A Tree Falls Hard

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A tree falls hard inside the woods,
its thud reverberates across the forest floor.
When a tree’s cut down, at any age, on any stage;
It’s instant death, a broken neck, a heart attack,
when sliced by blade without a thought,

I have not hugged a lot of trees, and yet I wince
and turn away when they are being chopped down.
I never seem to get an answer, that really satisfies
on why they must be put to death, and why now?

All these thoughts bring me, to ponder my own mortality…
Will this next wheel’s turn, erase me from the book,
the one, not made from trees, but made of Life?
The book of the living soul, of loving, learning and creating?

I think it’s not an outrageous question, at this point in time,
Looking all around me, I consider, this forest of humanity
and everyone and everything that seems to be so vulnerable
and no one knows who will  be next and marked for felling.

Karima Hoisan
January 9, 2021
Costa Rica

*Footnote.
Night before last, I was sound asleep, and woke up, repeating,
these first two lines in my mind:
“A tree falls hard inside the woods,
its thud reverberates across the forest floor.”
I wrote them down, as one never knows what the muse might want to say:)

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The Bad Guy

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The Bad Guy

He’s a robin’s nightmare, the tanagers leave the scene when he descends,
because he’s eating everything in sight, raiding the bird feeder, digging up bulbs.
Without scruples, he’ll raid a nest and steal bird’s eggs when momma bird leaves.

He is hungry all the time; he eats a pound of food a week.
Skipping and bopping along the high branch highway,
He’s the acrobatic terror of the garden, the psychopath for nesting birds

He’s the bad guy, the Destructor, with such cute wide-open eyes,
I’m a push-over for his machine gun -munching, his amazing leaping skills.
He’s a pest; his kind’s not wanted, yet I’m a sucker for that bushy tail

He steals whole bananas while the birds wait for him so patiently
and carries them off like small canoes under his arm, his take out!
But I’m OK with it, live and let live; He who made the birds, made him, made me!

They say he robs those bird nests, as a last resort, as he loves his fruit and seeds
So I plant and buy a double share to fill him up, so he’ll let those babies be.
Not just a rat who lives in trees, but my friend and he knows me, when he sees me.

Karima Hoisan
January 3, 2021
Costa Rica

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The Flowers

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The Flowers
for Julian

Gifted to me when they were just tightly – wound buds..
I placed them in water, so lovingly, in my finest vase.
Sleeping in their pods, they had no idea, still so unaware,
that they had traveled over mountains, had come such a long way.

I loved them from the very start, as they made me ponder
what colors and shapes, and what flowers did they hold inside?
As they stood tall and proud in their freshly- poured water
All was possible, endless potential because they were alive.

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I had hope they would open wide on the night of Christmas Eve,
but they had their own time, their clock just ticked for them.
Then two days later, I awoke to see a chosen few, blushing pink
Only two, opening with the dawn, standing proud upon their stems.

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Their birth made me smile wide, so pink,” Ah there you are!”
Now I bet the others will all come and join you in this dance…
But they waited; some were shy and took a few more days,
until Saturday, when almost all of them awoke by chance.

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Those were their glory days, brightening up my room and making us smile.
Proud and pink and beautiful, even their green leaves had an extra shine.
Everyone who saw them, kissed them with their eyes, saying “MashAllah”
They stayed this way for five whole days, a splash of color from the Divine.

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I am a poet, so the end days of these flowers were felt so deeply.
They started losing their lives on the last night, in the last year of such strife.
I couldn’t help myself, how they made me cry: I sobbed as their petals fell…
Not for the loss of the flowers, but for the reminder, that this is Life.

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Karima Hoisan
January 1, 2021
Costa Rica


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A Better Year…

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A Better Year

Standing on a stool peeking over the wall
that separates this year from the next…
I can barely see anything at all.
This new year is born on the dead leaves of the last.

It is tainted and contaminated and sick from the start.

If our world were a restaurant, trying to make it today,
If kindness is not waiting on tables,
and love, compassion, gratitude and humility,
are not on the menu…well, good luck staying open!

If we can’t see, we have so much in common
with absolutely anyone walking down the street,
the fact we’re all human, alive, and living on earth…
rooting in the same block, shopping at the same store..
with fears of tomorrow, but hopes for the future,
bad dreams and days we just smile all the time…
Please look closer… and longer,

She has that, so does he, and they’re worrying now,
and he is counting his change, and wondering if he can pay the rent.
He’s buying a gift for his lover, she buying a suit to bury her husband
and abundance is not the word for this last year unless you put
insanity after it!
An abundance of  insanity, of absurdity, an abundance of sickness

an abundance of surrealism and uncertainty……
What was lacking was an abundance of humanity
One for the other and one for all…

I personally hope for the time to come soon,
when wishing a total stranger a Happy New Year,
won’t be taken as an assault, or an act of insanity.

Where people won’t run away or call the police,  or block me on facebook,
but just reply to me easily and sincerely,

“I hope 2021 is a better year for you too.”

Karima Hoisan
December 31,2020
Costa Rica

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A Delicious Moment For A Haunting

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Please click the link to hear me recite it, to the music that inspired this poem.
Waltz in A Minor- Chopin   click here…  LINK

A Delicious Moment For a Haunting
              for Umahmad

It was a delicious moment for a haunting.
and yes…your timing was always the best.

You breezed in on this moonless night
As if you still owned my heart and me.

The perfume came in first,
filling the room… tickling our photographs.

Someone left the window open wide,
and you took it as your “Pase adelante”

Your personal invitation to materialize,
so that I would know without a doubt, who was here.

I was playing Chopin, another perfect irony,
and had my eyes closed lost in trills.

You blew a kiss over my hair.. grabbing a few strands,
softly slipping them through your fingers.

It was the sweetest bit of unreal air, that passed over me,
and I shivered and stumbled for a second on the keys.

The perfume, turned into that night blooming jasmine
you had planted near the window;

Ah was that the reason why? I never knew why there?
But of course, so you could come in and haunt my notes.

So you could come and haunt my nights,
when I was playing your favorite piece,

That even from the other side, not only did I remember you…
but you still remembered me….

Karima Hoisan
December 29th 2020
Costa Rica

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An Ode To Code

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                                    Avatar Follower Script by Dale Innis

I adore scripters! That is no news for people who know me well.

Builders and scripters are what bring life to Second Life.
A builder, a good one, can build anything at all, but it is not going to move without a script in it.
A builder one time, an excellent one, built a Brahma Bull for me, just like we have here in Costa Rica,
The problem was..it just stood there, looking great but could not move.
It took finding an expert scripter to take the bull, literally all apart, just to make it possible to raise his head in a few angles, but that alone, with a sound of bellowing brought a little life to an inanimate animal.

People in the coding world, our software engineers who speak coding languages like C++, Python, PHP, Ruby, JavaScript, laugh at the language that runs Second Life.
Linden Labs, the creator of this virtual world back in 2003, reportedly, as rumor has it, invented the Linden Scripting Language over a  weekend.

For you coding geeks reading this.. here are some of the things “real coders “find crazy about this language:

1. That you can put anything in a list… except another list.

2. Quaternions as a basic type!

3. That lists are immutable, and can be changed only by making a modified copy..

4. All the built-in functions starting with “ll”

But, I am here to say, that it works!!

It makes our world move, like in the real world and sometimes even better:)
This is why 8 years ago, I posted my poem and original music made into a video with partner Natascha Randt, that honors, that crazy-overnight-invented language that makes SL function.
It is a tribute to Linden Scripting Language and the avatars who speak, write and create in it. It is a tribute to my scripting partner, Dale Innis, who magically helps my pushing- the -envelope- ideas..to come true and be realized.

I have an expression, “To build is sublime…but to animate is Divine”
Make it Move!…because you can!

Please watch on YouTube in HD and Full screen and Enjoy!

Posted in Machinima, Poems, Slices of Second Life, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

I Am an Avatar

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Karima Hoisan is my avatar. I am Karima Hoisan in the virtual world.
Sentimental and nostalgic, I look back on the eve of my virtual birthday
on what it means to be an avatar in 2020.

For me this was never a game..I took it seriously from the first moment I fell from the virtual sky and landed on an island that would become my own..because “Destiny Is.”
December 26, 2007.

I will be 13 years old this Saturday! We celebrate this moment called a “Rez Day”, as it marks the first time, an avatar named Karima Hoisan was born , entered and became part of Second life. I took my first virtual breath as a digital newborn in the body of a newly chosen avatar.
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                                       My first days were friendless, clueless but amazed 😱

I have lived and learned to navigate the virtual world
and now I am considered an oldie…a veteran.
In this last year I have felt its comfort, where I can take everything
that is inside of me, that makes me, me and put it in a virtual body that is still healthy.,
in a world that is still healthy and functioning normally.
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My avatar 2008…beginning to adjust, navigate,
decorate and make friends…
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I am soul infused.
In a world where people circulate without masks and there is no pandemic going on, but there is comfort for those who have lost someone, or are sick, there are people to reach out to and they can touch you.

The more you navigate the world, the more feelings you can feel..you can even trick your body to perceive what you should not be able to perceive: the smells of crisp fresh air of a pine forest breeze, or the ocean roaring in at your feet.
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I am a soul-infused avatar
everything you know and feel about me, through my poetry, you can feel when
my avatar speaks to you…

I can dance and run through the fields, and in sheer exuberance,
take off and fly over the tree tops..This now seems natural to me..
and my heart fills with joy.. and this joy fills me with peace and inspiration.
I can dance boleros, create, amazing projects with others and laugh in crowds
yet feel safe, even when someone sneezes.

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I am paranoia free in my virtual world, when if stressed, I can float and bob in the waves and hear the sounds and feel the water holding me.
Welcome Home Nat!!
                                                     A floating Welcome-back for Nat

I am not watching a cartoon figure navigate a video game, I am that creature..the avatar and I see everything in this world through my eyes… The borders of my 15 inch screen have disappeared and like the looking glass I pass inside;
I see, just like in real life. I can appear real or surreal..it makes no difference, I am still inside.
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                                               Floating With Dale, brainstorming a project

I have loved and lost and cried real tears and felt real pain,
but I have learned to bounce back and learn to live it again.
I have made films, read my poetry to thousands of people over the years, created music, and become a 3D artist and sculptor.
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   Giving Poetry Readings to 25-40 people from all over the world in all different venues:
The swamps of New Toulouse Louisiana or Historic Clubs like The Chelsea in NYC        

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I inherited 2 Pisces sisters along the way, one from The Midwest USA and one from South Africa and another sister from.London for almost 13 years.

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bright sissiesTurtle Art Gallery and Polka Hall, LINC ISLAND

I watch videos every night for 11 years at the same time with a friend and Buddy in Florida:) I create worlds with my best scripter friend Dale Innis in New York. and none of those things would be possible living in my small Latin American town, that is mostly locked down again for the great spike in Covid cases
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“Mad Men” in Virtual with Menubar! Can you see us sitting in our little highchairs?
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                                                  Brainstorming with Dale Innis

I have friends who smile and interact with me from all the continents.
I can take in a live show of music where the musicians might be playing in different countries and yet we hear them in harmony and sync real time and we can ask for a favorite song and they will play it with our dedication!!:)
I have been a horse, a vampire, a tiny snow leopard and anything I can imagine, I can be for awhile…The possibilities are limitless..If you can imagine it..you can create it You can be it!
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                      At the Opera with my hedgehog friend:)


Now… in 2020 I realize how very important the virtual world can be.
because in this last year, life droned on  out of pitch and out of time…
and instead of doing lunch, meeting up for coffee and holding and shaking hands..
we stayed at home and ran away from each other;

we kept our distances, we covered our faces ,we washed-our hands and
lost our sense of human touch.
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                 A hug is a hug in any world

As an avatar, a hand on my shoulder is not an idle gesture
It is a connection and I feel it and feel very lucky to be so alive virtually.
In a time of not very many, I am still making memories, and the brain processes a virtual experience in the same way as a real one. How many chats can you remember? How many zoom calls will you recall? Ah but to dance on the sand and hear the pounding of the waves..to laugh with your sisters until you cry..those memories will stay forever and….
                                                         You can take pictures!!
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                                     Gamma & Shesa at Kari’s Bar & Dance Circa 1920’s
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              Natascha Randt & Karima Hoisan- Randt & Hoisan Productions

So free to be me, when in my virtual day, while outside, I am shuttered in my home, watching like a skeptical spectator all the kings horses and all of his men,
trying to reassemble Humpty Dumpty again and bring that human longing for connection, that human need for touch and laughter and purpose, back to us in our real lives.
I am so grateful for these last 13 years of a virtual life,  that I have lived fully
and parallel to my real life!!!

Happy Rez Day to me December 26, 2020!!  I’m all grown up:)
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Posted in General Discussion, My Virtual Worlds, Slices of Second Life, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 50 Comments

The Molded One

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What I’m learning
as a soul in a body
that is expiring…

Creation is everywhere
and in our hands;
it’s part of you and part of me…
being made in a Creator’s image;
it comes bundled inside.
I know I am the molded one..
I did not do the original molding.
I did not make a tree;
I am just happy to look up,
into its branches and praise a creator
so much greater than me..

I have learned so much..
and yet…
I feel I barely scraped the surface.
How can that be?
There is a day for me..
when I am done
and yet…
I think I will never be.

Inside of me and holding me,
is the creative touch…
It’s in absolutely all of us..
and yet,
the gift is being able to see,
to find it, sense it lives within us..
It is the most well- kept secret;
if we can unlock it,
if we are gifted with that key…
the world becomes:
a new day
a new canvas
a blank page,
a planted seedling.

We just wave our hands
and let our minds dream…
tap into that stream,
that has always been there,
since the beginning of Time..
before our birth and after we die
and it is all part of the gift of Life.

I have my tears…
and I can see through blurry crystal leaves,
and it makes it even more beautiful for me..
when the pain subsides..I am back!
I’m, alive and I am still here…

and that canvas waits,
and those hearts need kindness
and that person needs to be held,
and the poems will come
and the tears can be dried
and the lessons will be learned

and the paintings will be signed
and I have so much more to do,
before I run out of…
my expiring time.

Karima Hoisan
December 20, 2020
Costa Rica

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When The Poem Arrives…

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When The Poem Arrives

I have felt it coming for days..
and  yet…
not a word has been put down,
because it’s still on its way.
Whatever it is,
my muse wants to say,

there is no hurrying that,
or rushing to the end.
No, I am the spectator here,
wondering when it will begin,
wondering when I will be called in..
to just serve as the
stenographer,
the photographer,
the willing midwife to a verse
that wants to be born,
wants to set those thoughts down
in ink and print,
in rhythm and rhyme .
I’m so ready for…
when the poem arrives.

Whatever is needed of me.
I’m here, I will do it;
just knock and let me know.
I’m in the other room,
but aware that, when it’s my turn,
when my time has come,
to scribble it out
and save it before it fades…
I am ready, to open wide the door.
I am always ready…but patient,
as these moments can’t be arranged
are not in my control.
When a poem is coming ..
stop thinking, stop pondering
It’s not important what might be written.
I just know,
it will flow through me, when it gets here.,
and in the end,
it will be just want I wanted to say.

I am the lover bathed and perfumed,
because when it arrives at my door,
when it knocks, I come running..
the loving poet here and now,
to attend all its needs.
I make sure this thought is not lost,
on some foggy side road,
lost in the trivia of eat , work and sleep.
I give it a candle-light welcome,
arms stretched out to receive
and then…take it by the hand
roll it through my mind until my fingers dance
and write it all down from
that special focused place, of poetry and trance….
because, when the poem arrives…
I am always ready.

Karima Hoisan
December 14, 2020
Costa Rica

Posted in General Discussion, Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

Surfacing

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Surfacing
for Umahmad

The ducks caught your attention
As you strode to the lake shore, bubbling angry energy.
It was like they caught each strife and slowly turned them into grace.
The breeze hit our faces, all the ducks looked only to you
and you sat down, while I slipped bread into your hand.
“Feed them. They are always hungry. They will be yours for a sunset.”

Breaking off little portions, you threw them methodically, trying to be fair,
while I laid on your knee and counted Texas cotton balls stitched to blue sky.
There was that incredible moment of lucidity, when you were just normal,
shining seconds everyone hopes for in your life, but hardly ever sees.
I knew I was in the eye of the miracle when you turned to look at me,
“I’m so sorry if I have caused you pain. There is something going on inside
of me but I feel soon, I will be myself again”

The clouds held my gaze, while I held my breath
You held my head propped and melded to your leg like an after -thought,
like Siamese twins joined by the knee and head,
something so rare, a picture would be in order, if we had brought a camera.
I said thank you to that Messenger that spoke out of your lips…
and let my tears flow into the lake, some blessed ducks called home.

Karima Hoisan
July 17, 2010
Lake Arlington Texas

*Preface My soulmate, Umahmad, was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia in 2007.
She was only in her 30’s, we were living in Jordan and it progressed quickly.  She had made applications for her and her 4 children to be refugees in Texas, before she became gravely ill. Her prayers were answered in 2010, but she was almost not lucid enough to even know where she was going, yet she left Jordan with 4 young children (the oldest was maybe 19, to start a new life.
The children asked me to please come to Texas where they were relocated and help them with English and ..well everything. I did and in the 3 months I was there with them, I only saw her lucid one time.. where she knew who I was…who she was. This moment you just read…I tried to capture in the poem.

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