Lost and found and edited.

There’s a certain quiet.
Not crickets.
Or the rain.
Or traffic on an otherwise empty street.

Pulling over for a casket entourage.


“Play me a song,” he used to say and he’d close his eyes to listen.

His body lightly laid on a small mound of pillows and freshly washed sheets; whiskers purring at his limbs.

They were never very good.

The songs.


Listen.


When friends edge themselves between parentheses and steadily saunter toward ellipses.



I discovered these little bits of writing in a draft post on a 2009 blog I never launched.

(How many of those do you think there are out there — blogs that die before they’re born — ? I imagine a digital blog cemetery floating about in the digital ether somewhere.)

I edited the text a bit and divided it into four little bits o’ writing. I don’t recall if I wrote it all in one sitting or over time but it made sense to make those edits.

Do you have unfinished or half-baked draft posts or pages?

What little surprises have you found?

Play with my heart.

(untitled)

I like it when you play with my hair

play with my mind. play with my heart.

make me feel beautiful while my

skin is still soft. eyes are still bright.

hips are still round.

I like it when you kiss me right there.

kiss me all over. play with my hair

Make me feel wanted when my

heart is still young.  mind is still

soft. needs are still shallow.

I like it when you touch my face

and feel my lips with your tongue

with your cheeks.  with your breath.

Make me feel sexy when I’m having a

bad day.  when I trip and fall.

when you look at me that way.

Written Thursday, 8.8.02.

***

This poem is in another post, Fun it is to be loved.

Compost you and me.

It’s been decided.

I’m un-invited to the possibility.

You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.

Worth fighting about.

Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.

That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.

Compost is the option.

Compost you and me.


Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers, U District, Seattle, WA.

Through the pages.

I thought I had lost a leather-bound journal given to me by a friend in 2002. I thought I had lost it in a fire. but I didn’t. It was in one of the boxes of things I stored at my parents’ house. I probably stowed it away because it was too painful to keep around. It was given to me during one of the most difficult times in my life. And here it is. spine ready for a backbend. to show me its insides. and remember. This is the last piece I wrote before tucking it away. on a page marking a third of the way through the pages.

nothing for the weak at heart
pastel walls to soothe the nerves in blues
watch out for the claw traps
when you’ve just kicked off your shoes
powder puff in muscle tees
shined up shoes with wounded knees
try the chicken Bolognese
and listen for the wake-up call tomorrow
desert winds on parched skin
the babies snooze in tuxes
and momma in her sequined evening gown
strolls him around the slot machines.

Written Sunday, May 25th, 2003.

Leave little gifts for you.

My parents are moving into a smaller house so they’ve started the process of going through their things. Things they’ve accumulated over the past 40 years or so. As a lot of children do, I’ve stored things of mine at their place over the years so I’ve started looking through them. Some I’ve packed and unpacked between multiple countries from the time I was in elementary school. One treasured item I thought I’d lost in a house fire almost 10 years ago was in one of the boxes – a leather-bound journal given to me by a friend. I probably hid it away in a box because at the time I’d had it, I made some very poor decisions and treated friends (and myself) terribly. I needed to store it away for a while, to keep the writings at a distance, I suppose.

I am so glad and thankful that I still have it. I read through it quickly last night. Some powerful stuff in there. Painful. Painful and beautiful. I can see my determination to ‘sort things out’ and overcome in the words. I had this journal at a time when I ended up in an ambulance to the hospital because I’d taken an overdose of medication at home alone during a workday. I remember laying on my bed. Staring at the door and imaging my mom finding me there. I cried. And pounded on the mattress a bit, I’m sure. I became frightened as I imagined the strength of my heart beating in my ears weaken and slow. I leapt up to call 911. I didn’t want to die.

Most people who attempt and commit suicide do not want to end their lives. But consequence and impulsiveness oftentimes brings people to kill themselves. It’s an impulsive act. One that happens at a time when a person feels hopeless, overwhelmed, worthless, and perhaps many more terrible things. Or numb. But these, as all emotions on the spectrum, are fleeting. As are impulsive actions. But suicide is irreversible. It’s a permanent decision if succeeded. It’s important that that you or someone you know reaches out when feeling this way. If experiencing suicidal ideation, please please PLEASE reach out. If someone talks about thinking of taking their life, take it seriously. It’s a serious thing regardless of how they tell you. It may seem non-challant. They may bring it up jokingly. Take it seriously. Ask straight up if they have an idea of how they’ll take their life and whether they have the means. Assess their safety. Call 911 if you must to keep them safe and keep them on the line until help arrives. Do the same for yourself. Help someone or yourself get through those horribly painful times.

I’ve shared this video before, a TED talk given by a man, JD Schramm, who attempted suicide and miraculously survived a jump from the Manhattan Bridge. His words are beyond powerful and provide a unique insight. After committing himself to following through and surpassing suicidal ideation to action, he survived. He survived and had the rare opportunity to commit to rebuilding his life. His message to those who may feel suicidal is simple and true, “It gets better. It gets way better.” Take it from him.

I wasn’t planning for this to be a heavy post, but here it is. The unearthing of things. stuff. from years past does that sometimes. You realize that your body and mind have moved past or forgotten the reasons behind the associated sentimentalities. You realize that those difficult times when you felt that your situation wouldn’t get better, or the pain you felt has seeped in to your bones and won’t go away – you realize that those experiences leave little gifts for you. All it takes is getting through. These are some little gifts I found:

why does hair look so beautiful
when it’s carried by the wind.
trees fluttering leaves
like butterfly wings.
I want to go somewhere
naked and pure
that’s never been seen
I want to feel the earth with my toes
close my eyes when the wind blows.
I want to smell it on my skin
when I’ve returned home.
bring that feeling back.
the vision in colors and shapes.
I want to listen to the birds for a while.
share smiles with the sky.

Written Sunday, September 15th, 2002 @ ~12:30pm in Port Townsend on the hammock in my parents’ backyard.
*

you love me
because you want to.
esteem is found in self.
not eyes or kisses.
it makes sense
when you stop looking for things
that you’ve taught yourself to need.
you have to pull those thoughts like weeds.

Written Wednesday, September 18th, 2002 @ ~4:30pm, Metro #105 home.
*

Mom can’t find me
like this
fresh cuts and a belly full of loathing
wine and veggies in a grocery bag
dirty sheets, snowstorm on the t.v.
music playing in the background.
what would she have found?
broken, withered, silent.
sing me a lullaby, momma
sing yourself to sleep.
rubber kisses
icicle fingers and shiny rings.

Written Tuesday, December 24th, 2002 @ ~5:15pm on the Kingston ferry.

Pocketing seashells.

 

Some songs come from such a raw and tender place that they write themselves.  This, for me, is one of those songs.

 

Written, performed, recorded & mixed by Odawni AJ Palmer.
Photograph taken and developed by Odawni AJ Palmer.
Copywrite 2010.

 

:: Lyrics ::

Fear capsized this ship
into a black ocean
and the ocean swallowed me whole.
Under the waves
I’ve seen so many things,
so many things.

I’ve been pocketing seashells
wanting to share them with you,
share them with you.

“It’s too late”, he said,
“the damage is done.”
The damage,
the damage is done.
Is done.
Is done.
Is done.