Identity Poems

‘This page contains different identity aspects.

Having Being’ Parts I, II & III stem from cultures’ creative contemplations:  how we got here, how we interact, how we choose to be versus have.  Being trumps having.  Joan rollicks in verb conjugation rhythms which are laced throughout.  ‘Instill and till those verses’.  ‘Having Being’ evokes a dervish dance uncoiled to find our kernel.

Listen to Joan’s May, 2013 blogtalk radio interview that considers ‘kicking up some spray’ in the youtubing world with a blend of word/movement/music:  http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ns-writers/2013/05/29/a-live-chat-with-poet-joan-boxall

Part I  Having Being  (chorus/refrain)

When will I see myself

As I truly am?

Stripped down semblance;

Serene, composed, tranquil.

Turn, spin, revolve.

Dizzy the coil.

Obscure turmoil.

Adapted from North Shore Writer’s Association Anthology ‘Still Running’, Rogue Literary Press, used with permission, all rights reserved, Joan Boxall, 2010

Part II

Emerging from the void;

Filling the darkness

With realization:

I am, you are, he/she/it is,

And so are we and they.

Who?  You.  What?  This and that.

When and where?  Here and now.

Why?  We are still asking…

How much, how many, how long

How far, how old…how are you?

Uplifted, illuminated, alive?

Downcast, gloomy, fading?

Metamorphosing;

Feeling through four portals:

Eyes, ears, mouth and nose

Eyes and ears, mouth and nose.

With light.

Babble’s unscrambled

From silence to articulation.

Disparity finds clarity.

Back to front.

Rewind, unwind, fast forward and record.

Seek, strive, stumble, get up, fall down in a

Phase, cycle, sequence.

Resting in thoughtful cocoons

Between polarities.

Satisfied essence yet

Dissatisfied presence.

Tipster/trickster will undermine

Our search for equilibrium

Between nothing and everything,

No one and everyone,

Nowhere and everywhere to

Something, someone, somewhere.

Teetertotteringly crawl towards it.

Hang on without grasping

And we’re going to be, and/or/but/so– not:

We will, and/or/but, so be it.

Adapted from North Shore Writers Association Anthology, 2009, used with permission, all rights reserved, Joan Boxall, Rogue Literary Press
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Part III

 I am, I’m, I’m not, am I?

Yes, I am.  No, I’m not.   (uh uh)

You are, you’re, you’re not, are you?

Yes, you are.  No, you’re not.  You aren’t.

He is, he’s, he’s not, is he?

Yes, he is.  No, he’s not.  He isn’t.

She is, she’s, she’s not, is she?

Yes, she is.  No, she’s not.  She isn’t.

They are, they’re, they’re not, are they?

Yes, they are.  No, they’re not.  They aren’t.

We are, we’re, we’re not, are we?

Yes, we are.  No, we’re not.  We aren’t.

Who we are.

Who we are

Provides such verse ability.

Let’s till those verses:

Verse advice, vice versa

Verse; sad vice.

Mulch, prune and nurture them in our

Converse, perverse universe

Of humanity, inhumanity,

Thoughtfulness, thoughtlessness.

Awakening, slumbering in

Rhythmic patterns.

To’ing and fro’ing

Im-pulsing waves

Of in-di-vi-du-a-li-ty,

Di-vi-sive du-a-li-ty,

Mortality.

Taciturn, take your turn,

Take a stand, take it in,

Take it easy, take your time.

All in good time.

In-still,

Un-till we see ourselves as we truly are…

Adapted from North Shore Writers’ Association,  2009 Anthology,  poem by Joan Boxall, all rights reserved, used with permission.

Part I (refrain) Having Being   

When will we see ourselves

As we truly are?

Stripped down semblances;

Serene, composed, tranquil.

Turn, spin, evolve.

Dizzy the coil.

Obscure turmoil.

Adapted from North Shore Writer’s Association Anthology ‘Still Running’, Rogue Literary Press, used with permission, all rights reserved, Joan Boxall, 2010

 

Veneers

We all know                                     We all know

What an open door looks like        What a brick wall feels like

Clarity, simplicity, unlocking            Insurmountable, closed solid,

Its free access                                Imposing, blockage

To honesty, generosity                   With no hope of perspective.

Whose possibilities go on               We can’t get over it…

Everlastingly.                                    Hardly ever.

 

But between the two

There’s a meniscus of

Tension

Like invisible duct tape

A gag, but not the funny kind,

Muffling me getting you

Or you getting me.

We’re not bonding

And there’s a sticky trick.

Is it getting to you?

We’re coming unglued:

Dis-con-nec-‘TING’!

I can’t see, hear, look, or listen;

Only smell, taste and feel

Electrical crackling interference,

Distorted tightness,

Binding tautness,

Adhesive’s incoherence.

Constricting, misconstruing

The glue that might join us

Becomes the wrong end of the stick

Boiling our bones, skins, horns and hooves

Into a gooey gap.

We’re cracking up

Like polar icecaps

Adapted from North Shore Writer’s Association Anthology, 2009

Rogue Literary Press, Joan Boxall, all rights reserved.

 

  Hand Spells Podcast

 

Human hands and sea stones. The daddy and his daughter stock photo


Outstretched fingers
On warm sand
Press in
To a mold
Of the hand.Five digits

Imprint

Like the senses.

See, hear, smell, taste, touch

Thumb, index, middle, ring, and pinkie.

 

The hand casts its form

And when raised,

The sand cools,

The shape remains

In sifting between-ness.

 

A person outstretched

Makes their mold;

Their imprint

So much more

Than what they’ve

 

Seen, heard, smelled, tasted, touched.

Did they ponder the between-ness;

Their contour and definition?

And find out

All the things they

 

Wanted to know:

What is and what

Remains?

Inside and out

Outside and in?

 

Hands up, hands down,

Digits and opposing

Thumbs up, thumbs down?

Knuckles,

Nails,

 

Tips, metacarpals,

Wrist and palm?

Manicured,

Manacled,

Maneuver?

 

Kneading,

Breaking,

Buttering,

Placing,

Imbibing,

 

Manipulating?

The weapon,

The word,

The knife,

The gun?

 

In giving and taking,

Grasping and letting go,

Healing,

Worshipping,

Communicating.

 

Each digit;

Like a sense.

In between

Imprinting

So much more.

 

Outstretched fingers

On warm sand

Press in

To a mold

Of the hand.

 

Human hands and sea stones. The daddy and his daughter stock photo

Listen to Joan’s May, 2013 blogtalk radio interview that considers ‘kicking up some spray’ in the youtubing world with a blend of word/movement/music: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ns-writers/2013/05/29/a-live-chat-with-poet-joan-boxallAdapted from North Shore Writers’ Anthology 2011, ‘Cake’

All rights reserved, Joan Boxall, used with permission

Rogue Literary Press

One thought on “Identity Poems

  1. Congratulations on your new website, Joan. I can hear you reading your poems!
    Particularly like the one about the fingers on warm sand..
    True picture of you on your bike.

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