains.
And we have crossed over
apart from earth and sea
now in a universe
where time is primitive
and all is one.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
aristophanes
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Plato and the others
listened as Aristophanes spoke
of the original form of man
and told of how he had angered the gods
Spake wise Aristophanes,
this is the reason
man was split asunder into his halves
forever in search of the rest of himself
longing eternal to find his completion
and entwine himself with it
in a sacred joining of parts
wandering the earth in search of
what we once found together
so many lifetimes ago.
Plato and the others
listened as Aristophanes spoke
of the original form of man
and told of how he had angered the gods
Spake wise Aristophanes,
this is the reason
man was split asunder into his halves
forever in search of the rest of himself
longing eternal to find his completion
and entwine himself with it
in a sacred joining of parts
wandering the earth in search of
what we once found together
so many lifetimes ago.
having become 244
by Karyn Huntting Peters
such large and jumbled seeming atom
nucleus filled and appearing haphazard
electrons orbiting many and fiercely
nearly obscuring even the view of the center
yet peering inside i see it
and know its protons and neutrons
feel its particles of all types and their reasons
and know what element its identity
to see its essence to see my own, my electrons
having found some place in its seventh level and more
penetrable shells past the other's boundaries
some natural affinity having bound
such large and jumbled seeming atom
nucleus filled and appearing haphazard
electrons orbiting many and fiercely
nearly obscuring even the view of the center
yet peering inside i see it
and know its protons and neutrons
feel its particles of all types and their reasons
and know what element its identity
to see its essence to see my own, my electrons
having found some place in its seventh level and more
penetrable shells past the other's boundaries
some natural affinity having bound
listen with thy heart
by Karyn Huntting Peters
If it were but so
that thou Romeo
shouldst be so gentle of heart
as to turn thy face
and feign that thou hearest not
but silence I should venture
To gaze down upon thee
From this my lonely balcony
(for what doth this
my faintness of courage serve
but to pierce my heart
as wouldst thine own dagger?)
Yet in cautious voice
I should speak to thee
That thou wouldst but listen
With thy heart
Or if thou be not a willing servant
But pray hear
What thou canst not now know
(pray, doth thou yet knowest?)
of these my desires
though they tasteth of sweet poison
To but touch thy lips to mine
If it were but so
that thou Romeo
shouldst be so gentle of heart
as to turn thy face
and feign that thou hearest not
but silence I should venture
To gaze down upon thee
From this my lonely balcony
(for what doth this
my faintness of courage serve
but to pierce my heart
as wouldst thine own dagger?)
Yet in cautious voice
I should speak to thee
That thou wouldst but listen
With thy heart
Or if thou be not a willing servant
But pray hear
What thou canst not now know
(pray, doth thou yet knowest?)
of these my desires
though they tasteth of sweet poison
To but touch thy lips to mine
Friday, June 02, 2006
the way home
by Karyn Huntting Peters
He asked me of the meaning of love and
of life, and received a smile, a gentle touch, but
no words in return. And through a language
not quite human the unimportant fell away and
at once he saw the center –- core, entirety of
the universe -- infinitely small, infinitely large,
and realized that it was just there that we had
stood before and there that we had called the
refuge and warmth of home in those times we
had not departed to run some silly little
errands and gotten lost along the way.
He asked me of the meaning of love and
of life, and received a smile, a gentle touch, but
no words in return. And through a language
not quite human the unimportant fell away and
at once he saw the center –- core, entirety of
the universe -- infinitely small, infinitely large,
and realized that it was just there that we had
stood before and there that we had called the
refuge and warmth of home in those times we
had not departed to run some silly little
errands and gotten lost along the way.
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