At The Cemetery

Here is one from 2007..even though it’s older, it’s mine:)
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At The Cemetery

Little dark-skinned urchin in barefoot glee



finds a small cool ceramic floor



to execute her soft tap dance.



A raggedy undressed doll, swings from her hand



as she hums music only she can hear and understand.



Lost in the joy of her own sway and beat,



unmoved by the weeping crowds of mourners



who file past her in disbelief,



hair flying, wide-eyed and innocently,

 

she dances on the grave

of a now forgotten grief.

Karima Hoisan
2007 Costa Rica

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Recycled Life

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Recycled Life

I thought of sending you an old thought
one I have been carrying on my back
since forever.
It continues to reappear in different forms,
but it’s the very same as it always was
and it always appears when you show me
your disinterest, your indifference.

This thought is so needy,
it can’t camouflage its pain,
even wrapped in light mirth and sarcasm
it bleeds before your eyes
it makes a fool of itself
and then… of course,
you get up to run away.

Remembering it takes a million years
to make a diamond out of coal…
It takes a thousand scenes
watching you and all the likes of you
walking out the door,
I reconsidered sending this time-bomb
of self-destruction and instead,
put my arms around your neck
and asked,
“How was your day?”

Karima Hoisan
September 15, 2018
Costa Rica

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Rattled My Brain

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Rattled My Brain

For all those souls that rattled my brain
shook me awake at midnight and put me on a horse
to ride and ride and ride by only the light of the moon
for the chance to hear them breathing in their sleep
and nothing more…
through their open country windows,
glass-less ventanáles, always unlatched…
I rode by like a nightmare,
braiding the mane of my streaking steed,
but laying a flower like a lover on their window sill…
something to contemplate when they awoke and thought it all a dream.

I bet you don’t know what I mean
but maybe you do..
maybe you got your chance to live as I did
the passion of a real life scene,
the kind played today by actors in HD
rolling now inside your flat screens.

For all those souls that rattled my brain
made me forget to eat, or hear what people
were saying…
Made me jump on trains and ride for two days just
to visit them in the Federal Pen,
charged with conspiracy
but innocent as the break of day,
where we held hands under the scrutiny of all those eagle eyes
aware that time was doing a goose step..and soon I would be back
at the station with no expectations…
Tears and delicious sadness, all the way back
clackety clackety clack.

I bet you don’t know what I mean
but maybe you do..
maybe you got your chance to live as I did
the passion of a real life scene,
the kind played today by actors in HD
rolling now inside your flat screens.

For all those souls that rattled my brain
that scandalized my innocence my naiveté
with their unique lessons
that made me ask what was it all about?
What was true?
What was right?
That taught me to forgive, just about everything …
I’d forgive murder, hypocrisy, betrayal and abuse
if they just asked me to… and they did.
They all were my unconventional schools of life
I took trains and planes just to see them again,
to walk on a beach in Cartagena, to sleep by their side
in a cave in Wadi Rum, to gallop through a rainstorm,
just to bring them their cigarettes.
My story is a Lynchian romance, so how can I put it into words?
How can I pin the blame, take the credit, regret the shame?
except to say….

I bet you don’t know what I mean
but maybe you do..
maybe you got your chance to live as I did
the passion of a real life scene
the kind played today by actors in HD
rolling now inside your flat screens.

Karima Hoisan
September 4, 2018
Costa Rica

*Footnote..I apologize for retouching the painting (getting rid of Shutterstock) but it was just the perfect image. Mea Culpa:) Also…here is the music I looped incessantly to write this poem. Isn’t it fabulous?? Seductora, Explotadora y Algo Mas (Luis Alberto Posada)

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When I Used To Be A Poet

Gazing at Nympheas 24 x 18 Dennis Perrin

Gazing at Nympheas by Dennis Perrin.

I still remember when…
I used to be a poet.
When a phrase,
or dream,
or vision
had that alchemy,
to change into painted words upon a page.
Then that feeling of urgency overtook me
and I rushed to find a pen
or keypad
and not lose that thought:
The kernel that could be popped
into a full- blown poem
with my name on the bottom.

I always knew…I KNEW “this will be a poem”
sometime soon.
I would whisper that phrase to anyone nearby
or out-loud to no one.
but, it was important to say it;
it was part of the process
that had evolved over years.

This moment,
this painting,
this conversation
has that special energy,
to move me out of myself
and into the certainty…
a poem was coming.
It was coming soon,
a speeding train of inspiration,
of  imagination,
and not even I could stop it.

Karima Hoisan
August 31, 2018
Costa Rica
* Footnote: Thanks to a conversation with Luna Branwen for this thought:)

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Roads

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Roads

The green road leads to somewhere..
tree-lined with butterflies flitting in the flowers;
it promises life.

The blue road appears to end underwater
but it’s just an illusion, as it stretches on and down,
a soothing oblivion.

They intersect at some point along their way
one heading into the forest, one plunging into the lake
You can always choose… which one is for you.

Karima Hoisan
July 18, 2018
Karak, Jordan

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The Last Hour of Light

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I want to record the breeze in the afternoon…
The last hour of light,
sitting in the entry -way,
shelling green hummus, eating them raw like peanuts,
passing the black coffee around in a pink thermos,
to half -fill tiny cups,
while small flocks of desert wrens,

fly away into the backyard.
The sky is changing right before our eyes;
that pink and blue baby hue and then, from down the hill,
the call to prayer comes wafting to our ears
like chanted incense.

Karima Hoisan
June 20, 2018
Karak, Jordan

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Moved to Tears

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Moved to Tears

In the concert of our lives,
sometimes those minor changes
make tears blur our eyes.
Perhaps something was just too beautiful
to comprehend dry-eyed.
Maybe it was too painful,
too hopeless,
too unkind…
and we hear the music of strings surround us
and our eyes pour out our souls,
so everyone can see it, and everyone knows.

Sometimes we play in the symphony;
we sway and lose ourselves,
in the beauty that surrounds us.
But sometimes, we are asked to sit
beyond the orchestra pit,
a mere observer, swept away by the next movement.
In the audience, we are in passive awe
as the music crescendos,
and our tears, from that deep place, begin to flow.

If I could play the cello, I would strive to be first chair,
with my eye on the conductor, playing my heart out;
while,
simultaneously from the audience,
I am being moved to tears,
by such an impassioned solo.

Karima Hoisan
June 14, 2008
Karak, Jordan

*Footnote: I felt this way when I was flying into Amman at 2am, the first time back in 9 years. The sprawling city looked like diamonds, with a thick gold necklace traversing the broaches, and pins. So beautiful…..then tears:)
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