Good morning and Happy Monday!! I am happy to announce that my poem, “Glorious Monster” is up on Spillwords Press today! I would like to give thanks to the editors for accepting my submission and invite you all to read it on their page. Please feel free to leave your comments here on my page:)
“Let’s ride our glorious monster until we all fall down. Along the river’s bank, he bucks and kicks while we hang on…..”
Really real… that’s how almost 14 years inside a second life can be described. It’s not over yet…but like everything these days, I doubt it will ever be the same.
We must never underestimate: innocence, newness, the unknown, the first time.. It’s a complex memory played in dockside blues bars with Tom Waits and we were cheek to cheek.
That first time I looked at my glowing white skin, a vampire smile, two filed fangs and oh my god… how gorgeous! as I hovered off the ground I am that sad Goth Girl from way back when growing up in front of a mirror and I finally see myself!!
Play me one last song, while I have two legs and can cling to you For I am being called by fields and trails that need galloping and trampling. I search down deep into my bottomless inventory and Voila I am that gorgeous head -held -high Appaloosa that kicks up her heels at your side. and we run off over unexplored beaches… This Moon is only for horses.
Did I love here…? You know I did. Did I cry like never before? Oh yes..pain hurts even without a body and the tears. Did I rejoice a million times ahhh why would you ask? I have not been here a week I didn’t stay a month The years build up in a pile l still love and I play let my imagination run all day…. Been in control and given it all away… just because…
just because… I have been here forever and ever I think I was born somewhere else, but the first time, I walked through the screen I knew I was home free I haven’t left yet… Why would I ever leave?
Karima Hoisan August 5, 2021 LINC Island, Second Life
Hope you will play the YouTube and here is the story behind it:)
This phrase came from a fever dream, my film partner, Natascha,
had while very ill and when she told me about it,
all the lights of inspiration went blinking off in my head!!
I found the phrase intriguing, compelling and more than that, I found it challenging as well as inspiring.
After she described the whole dream, seeing her father again (who she lost very young) asking him questions, in a garden of her childhood, I was inspired to write this poem for her…
but not until, I too had an image to join with hers, one of my country, Costa Rica, in the time of burning off the cane fields.
I saw in my mind, that we were riding through a smokey, hazy rural landscape, that is very representative of my Costa Rica, in the month of March; the heat of the burning fields was in harmony with her burning fever.
From Nat’s dream, it became this poem, that you will hear in the video and like magic, my 15th world on Kitely – Virtual Worlds on Demand was born!
I want to thank my film partner and creative twin, Natascha Randt, for having such a cool and amazing dream.
This is a real first for me…that someone else’s dream, could inspire me to go crazy and create a world where it could be showcased.
Nat did a really incredible job, building and bringing her dream part and installation alive.
I just swirled a world around it and made a way to get to it…:)
In the end…the two of us built our fantasies, Zwischen Nacht und Nirgendwo and we filmed it in 2018, but I left a few days later for Ramadan in Jordan, and never shared it on my blog or promoted it at all..
P.S. A special thank-you to Dale Innis, once again, for being such an excellent virtual building partner and scripter, and to get our roadster to actually climb up and down instead of horizontally or vertically plowing through the mountain pass or taking us upside down and underground like it wanted to do at first :):)
~*~ This is the Recording I made Live at a Reading in 2010. I invite you to listen as it was written to be performed to music.
In The Window (for umahmad)
…and there I am again, standing in the window while you walk away. You glide along the pavement, smooth, a tide rolling out to sea, but how you forgot to tell me, that this was goodbye and all that I had treasured and lived in these past years, was just a lie. You forgot to prepare my heart, and you never set my table for your plate of loss, bitter, tasteless and endless day after day. I ate the same thing over and over, and every meal I felt your missing, until I lost all hunger, lost my joy, lost my reason, watching you walk away the day… the day you forgot to say goodbye.
Years went by, and how many sighs, how many tears? The perfume left the flowers, the breeze stopped carrying memories. All that was left to do in this life, now disarmed, was to lay on the ground and write my poetry; but no words can paint the desperate deepness of the wounds that were made that day you walked away, and said, “I will be back soon.”
I watched the solid tracks, derailed in an upheaval, an earthquake, truth turned upside down until it looked like a lie. Oh my other self, how could you walk down that street, and look back at me waving to you and not feel, right then, what you must have known I was about to feel?! Oh my mated soul how could you not know my pain, to watch you disappearing slowly around a bend, dissolving out of view…..?!
Tears never did clean the sense of being thrown back alone to the growls and drawn drapes of the upstairs bedroom. Poems strewn out over years… papers blowing in the air of my unanswered prayers… Oh my unique, my one, why did you go this way?! What voice did you hear that drowned out my lover’s call? Calling out over the peeling garden wall, now running to the gate, begging you to return and stay, before it was too late…
All has past and all has changed and part of you returned one day, but part of you, never found its way back home… The one who loved my laugh, my poor Arabic, and my hand in hers as we promenaded the streets, fresh bread in our bags…. That one never returned!
Oh! Where did she go? the dancer on the rooftops, with her audience of one, cross-legged, sipping tea realizing; she had become a part of me. Why did you leave me this way? Standing in an open window, children playing below me in the streets, imagining what it would feel if you didn’t return, knowing somehow, this was already happening. I waved to you; you looked back and you knew what I had yet to know, your path would not cross mine again for an endless but endless time. Where are the sounds to put down what was unuttered? Maybe only the music can play this scene in the way it must be played,lamenting from the inside out of each string,of each deep note, of each vocal plea… No curtains in the window anyway, wide open as I was, and if I would have asked you before you slipped away, could you have changed our fate and stayed? Do you know how many times I saw it this way? by changing just one day.. my life your life and all those caught in our weave, would have had so much less to grieve?
In the window, my eyes follow the part of me I loved the best, the soulmate of my reborn days, healer of my pain, sharer of my beauty, you habibiti, the soul mated to me, the gift that must never be returned, the gift that pulled at me until I reached out to touch the frosted pane, Looking through the glass at winter rains, spring green glow, dust and sand of summer storms, year after year, searching for that reverse vision, footsteps in my direction, the never ending hope you might return, in the same way that you left… but nothing in our life’s album stays the same, pictures on every page shift and change. At some point, we must close the window, turn ourselves around…. and walk away.
Karima Hoisan Written in 2005 Jordan Recorded in 2010 SL
The early sun peeks through the cloud bank “Thank God it might warm up the water” The light sparkles on the ripples that the jets shoot across the pool. They twist in sinewy sea serpent shapes, while my forearms cover themselves in bumps… “Oh My God….. it’s so cold” But I’m in the water up to my neck now, determined to swim that mile. Confident that 10 laps make 120 meters 100 laps will bring me to the mile.
The breaststroke is a nice beginning The heart just kicks in little by little.. I hardly feel a thing.. The water is so clear, I could count the little Moroccan tiles the color of a Tangier mosque design, if I open my eyes, but I just peek now and then. I don’t have to see where I’m going…I know 9 strokes take me to the other side. I just count 1 -2 -3..the other side is odd where I start is always even… odd and even, I start thinking about odds.. What are the odds?… I saw a colony of Leaf Cutter Ants carrying leaves along the border of the pool..the odd side where ants march daringly, right on the border, I mean what are the odds? I would see them a year from now.. what are the odds I’ll still be alive? I allow myself to rest 5 seconds for observing but only after 9 on the odd side where the ants march “Some are such slouchers,they carry tiny flowers, while others haul leaves the size of a house” 5 seconds are up..one more breaststroke..10 laps equal 120 meters I will be 1/10 through… and it seems a long way off!
I’m feeling good and turn it on with a fast long stroked crawl.. free stroking, reaching for the other side, my mouth barely surfacing on the left, two long strokes… now right..hauling in the oxygen while skimming the surface, half my chin submerged. Light and water were made to play togethe,and I am streaking undulation ..up for air, down for speed.. but so imperceptibly… you just see me glide silently/
600 meters and I’m on my back..long back stroke, hoping my shoulders hold; the sun plays orange and red fire on my eyelids. The trees branches cut the light, adding their shadow but just on one side. I think of 20 things that must be done… My mind falls into shopping lists and unanswered emails Boring! but I also ponder if dead people visit swimmers? because we are so spaced.. in that zone that dreamers and mediums go to.. 7- 8 on the boring even side..then back to 9 and I know the ants are there.. but I turn under water and pretend I don’t. Another 10 and I cheat with a side stroke.. then back to the crawl..my heart is a locomotive… It’s a Swiss time piece; its a Grandfather clock-click with the rhythm of a teen. and it only chimes at 1200 meters.!! Cold? There is no cold. I am warm and I heat the water as I move through it.. I am like an electric piston, and a watermill,.. a solar heating system with my arms going round and round. 1000 meters I am almost there..just 20 laps, I have lost my sense of time..just lost in this stream of thoughts of strokes of everything, on spinal chord remote… my brain shut down to just pump blood to those shoulders these arms stronger but straining.
Now… I am on the last stretch, a quick change -up and I finish on 2 laps of the fastest crawl I can do.. my heart is pumping pumping, pumping…. “I can do it I can do it I will do it”
There!!!!… I throw my self backwards..and float and say, “Alhamdulillah for this day” “Alhamdulillah for this pool, “Alhamdulillah for my health” “Alhamdulillah for my Life” that I am able to swim …. and the light dances on my eyelids.. and the endorphins swim up and down my bloodstream and I am so grateful!! and then, I pull myself out of the pool.. EXHAUSTED… Earth’s gravity is not my friend.. and grab my cane. I might limp the next 30 meters to my shower. But…….ahhhhhhhh.. I just swam one glorious mile!🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️🏊♀️
Sometimes we actually notice when we have been given a gift, that had our name on it.
Little Maktoob is one such gift. About 2 weeks ago, I heard a small kitten crying in my backyard. My first reaction was,”I hope he doesn’t run into the dog” (a pitbull who has killed cats before) and “I hope it keeps on walking to the next house, as I have 2 cats already and really don’t want a third” He cried all night and in the early morning light, I saw a scrawny grey and white kitty, in the low branches of a mango tree, right in front of my window. I thought, poor thing, I wonder how he even got here?” Maktoob’s 1st Picture
I put him in a box and gave him some food that he gobbled up immediately and brought him inside. My plan was to feed him and look for a good home, even pay a Vet for a checkup and deparisite him, etc………. that was before I learned the truth of his arrival.
Later we found a sack ripped open and 3 brothers and sisters scattered around the yard dead…killed by the dog. It was so shocking to me..an image I try not to let replay in my mind…..but by then I knew he was mine. He was destined to be mine as he survived a massacre and “it was already written” that he would live with us.. Maktoob!! I won’t even dwell on what kind of heartless person would throw a sack of helpless kitties in a yard with pitbulls…but they obviously did that on purpose😢😠😔 Maktoob beat the odds. He climbed a tree! He is a survivor! He is ours and we will make sure his life is full of love and security.
He has already started to play the piano(in the background:)
24 hours and counting down, before the next full moon, I find myself clinging to the “i’s” and crossing the “t’s.” The wind is a flute, that plays from every direction, the poppy fields wave in the breeze; living life inside a poem, is almost always beautiful and almost always lonely.
If there were someone else to share this with, I doubt that I’d be writing. Instead, I would be tracing our figures in the shadows, upon the castle wall, walking with you holding hands, the desert air so sterile and clean, like fluorescent sheets in the moonlight, blowing on the line. Not one cloud to disturb this moon, this mood, this moment of pure love.
Poetry is just poor company, a stand -in, a rebounding second best. Although it’s true my blood runs through each verse; where is the harmony? There’s no one now to share my breath, I just breathe each one to stay alive I take each step, to put a little distance between me and your untimely death. Nine years now and still you ask for one more poem in a field of red flowers with the moon on high, What can I do?….but acquiesce.
Old tears, that have already been cried, have no place running down my cheeks. Go save them in big books of pressed flowers, that stale smell of faded perfumed lace. Even if you are but a memory, some nights, like this, bring you back to the living-side. It is never my idea… I have done well enough without you; no, its always you and the moon, who start it all over again.
Please Click this link to hear a recording of my Reading yesterday at the Virtual Hotel Chelsea: Recording It was a fun reading with about 25 people at the venue and 5 more on the public stream. I gave some shout-outs to my readers who I thought, might like to hear the recording! I will include a few pictures and let the recording speak for itself… Thank you Sannie and Natascha for taking pictures❤️
“Are you the lullaby of sapphire skies?” (photo by Sannie)
Night Bird by Natascha
The Lightness of Ramadan (photo by Sannie)
I shrunk and was made into a table-sized performing poet:) (photo by Sannie)
In the budding giant Lilly forest (photo by Sannie)
My View of the audience gathering (photo by Sannie)
The early morning beam of light, comes in my window to play… It finds my crystals hanging in the window and coaxes jets of color to paint my walls.. It passes through prisms tickling the rainbow reds, yellows and blues until they run away giggling and smash over my ceiling..
It probes my vase of lilies and says You think you are orange? Now look… as I cover you in light! This is orange my dear, not that pale half asleep color you woke up with. It capriciously fans over the stamens, carpels, stigmas, making them twist and distort a bit the stars of each flower, their inner sanctums shine in the daybreak spotlight.
Who invited you in today? Did the tree branches sway a bit to get out of your way? Is it all a conspiracy of the new day? the sun in its perfect angle, the leaves bowing their heads so you can pass over them?
I surrender to your intent to wake me up, with colors splashing over my eyes. I don’t give in to the call of the pillow that wants to pull me back,
drag me once again, into the depths of Stygian sleep, but instead, I smile, not annoyed and say appreciatively, “Good morning sunbeam!”