the poetry of sarah palin

on Good and evil 

It is obvious to me 

Who the good guys are in this one 

And who the bad guys are. 

The bad guys are the ones 

Who say Israel is a stinking corpse, 

And should be wiped off 

The face of the earth. 

That’s not a good guy. 

on Reporters 

It’s funny that 

A comment like that 

Was kinda made to, 

I don’t know, 

You know… 

Reporters. 

To Katie Couric, CBS News, 9-25-2008

========

you can’t Blink 

You can’t blink. 

You have to be wired 

In a way of being 

So committed to the mission, 

The mission that we’re on, 

Reform of this country, 

And victory in the war, 

You can’t blink. 

So I didn’t blink. 

outside 

I am a Washington outsider. 

I mean, 

Look at where you are. 

I’m a Washington outsider. 

I do not have those allegiances 

To the power brokers, 

To the lobbyists. 

We need someone like that. 

challenge to a cynic 

You are a cynic. 

Because show me where 

I have ever said 

That there’s absolute proof 

That nothing that man 

Has ever conducted 

Or engaged in, 

Has had any effect, 

Or no effect, 

On climate change. 

To Charles Gibson, ABC News, 9-11-2008

========

Haiku 

These corporations. 

Today it was AIG, 

Important call, there. 

Befoulers of the Verbiage 

It was an unfair attack on the verbiage 

That Senator McCain chose to use, 

Because the fundamentals, 

As he was having to explain afterwards, 

He means our workforce. 

He means the ingenuity of the American. 

And of course that is strong, 

And that is the foundation of our economy. 

So that was an unfair attack there, 

Again based on verbiage. 

Small Mayors 

You know, 

Small mayors, 

Mayors of small towns— 

Quote, unquote— 

They‘re on the front lines. 

To Sean Hannity, Fox News, 9-19-2008

underwater goddess

stand at the edge

gaze at the water

flutter butterflies 

second-guess

inhale deeply

plunge

dive

gasp 

marvel 

baptize

wash away corporate sins

propel

amplify

breathe

be alone with the unnamable source

transform

swim!

Ode to Eagle River

Here I awake with a joyous breath

And drift to sleep in peaceful rest
A choir of pines and aspens sing
Their great strong trunks ever towering

Mr. Blue Heron glides across the satin lake
His perfect neck curved like a snake
Even if you wanted to fret or worry
The loons would say slow down, don't hurry

Audrey writes poems in sweet, thoughtful rhyme
And peruses my prose with her wise, kind eye
With books in hand to the pier we walk
Ever engaged in placid picnic talk
So little to do, so much to say
With long missed friends the day whiles away

We swim and lounge in a sunset snapshot
As if unearthed from an ancient treasure spot
The leaves turn lime in the fading sun
When did doing nothing become so much fun?

With effortlessness in the brisk summer air
These sacred north woods are a true yogi's lair
Spontaneous union of the self and nature
All elements combine to make the mind most clear

Oh Aldridge Lake, oh Audrey, oh Skip
I could not have fathomed a more ideal trip
If I could dwell here for the rest of time
I think that would be absolutely sublime

life or death

in 1989, i developed an acute fear of death
because that's what people do
at the age
of enlightenment
to the fact
that this precious life ends

i couldn't bear to leave the house
obsessed about eternity
eternally
because
death happens
and no one knows what it means
but why not believe in heaven?
why not believe in rebirth?
reincarnation?
reinvention?

my most tragic memories:
a tornado hitting my school
lightning striking our house
getting the phone call that makes everything cease:
family members in wreck, helicoptered to hospital

i'm lucky
to have avoided intimacy with sudden death
except for my childhood kitties,
spice and peppy,
who died before their time
under the wheels of fast cars
and tiki, the first chihuahua,
her delicate bones crushed by accident

now, buddha challenges me to ponder life and death
in a new and ordinary way
to contemplate the bardo realms
and compassionately wish for freedom from suffering
for all beings
no exceptions
to meditate on impermanence
and to know death
all while staying present
and living most fully

nueva york city

a full parade of days
walking in the shadows of the empire
snow falling on cement
bustle and thrill morphed into agitation and aching arches


there's no place like home but
there's really no place like new york:
the frenzy of a billion heartbeats
and brain waves and conversations
the lives of the poor and famous intersecting underground

didn't make it above 42nd street
but it's okay
yoga was an asylum
from the speedy mind
always seeking what's next
where next, who next
scarcely able to complete one thought
before the next waterfall of people
cascade down the stairwell
and vie for their lives on the crosswalk

made new friends and kept the old
meditated in manhattan
basked in the relative calm in brooklyn
powered through brunches and shops and times square
ate systematically from every delicious cuisine possible

i do love this city
i did enjoy this spring break immensely
i am ready to return to my quiet little corner of the planet

my flight

woke up from a dream

in which i was a witch

in plainclothes

propelling myself at will

high into the storm clouds

the ground far below

brown and unwanted

i smiled down on the evergreen trees

no one could do what i could

no one noticed

and i didn't care

woke up on a sunlit morning

sad and confused

dwelling on my middle class woes

and unable to fly

flipped through the material world

saw smiling children in africa

whose bright teeth made me cry

and feel guilty and grateful

and wish that they could fly

oh, that i could meet them high in the sky

this too shall pass

i'm a little depressed

chilly grey listless perplexed

but not overwhelmingly so

haven't been bedridden sad in years

and for that i am eternally grateful

now i look at the downswing

i am the witness at a distance

i see my patterns

i notice my obsession with perfecting friendships

in my desire to maintain the illusion of control

i seek love and then reject affections

i pursue the unattainable

knowing, on some level, that i won't get it

because, on some level, i don't want it

wanting it and getting it would then mean

COMMITMENT

(gasp!)

...a fate worse than solitude?

humble pie

humility is remembering

life is complex beyond complex

concepts are pointing to the moon

and i know nothing

i am no better and no worse

than a fern

or a calf

or a clerk

or a star

i am nothing and everything

simultaneously

the biggest loser and

the champion of the day

gates of hell

the charming new president
is sending my baby to war

he's already distant
now they're taking him further 
away

at first I refused to believe
but he's not lying
my eyes flood
my throat strangles words
my head echoes
what will I do?
how will I feel?
thank god we don't have a baby
I will be okay
I will be safe

then i step outside my gargantuan ego
and the tears are for he who tells me 
so matter of fact
it's his duty
he must go
not to worry
he will be fine

my grandfathers fought forty years before i was born
i heard stories
i read articles
i saw the grainy footage 
photographs in life magazine
those towers burning and collapsed
now it hits me like it never hit before
in this bleak moment
all wars became real and fearsome

i cry for the brave millions before and now
marching to the gates of hell
into an exploding desert
lonely and wiling to shed their comfort
their blood
their existence
for me

the charming new president will send my love to war
i don't know if it will ever come back
but i know it will never die


--Michelle Margaret, January 2009

the guest house by rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

you know

knowledge is what we learn in school. 
it's useful and good. 
it's facts and opinions, causes and effects, formulas and literature. 
it's mathematical and scientific, linguistic and societal.  
it's where you grew up, who your closest relatives are, what church you went to as a kid. 
it's the color of your skin, and the natural color of your hair. 
it's chemistry, quantum physics and neurobiological rhythms. 
yes, knowledge is power. 
but knowledge is also in a book.

knowing is what we learn from experience. 
by doing. feeling. 
living. 
knowing is wisdom in action. 
it is your first downward dog of the day. 
it is applying lessons learned first-hand to future choices and activities. 
it's poetic and simple. 
it's common sense and esoteric. 
it is breathing, beating, every second. 
knowing is moving through days with intuition more than fear, openness more than barriers. 
knowing is trusting in your own divine power as well as the divine nature of the universe. 
knowing is dropping the ego, dropping competition, possessions, obsessions, just being.

gone

there isn't and wasn't and probably
won't be
anything that can define
the here and now.

or the yesterday or tomorrow.

smallest joys and sorrows
giant laughs and tears.

they happen.
they pass.

something else comes.

with no words left to describe.
or define.

was / is / will be

life exists in this present heartbeat

and yet relationships are built
upon the dead past

trust fosters openness, surrender
distrust builds fortresses of bitterness
selective memory colors things too simply
all rosy smiles and rainbow orgasms
blue frowns and stormy arguments


if it takes three, eighteen or a trillion more lessons
no matter
I (am learning / will learn)
the past can never be recreated
the future can never be known
nor should they be
that lesson is liberating every time
cause it propels me back here
to the eternal IS

uptown, upstate, up

Upstate, rain is cleansing me
after a day in New York
city of filthy opportunity 
people crawling out of skyscrapers

In Manhattan, I am Texan
more than anything else

I want the Hudson Valley in me
like Taos' pink sunsets and blue gravel
like lush Mexico the summer I flowed with fluency
like Austin, breakfast tacos, Lone Stars and all

Most of all, I want India in me
real yoga pulsing through my veins
Not in scrapbook memories
in my skin
A part of me, por siempre


--Michelle Fajkus, June 2008

hasta pronto (until soon)

literal translations are cause for great laughter and confusion
learning new languages,
the queer tongues of the exotic indigenous
begin to understand
open, soften, warm up
let loose
whoop

when i was learning spanish
and was first told, "hasta pronto,"
i thought, "until soon?"
a better translation might be
see you soon.

until soon.
i like the juxtaposition.
until soon is where my mind always wants to go
my ego is way ahead of me.
until soon is the greener grass
until soon is not as great as you thought it would be.

but whatever.
hasta pronto.

the home stretch

twenty days left this year
sun is setting on the third grade
my heart is filled with nostalgia
my mind with annoyance
thinking (just SHUT UP!!)
and then sweetness returns.

I will cry on the last day
I will write an epilogue on the plane to Boston
and read Anna Karenina all the way to India
I will spend 24 hours
straight
up in the air.

stop making up theories
teaching theories
writing about theories.
opting instead for
the bountiful yellow wildflowers
under a big, blue Texas sky.

nothing's better than
raspberry shaved ice
practical world travel
and creative completion.

--Michelle Fajkus, May 2008

amor & libertad (love & freedom)

staring at the Pacific from a white cliff
i kinda want to swan dive
but it's rocky down there
just say no to suicide

in lieu, i fall backwards
through the time-space continuum
to the red womb
to a girl's bedroom, three shades of pink
smoking stolen cigarettes
knowing not how to inhale
upside down
and stood up

loves found and lost
ultimate liberation
casting off handcuffs
screaming with abandon
how can such a life of fullness
be so empty?

going away for awhile
i'll let you know
cuando llegaré
(when i arrive).

poetic freedom philosophy

the world can use more poems.

i thought it'd be cool to create a space where cool people can publish poems of any style and subject matter for each other to read. as much as i adore writing and reading prose, there's something especially liberating about poetry.

poems don't have to rhyme. but they can.
they can be about anything.
all you gotta do
is feel
and then write something
with funky line breaks
and you are
a magic poet.

Deity

Deity is the fruit placed before Buddha.
Remembering you are a buddha.
It is the body and blood;
We lift them up to the Lord.
The father, the sun and the holy spirit.
Deity is endless aching asylum.
Deity is a child.
And laughing.
It is the keys on my typewriter
who sit so patiently until inspiration comes
so that they may whizz through space
landing
-- splat! --
to be part of a word, a sentence, a paragraph
A story.
Deity is our daily bread,
the life that keeps flowing
through our veins and lungs and hearts.