Digital Rabbit Hole

"The Grinning" by fiona Leitner

music: Aeternal by Clint Mansell Aeternal by Clint Mansell

(please open music link in another tab to listen as you read)

“See Frog Run”
for the artist  Fiona Leitner

The frog ran away from the insanity.
He clenched his hands tight as he leaped over
wheat-fields and  freeways,
like a dog running off with a leg of lamb.
We are what we eat ,
so he grew lamb-shanks for limbs,
which really was not so surprising…
Ahh, but that he made his escape from calamity,
was in the end what did surprise him.

Someone with no humor set him on fire
but the flames did become him
and melted to mold him
Now he was a gold medal Olympic runner,
an ultra- marathon stunner
a broadband broad- jumper.
the frog who changed his destiny .
He threw off those tired horses in midstream
then turned a nightmare into a dream,
agile, and fleet in grace and  esteem
because everyone who knew him rejoiced he got away.

There were flares and night terrors and blood soaked mud layers
he leaped lakes, full of poisonous snakes
he never stopped running and still is to this date
tears trickle down the cheeks of his face
just remembering…just remembering…
the wind fanning so many burning memories.

The frog made a leap back to life and he knew
he could never stop running jet -propelled now
streaking high in the air like a burning comet he flew
over cities and patchworks of farmlands,
the wind whistling deep in his ears.
His body changing from raw meat into particles
he flew over  the earth he once hopped.
Was he still really a frog after so many changes
after a lifetime of fleeing with no stop?

His mutton legged nightcap whipping him on
The rain clouds grew comforting, as he was reborn
Like Lola he ran through the eye of the storm
a dark ember remained glowing inside him.
No hurdle too high now, no pain was too raw,
no crazy thought  path was left  to experiment
He sailed over and out of the comfort of atmosphere
He went to the void and reached towards the stars
He needed no gulp- breaths, no frog pond, no love- mate
spiraling, he ran in circles going faster and faster.
Is he now that red star that circles the heavens?
Is he the meteorite we watch fall on horizons?
Did he expand into his own  fiery galaxy?
Really It doesn’t matter at all.
What will stay in the history books of future days
will only be that
everyone who knew this frog from before
all rejoiced that he got away.

Karima Hoisan
Dec. 29,2010
Virtual Art Gallery LINC Island SL

"Curve" by Chrome Underwood "...Now where did you think you were going?"

“Curve”
for Chrome Underwood the artist
music:  “Pretty 50S” by David Lynch & John Neff

Time can curve back around on itself like a mountain highway,
the daylight is not a guarantee that everything will turn out all right.
Blind curves surprise as much as the lottery they say,
sometimes a blinding flash of intersection
turns noon into eternal night.
Where did you think you were going?

Does it all flash by you as you sail off from asphalt into air?
Do you think of those you are leaving behind?
If there are witnesses.. do you really care?
Are those last memories, the last visions you see?
Prom night and contraband, sleeping in the backseat,
wanting and feeling the need,
the windows rolled down on your father’s borrowed car,
while you both pay worship to the speed.
Now..
Where did you think you were going?

What are the last sounds you hear as the grill breaks through the rail,
a bull moaning in a pasture for a love cow along the trail,
the chopper’s  down shifting of gears coming up on your tail,
or a cartoon -red truck climbing up the next grade,
sitting on his horn waking you up,
just in time to see his bumper, and hear yourself wail?
Now..
Where did you think you were going?

Karima Hoisan
Dec. 29, 2010
Virtual Gallery Linc Island SL

*Please read my comment about the painting and artist

“The Family Tomb”

“…lumbering painted carts from the past…”

“Christmas Tomb”

(tomb engraving)
“Bells tolled a mourning
Angels on high
Heads in their hands
Last Christmas morning”

I find comfort in the tomb
that holds the virtual focus point of you.
I can lay the roses here that you did love.
In some ways, in the back yard of my second life,
I am one step closer. It does feel that way.
You passed away on Christmas Day
and even though it was that special holiday
now it means more to me these memories
on such a happy day to be remembering.

Thinking of the night the oropopo owls hooting from highest trees,
moon bright night of  pale blue distant lightning,
the three of us hearing the ghosts parading down the hill.
You hold our hands, and we are children captivated by spirits,
protected by you,
wagon wheels bumping over  rocks,
bells on oxen tinkling,
supernatural invisible wind-chimes.
You tell us how lucky we are,
to bear witness to this unexplained phenomena of our superstitious town,
the caravan of carts and men
traveling down our muddy roads at midnight once again,
never to be seen but so clearly heard,
the footsteps, the calling out to their teams
the grinding of the wheels,
lumbering painted carts from the past.
We, your small children, wild-haired, in our night gowns
keeping silent our mouths open in awe,
holding each one, a side of you
connected like three shimmering spirits ,
we watch with only our ears, ancient brethren,
neighbors from beyond still en route to some unknown destination
eternally in motion, ghosts from our collective past, the drivers and ox- carts.
I’m not sure why this is the memory of you,
that today I hold most dear,
but I do know so much has changed since that distant apparition.
I call to  you on the anniversary of yet another year,
grateful to all my written history that for a wonderful yet short time,
I knew you, loved you, was with you by your side
as your daughter and you… my magic mother.
Maybe it’s that I hope, in the back of my mind,
some day to hear,
like the haunted  ghost carts of yesteryear.,
your laugh.
Oh please if it be only your life -filled laugh,
just one more time,
that could break through death’s festive veil
and reach my ear.

Karima Hoisan
Dec.25th, 2010
The Cloud Forest Misty Shores SL

*footnote: a picture of two oropopo owls. Aren’t they wonderful?