I am honored and excited to have my first poem, “In The Moment,”
(originally titled here,”Frozen In The Moment”) accepted for publication in their prestigious press. You can see the link below – review stars are welcome 🙏
I am a newcomer to their site, so I appreciate if you would click and read it there:)
Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging to me!
https://spillwords.com/in-the-moment/
photo by Poett
At The Beach
for Poett
When the clouds and waves agree
to coordinate their colors
and the sky illuminates the glowing sea
of Neptune’s shiny floor,
you can expect to ride upon
it’s brackish sweet sea breeze,
its endless steel-blue ocean swells
that die against the shore
When tears and pain begin to float away,
because this beach is so unique
and it won’t let you cry,
Allow yourself this moment,
that’s been waiting here so long
and gather what it’s showing you
to treasure deep inside.
The healing’s coming quickly now;
it enters like an ocean surge
through your astonished eyes
and all that vast expanse of trees
and seashore views you see,
begin to penetrate your depths
letting all the drama- trauma
float away, and be lost to fossilize.
Just then, a black horse enters,
from the right side of the scene,
a black horse on its own
just walking along the shore;
a work of art, his stallion stance
against those faded blue jean skies;
praise his ebony graceful frame ,
his awareness, gaze and size!
As you stare right back at him amazed;
he trots off down the rocky beach,
and disappears before your eyes.
Karima Hoisan
September 29, 2020
Costa Rica
Beautifully Loved and Signed
The poem leaped in delight,
because she was exactly
the one, for him to be born,
this girl with the light steps and kind ways
the sparking eyes,
the chiseled profile,
the noble face.
It lived in a loop
of sparkling eyes
and profiles
repeating its unfinished lines
The poet kept the poem in a journal
destined for her
never completed
and never signed.
The poet always doubted
how to end it
left a bit more to say,
always waiting for another day
so the poem was not born.
By their footsteps it knew
that he came walking
with her, holding hands,
and they moved to his journal,
where the poem was laying
and its poetic soul leaped into the air.
The poem felt the pen
upon the skin of its paper,
and it smiled
and it knew it was its time..
When the poet signed it
“I’ll love you forever Julia”,
the poem fell into a swoon.
The poet placed it in her hands
and she read it slowly out loud,
with joyous tears falling down
and the tears touched the poem
until it sparked into life
now wholly complete,
finally born into the world…
so beautifully loved and signed.
Karima Hoisan
September 27, 2020
Costa Rica
(En Español)
Bellamente amado y firmado
El poema saltó de alegría,
porque ella era exactamente
para quien, él iba a nacer,
esta chica de pasos ligeros y amabilidad
los ojos chispeantes,
el perfil cincelado,
el rostro noble.
Vivía en un bucle
de ojos chispeantes
y perfiles
repitiendo sus líneas inconclusas
El poeta guardó el poema en un diario.
destinado para ella
nunca completado
y nunca firmado.
El poeta siempre dudó
como terminarlo
dejó un poco más que decir,
siempre esperando otro dia
entonces el poema no nacía.
Por sus pasos supo
que vino caminando
con ella, tomados de la mano,
y se trasladaron a su diario;
donde estaba el poema
y su alma poética saltó por los aires.
El poema sintió la pluma
sobre la piel de su papel,
y sonrió
y sabía que era el momento …
Cuando el poeta lo firmó
“Te amaré pora siempre Julia”,
el poema se desmayó.
El poeta lo puso en sus manos
y ella lo leyó lentamente en voz alta,
con lágrimas de alegría cayendo
y las lagrimas tocaron el poema
hasta que cobró vida
ahora completamente completo,
finalmente nació en el mundo….
tan bellamente amado y firmado.
Karima Hoisan
27 de septiembre de 2020
Costa Rica
Enigmatic
What’s flying around in your head today,
Clear open skies or fog?
So hard to tell from staring into your eyes..
They say, the eyes are the doorway to the soul,
but yours are more the gatekeeper, the keep-out sign.
I feel like a biologist in exploration, an intrepid diver.
If I reach your depths, will I know anything more?
Maybe your deep parts don’t exist and I just hope they do.
So I try to peer into your murky shallows, your tide pools,
watch boring colorless fish and not make waves, or kick up the sand.
Have I just fabricated you, molded you into an image that I love?
One that is an enigma, promising treasure if I don’t give up?
Is the real you much less than the coat of brilliance I apply?
The sulky aloofness, is not in you, but in the wish of my own eyes.
I walk around a closed statue, that gives not a hint and says, “Sold”
Who bought you before me? Did someone find you, then walk away?
Your past is a library of unopened books, a dusty trail to nowhere.
That is where I will wind up too, if I don’t just walk away from you.
The mystery man, I have written into being, is something less than reality
I really don’t care what is flying in your head, I think it does not include me.
Karima Hoisan
Sept. 24th 2020
Costa Rica
(en Español)
Enigmático
¿Qué está volando por la cabeza hoy?
¿Cielos despejados o niebla?
Tan difícil de decir por mirarte a los ojos …
Dicen que los ojos son la puerta del alma
pero los tuyos son más el portero, el rótulo que no hay paso.
Me siento un biólogo en exploración, un buceador intrépido.
Si llego a tus profundidades, ¿sabré algo más?
Quizás tus partes profundas no existan y solo espero que sí.
Así que trato de mirar en tus turbios bajíos, tus charcos de marea
de aburridos peces incolorosos y no hacer olas, ni patear la arena.
¿Te acabo de fabricar, te moldeé en una imagen que amo?
¿Uno que es un enigma, un tesoro prometedor si no me rindo?
¿El verdadero tú es mucho menor que la capa de brillo que aplico?
La indiferencia misteriosa no está en ti, sino en el deseo de mis propios ojos.
Camino alrededor de una estatua cerrada, que no da una pista y dice “Vendido”
¿Quién te compró antes que yo? ¿Alguien te encontró y luego se fue?
Tu pasado es una biblioteca de libros sin abrir, un camino polvoriento hacia ninguna parte.
Ahí es donde terminaré yo también, si no me alejo de ti.
El hombre impenetrable, he escrito en existencia, es algo menos que la realidad.
Realmente no me importa lo que esté volando en tu cabeza, pienso que no me incluye a mí.
Karima Hoisan
24 de septiembre de 2020
Costa Rica
For something a little different, I will repost “The Swamp House,” an original poem and music written and performed by me (Karima Hoisan.) It is an audio track not an actual video. I decided to make it as a spoken word performance, instead of a machinima.
I urge you to please open the YouTube so you can hear it recited and the Delta Blues music I composed to go with it. Tell me if you think it works together:)
Comments and questions are welcome! Enjoy your walk in the Swamp!😨
Here are the lyrics:,
The Swamp House
Wading to the front door in thigh high boots,
the night falling to the ground before my eyes.
Anything I could imagine, could be imagining me,
I just wipe it from my mind, all that paranoid debris.
Passion is the flame that lights my way.
I let my intuition call me out tonight.
It’s too dark now, to see my hands in front of me;
The mud’s like quick sand, sucking and pulling at my feet.
But…there’s a light on, you left it on the porch so I could see.
I didn’t even have to let you know, because it’s on every night.
Just in case I feel you and your Swamp House calling me…
Just in case I get the urge to live a little dangerously…
Just in case I feel you and your Swamp House calling me…
Just in case I get the urge to live a little dangerously…
Pushing through the thicket, the moldy leaves of fallen trees
that pungent night-time smell of rotting fruit on steamy breeze.
I know this path like I know my winding, twisting destiny;
I know, you’ll be standing in the doorway, expecting me.
You know I’d only do this for you, my secret, my muse,
and you surprise me every time with where you want to meet.
I go all reckless when I think you want me as your guest again,
Just 1/4 mile of swamp is left, until we’ll write the rest and then…
But…there’s a light on, you left it on the porch so I could see.
I didn’t even have to let you know, because it’s on every night.
Just in case I feel you and your Swamp House calling me…
Just in case I get the urge to live a little dangerously…
Just in case I feel you and your Swamp House calling me…
Just in case I get the urge to live a little dangerously…
Karima Hoisan
Nov. 10th 2018
Costa Rica
Oh To Be A Vulture
==========================
Oh to be a vulture
glide easily on wind,
painting circles without effort,
capturing the updraft
perhaps,
hiding in a low cloud
and then…
It would be I,
that tiny black
rotating spot
reflected in my
grounded,
envious,
eyes.
With every breeze,
I would do it
all over again.
The foulest carrion
becomes
a roadside
fast-food
delight.
My plumed ailerons
lifting,
tacking
on each
contrary breeze;
while I dodge
to my advantage,
sky’s the limit
for each flight.
My acute sense
would smell the call
to recycle
dead flesh.
Never flinching,
always willing
I’d submit.
Now, it’s my
fresh bread,
pie-in the-oven,
olfactory buffet.
My role in life
defined,
I’d never quit.
After dining,
perching with
other feathers
of my kind,
no need to chatter,
bellies full,
our comprehension,
subtle and sublime.
I’d be the one
nodding
to my partner,
as winds
change and
leaves rustle;
Air swirls, at take-off time.
“Meet you at the
top of the crest,”
push off and out,
rising,
circling
higher,
wider
just for the
Joy
the
Luck,
that I was now
A Vulture.
Karima Hoisan
May 7, 2007
Costa Rica
*Re-requested by Hoyt:)
(En Español)
Oh, ser un buitre
deslizarse fácilmente en el viento,
pintando círculos sin esfuerzo,
capturando la corriente ascendente
quizás,
escondido en una nube baja
y entonces…
Sería yo
ese pequeño negro
punto giratorio
reflejado en mis ojos,
envidiosos
atados a la tierra,
Con cada brisa
Yo lo haría
todo de nuevo.
La carroña más sucia
se convierte en
un borde de la carretera
comida rápida
deleite.
Mis alerones emplumados
levantamiento,
virar
en cada
brisa contraria;
mientras esquivo
a mi favor,
el cielo es el límite
para cada vuelo.
Mi sentido agudo
olería la llamada
reciclar
carne muerta.
Nunca estremeciéndose
siempre dispuesto
Yo enviaría.
Ahora es mi
pan fresco,
pastel en el horno,
buffet olfativo.
Mi papel en la vida
definido
Nunca me rendiría.
Después de cenar,
posarse con
otras plumas
de mi especie,
no hay necesidad de charlar,
vientres llenos,
nuestra comprensión,
sutil y sublime.
Yo seria el indicado
cabeceo
a mi pareja,
como vientos
cambiar y
susurro de hojas;
Remolinos de aire, en el momento del despegue.
“Nos vemos en el
parte superior de la cresta “
empujar y sacar,
creciente,
dando vueltas
mayor,
más amplio
solo para el
Alegría
el
Suerte,
que yo era ahora
Un Buitre.
Karima Hoisan
7 de mayo de 2007
Costa Rica
A Net Full of Eels
For Hoyt
Slippery eels sliding
through the net holes
the mesh,
somewhat large,
it can’t contain them all.
Suspended,
how they eye the water world
of survival far below.
With all their strength and agility,
they wriggle out of certain death,
in their quest to live,
they choose the desperate fall.
Many upon many cascade
in painful belly flops.
They beat the water
with their blackened forms.
Some gracefully,
like rigid,
high-dive athletes,
push through head first,
puncture the ocean surface clean
breaking every written
record, barrier – norm.
It is so painful
to watch their struggle end.
I root for all of them
to make it through.
But, some have succumbed
to being out too long.
The sun is hot,
the distant drop
into their element, the water,
would be an agonizing death
if not done soon.
I am more amazed
than repulsed
by what I see,
for their slithering,
brings out
primal anxiety,
and makes me shake.
Still, a small compassion
rooted deep inside of me,
stirs, as on the docks
they start to fade and bake.
“Oh Allah bless the fortunate
who never knew the net.”
“Bless those, who grew in strength,
and made it safely home.”
“Bless the ones caught up,
who never could escape “
Karima Hoisan
July 9, 2007
Costa Rica
(En Español)
Una Red llena de Anguilas
Para Hoyt
Anguilas resbaladizas deslizándose
a través de los agujeros de la red
la malla,
algo grande,
no puede contenerlos a todos.
Suspendido,
cómo miran el mundo del agua
de supervivencia muy por debajo.
Con toda su fuerza y agilidad,
se escabullen de una muerte segura,
en su afán por vivir,
eligen la caída desesperada.
Muchos sobre muchos cascadas
en dolorosos desplomes del vientre.
Batieron el agua
con sus formas ennegrecidas.
Algunos con gracia
como rígido,
atletas de alto buceo,
empujar a través de la cabeza primero,
perforar la superficie del océano limpia
rompiendo cada escrito
registro, barrera – norma.
Es tan doloroso
para ver el final de su lucha.
Yo apoyo a todos ellos
para lograrlo.
Pero algunos han sucumbido
a estar fuera demasiado tiempo.
El sol está caliente
la caída distante
en su elemento, el agua,
sería una muerte agonizante
si no se hace pronto.
Estoy mas asombrada
que repugnada
por lo que veo,
por su deslizamiento,
lleva a cabo
ansiedad primaria,
y me hace temblar.
Aún así, una pequeña compasión
arraigado en lo profundo de mí,
se agita, como en los muelles
comienzan a desvanecerse y hornearse.
“Oh, Allah bendiga a los afortunados
que nunca conocía la red “.
“Bendice a los que crecieron en fuerza,
y regresaron sano y salvo a casa “.
“Benditos los atrapados,
que nunca pudieron escapar “
Karima Hoisan
9 de Julio de 2007
Costa Rica
Photo Taken by Hoyt Heron
The bakers arrive and start the mixing and the lighting of the fire.
Soon the oven will bellow, as the dough is patted, stretched so round.
It will be fed on flat shovels to the hottest deepest roaring core.
Not too long, just enough for the browning to be done,
then a flip on to its other side and there they come.
Little pitas, hot to touch, delicious for the senses; they perfume
the entire room and wait for the first customers to snatch them up in plastic
bags, a dozen at a time, while daylight glows behind the bakery…
igniting the first rays of dawn.
≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥
A man and his son awaken with the fajar call to prayer.
It rumbles across the window frames, and makes them open
wide their eyes and listen, as it fills their ears and their dreams fade away.
They take turns in their ritual washing the cleansing and preparing
and in the chill of the early morning, they lay down their rugs
They say the words out loud, the father leads the son
as they repeat the ritual, for them, done 5 times a day,
done in heat and cold, done and synced as one, for every day of every year,
so naturally and spontaneously, an essential part of living…. like breathing
≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥≤≤≤_ ≥≥≥
Across the sea in San Diego, people are gathering on the shore
The sun has yet to break the horizon, but that’s the perfect time
to light their little beacons attached now to their waists and in the foggy morning, against the grey suede sky, they slip into the water, and their lanterns bob and flicker as they push out in the waves..all the shimmering colors., like small boats afloat, a flotilla of long strokes, a human parade of swimmers, bound and tied together with just their love of ocean , their colors showing, each a lighthouse to the other, each a comfort when they raise their heads and see the colored lanterns riding high the waves, each tied to a swimmer’s waist… ahead and behind and to the sides.
And from the shore all you see, is a miraculous sea creature of glowing colors,
surfing the waves before dawn.
Karima Hoisan
September 17, 2020
Costa Rica
The Dancer In The Tree
A piano playing in the background goes
tip tipping over the branch of a tree.
My unexpected trance is now the conduit
that allows these miracles to happen…
right before my ears,
right before my eyes
The stage has been set and
I’m in the audience, mesmerized.
How the notes pirouette on the shiny bark,
caught in just that instant in a beam of light!
And what color is tree bark in such light?
Everything else is 10 shades of green,
but the bark glows in the sun, like it does in moonlight.
What color could I paint that bark against those leaves?
In the day it might be corn silk motif, flecked in green,
at night, an indescribable hue of grey -blue and ashes.
But night or day, I honestly can say, it takes my breath away.
Awaiting in the wings, a slender figure, a dancer is perched
in Nature’s solar spotlight that follows him as he swings forward.
Oh now, I just stop breathing..but when he lets go..I let go of reality.
He slow-paces his glide to the center of the branch
He tip toes, just like the music but he is almost weightless,
an alien, an unknown, that landed here in my tree,
just to perform in this out -of- the -way place for whoever comes to see.
I am alone, but if someone were next to me, we both would be shouting…
Dance! Oh please Dance!
And I shout it now breathless…DANCE!!
My voice so jarring I feel pulled out of this waking sleep,
as he moves and he leaps and he mouth-open surprises me!
But as his figure fades into the backdrop I see him twirl
I see him do impossible things, while my mind is only joy
and he is only grace, only giving, pure generosity
as the rushes of sound, birds calling, insects humming
begin to take over me.
I feel both blessed and sad..
so blessed
so sad
Because I know…
If I came back every day this week…
I still would never see him again.
Only in my dreams will I ever see him again.
In lucid living, each gift only comes for a little while
and, it only comes once and it never comes again.
Karima Hoisan
September 15th 2020
Independence Day
Costa Rica
El Bailarín En El Árbol
Un piano tocando en el fondo va
punta volcando la rama de un árbol.
Mi trance inesperado es ahora el conducto
que permite que estos milagros sucedan …
justo ante mis oídos,
justo ante mis ojos
El escenario ha sido preparado y
Estoy en la audiencia, hipnotizada.
Cómo las notas hacen piruetas sobre la corteza brillante,
atrapado en este momento en un rayo de luz!
¿Y de qué color es la corteza de los árboles con tanta luz?
Todo lo demás son 10 tonos de verde
pero la corteza brilla al sol, como a la luz de la luna.
¿De qué color podría pintar esa corteza contra esas hojas?
En el día podría ser un motivo de seda de maíz, moteado de verde,
de noche, una tonalidad indescriptible de gris -azul y ceniza.
Pero de noche o de día, puedo decir honestamente, apenas puedo respirar.
Esperando en las alas, una figura esbelta, un bailarín se posa
en el foco solar de la Naturaleza, que lo sigue mientras se balancea hacia adelante.
Ah ahora, simplemente dejo de respirar … pero cuando el se suelta … dejo ir la realidad.
Se desliza lentamente hacia el centro de la rama.
Se pone de puntillas, como la música, pero casi ingrávido,
un extraterrestre, un desconocido, que aterrizó aquí en mi árbol,
solo para actuar en este lugar apartado para quien venga a ver.
Estoy solo, pero si hubiera alguien a mi lado, todos estaríamos gritando …
¡Baile! ¡Oh, por favor, Baile!
Y lo grito ahora sin aliento… ¡¡BAILE !!
Mi voz es tan discordante que me siento sacado de este sueño despierto
mientras él se mueve y salta y ¡me sorprende con mi boca abierta!
Pero cuando su figura se desvanece en el telón de fondo, lo veo girar
Lo veo hacer cosas imposibles, mientras mi mente es solo alegría
y él es solo gracia, solo entrega, pura generosidad
como las ráfagas del sonido, pájaros canto, insectos tarareando
empezar a apoderarse de mí.
Me siento bendecida y triste.
tan bendecida
tan triste
Porque yo sé…
Si volviera todos los días de esta semana …
Todavía nunca lo volvería a ver.
Solo en mis sueños lo volvería a ver.
En una vida lúcida, cada regalo solo llega por un tiempito;
Solo viene una vez y nunca vuelve más.
Karima Hoisan
15 de septiembre de 2020
Día de la Independencia
As I started writing poetry as a child, someone asked me if I still had the first poem I ever wrote? Actually, I do!!
My mother framed it, as mother’s tend to do:) so it has not been lost over (believe me!) many many years.
I will post them here and I hope you enjoy them. My first poem was about Nature, and we were living in the Midwest of the USA. I have lost almost all of my early poem, but the second one, I will display here, is safe inside my head and never forgotten.
A Summer Favor
The sun to me is not a sun,
But warmth and beauty in disguise
The cool soft breezes touch my face,
Carrying multitudes of butterflies.
The song of Nature is being sung
By every beak and every tongue.
The leaves of Fall have blown away
And in their place, the birds will stay.
The snow has long since melted down
And grass grows from the same cold ground.
The branches stretch their arms to say,
Please make tomorrow a sunny day.
Please bring the rain to feed our trees
And color each twig with colored leaves.
For soon the summer months will go
And in their place come months of snow…
Help us, give us what we need
For every budding flower and seed
Kari 9 years old
The second poem, was written a few months after my dad’s death at a young age. I was very affected by his death and trying to make sense out of it. I was 11 years old.
Four Questions Three Answers
1. Why must I always go forward Sir?
Because you need to look back and regret.
2. Why is the present seldom calm?
Because it moves in the wake of the past
and the uncertainty of the future.
3.Why is there no place in the present
for my memories of the past?
Illusionary happiness, like oil,
floats on the water of reality.
4. And why must death be my future Sir
if there is no future in death?
Because………..
(En Español)
Cuando comencé a escribir poesía cuando era niña, alguien me preguntó si todavía tenía el primer poema que escribí. ¡¡De hecho, sí !!
Mi madre lo enmarcó, como suele hacer la madre 🙂 para que no se haya perdido durante (¡créanme!) Muchos, muchos años.
Los publicaré aquí y espero que los disfruten. Mi primer poema trataba sobre la naturaleza y vivíamos en el medio oeste de Estados Unidos. He perdido casi todo mis primeras poemas, pero el segundo, que mostraré aquí, está a salvo dentro de mi cabeza y nunca lo olvidaré.
Un Favor de Verano
El sol para mí no es un sol
Pero calidez y belleza disfrazadas
Las suaves brisas frescas tocan mi cara
Llevando multitudes de mariposas.
Se canta la canción de la naturaleza
Por cada pico y cada lengua.
Las hojas del otoño se han ido
Y en su lugar, los pájaros se quedarán.
La nieve hace tiempo que se derritió
Y la hierba crece en el mismo suelo frío.
Las ramas estiran los brazos para decir:
Por favor, haz de mañana un día soleado.
Por favor trae la lluvia para alimentar nuestros árboles
Y colorea cada ramita con hojas de colores.
Porque pronto los meses de verano se irán
Y en su lugar vienen meses de nieve …
Ayúdanos, danos lo que necesitamos
Por cada flor y semilla en ciernes
Kari 9 años
El segundo poema fue escrito unos meses después de la muerte de mi padre a una edad temprana. Su muerte me afectó mucho y traté de encontrarle sentido. Tenía 11 años.
Cuatro Preguntas -Tres Respuestas
1. ¿Por qué debo ir siempre adelante, señor?
Porque necesitas mirar hacia atrás y arrepentirte.
2. ¿Por qué el presente rara vez es tranquilo?
Porque se mueve tras el pasado
y la incertidumbre del futuro.
3.¿Por qué no hay lugar en el presente?
por mis recuerdos del pasado?
Felicidad ilusoria, como el aceite,
flota en el agua de la realidad.
4. ¿Y por qué la muerte debe ser mi futuro, señor?
si no hay futuro en la muerte?
Porque………..
Digital Rabbit Hole 