Empty On The Edge

"It's really empty on the edge of a vacant king-sized bed"

please enjoy this music, Trista Pena~Gipsy Kings, while you read the poem

Empty On The Edge

It’s really empty on the edge of a vacant king- sized bed
love’s  wind- tunnel blows an echo straight into my head,
the infinite night of old ghosts and old stains upon the spread,
and It’s really empty on the edge …so empty.

I’m just tired of loving everybody who is not really mine,
and what carries my name tattooed in ink, I usually leave behind
I am feeling the weight of those bleak black lack- of -reason times
and I’m getting so tired… so tired.

Maybe it’s over, this theater of my absurd and loveless life,
time to skip to fall and form part of the repertory of mulch,
be useful to things I have never seen nor know what they need,
below the roots of plants and trees, there calls a peacefulness to me.

I mean it’s getting old, this hanging in the closet, last year’s fashion,
teaching myself to channel in creative ways, my dumbed-down passion,
always searching for that soul who will be brave enough to just let go,
I mean it’s getting old…so old.

Maybe it’s over this struggling with the unseen uncured silent enemy.
I never was a fighter, and each day I see less reason to ever be.
If there is no love that has my name, I prefer the dark and dreamy deep
Whisper those love songs over me, the ones I wrote for you to keep.

It’s really empty on the edge of a vacant king size bed,
love’s  wind- tunnel blows an-echo straight into my head,
the infinite night of old ghosts and old stains upon the spread
and It’s really empty on the edge …so empty.

Karima Hoisan
March 12, 2011
PZ Costa Rica

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4 Responses to Empty On The Edge

  1. Kyoko Sabahi says:

    Reading this poem I am struck — as I often am with your poetry –by how you have put words to the feelings that so many of us have and can not express. Perhaps SL is not the place or the path to find love yet the romantics among us return again, hopeful, thinking maybe this time, when I open myself like a flower in bloom, I will open myself to a shared soul rather than hurt. We find ourselves in that lonely place yet knowing we are not alone can help heal the hurt. Thank you for sharing your gift.


  2. Kyoko, thank you so much for leaving this comment. It really makes me happy to know that this poem was able to help you know that you are not alone in the loneliness department. I agree SL is imperfect in many ways, yet as you say, for the creative romantics it will hold us captive and call us back again and again. Sometimes it is so much better to get these lonely feelings out into the air..where they might have a chance of dissipating quicker..After a blue day a sun-filled one many times comes like a gift.That hope and that knowledge helps us get through the darker ones.. Thank you so much for telling me how you feel..It means a lot to me


  3. Kari yet again pushes the button on those of us who still feel. Fewer by the hour I fear. Her ability to resonate with the hurtful realities of life yet not without hope. She balances on the knife edge. I trust all who read her pain-put-to-music understand the endurance of her core self. The strength and yet need. What is the shield? Where is the key? We all spend a lifetime looking for these precious things. She aligns the search with music and paints with her experience. Be clear-this is all reported with a cost to her. A heavy cost. For those who don’t get that clarity-her precious words eke pieces of her into the world to experience. Understand their price. She pays.

    I am afraid the wholly self-absorbed young’uns who ohh and ahh over her agony do not understand yet the real price here. Be clear-there is a real price to be paid for real life adventures. This is way beyond smirky and self-congratulation on being “smart” and hip. Truly the mental illness of the young. Life will open their eyes. Kari really hurts and needs real friends who don’t vanish with the next “big opportunity”. Surround her and replenish her creative fountain. Don’t merely withdraw from her bank account. So-honor her honesty and offer real life goodies to her. As a sacrament if nothing else! This is about respect.
    Thanks. rlh


  4. Ronald..you have rendered a word woman wordless!! Thank you for your deep and very personal analysis of my poetry, of this poem in particular. You have the gift to see way inside where others stand confusedly behind a closed door. Your way of expressing your thoughts is also penetrating, and here I cannot deny I am very moved by your comment. Oh if all believed we always open a savings account when we love, and if we part, the interest still accrues in friendship, and lasting respect..hopefully forever:)
    Thank you from my heart, for your understanding of my poetry and your unconditional friendship.


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