Vulnerability Study, by Solmaz Sharif

Me, at Art Dubai 2010, photo by Tina Vitug 

your face turning from mine
to keep from cumming 

8 strawberries in a wet blue bowl 

baba holding his pants
up at the checkpoint 

a newlywed securing her updo
with grenade pins 

a wall cleared of nails
for the ghosts to walk through

Vulnerability Study, by Solmaz Sharif

Oh, my was my first reaction on reading this poem.  Immediately it reminded me of a set of photographs at Art Dubai, which my friend photographed me in front of, portraying how the Iranian conflict had seeped into the everyday lives of people.  Emotionally, intimately, and economically.  "Baba" is a respectful Iranian term for grandfather or elderly father.  That is just one of many horrific reversals in this poem:  from commonplace and endearing; to disgusting (rape), dangerous (terrorism), and tragic (death).

Solmaz Sharif

 

From Calvin Klein to Eternity

A note of freesia shall linger where

We turn, and never stop, into each other

And scale adagio the muted air.

A note of mandarin shall find another - 

From sweet, to spice and tart, our lives may weave

A tapestry with threads as loose and frayed.

Which dare a note of sage to dream, and leave

More health than ill, more comfort than afraid.  

Or else muguet shall poison swift as snake - 

But left alone, our valleys sing its scent

And thereby let Madonna Lily wake

With note of white, and lilt, and never spent.

Patchouli shall endure, and sandalwood

Endow us with a century of good.  

From Calvin Klein to Eternity © Ron Villejo

Sonnet for Calvin Klein Short Film

Fire in the corridor to start our narrative 

     Is not a choice at our disposal, love.  

Fashion may find us lacking in demonstrative,

     But not for long, and not a salve to solve.

Air on our cheeks is secondarily as hot - 

     Our pupils dilate in the afternoon

And skin stand on its edge - dispense with no and not, 

     And follow scent deeply into the moon.

Water may trail a cool along a straight and bend,

     And pause for breath, then move insistently - 

The elements, love, are alive, and mean to send

     Our wanting to its want relentlessly.

Earth at my back, and you astride, shall gravity

Become a complex of our impropriety.

Sonnet for Calvin Klein Short Film © Ron Villejo

Poetry for Calvin Klein Provocations

All to me.  Against time. Against the world.  Waveless, effortless, lawless.

In media res shall we begin, where battles neither won nor lost -
Surrender to a feel, and fall, til we no longer care the cost.

Reject the consequence.  No discipline.  Madness blooms.

As if there were a lesson to be leaned on, physics of a longing -
Whose pulse be steady, amplitude inflect, uncharted want prolonging.

I writhe where time slows, reel forever from your scent, unsure of breath -
I wonder how the moon will tangle for a pulse before its death.  

Currents drift.  We glide.

Industrial encounter at the edge of want, and fierce, and dust -
Stay put, love - the cacophony of heat abates as metals rust.

They say it is a conversation that I want, and that is all -
I never think about their naïveté, as you come gnarl and scrawl.  

Into the darkness we travel.  Vanishing bends.  Impulsive, careless, rapt.  

So this is what we come to - what Picasso rendered de la mer -
Entangled lovers at the edge, and salt wash fragments everywhere.  

Whoever shall distinguish which - Are we far off, who recollect,
Or are we here, imagining incendiary want reflect?

There is a style to how we may comport - no matter parallax,
There is no questioning the planes we cross for fashion to a max. 

Quiet behind my eyes.  Thoughts astray.  We fall into this.  Like convection I rise.  You scream through me.  Explode to the sky.

Perhaps dear Newton would be pleased to find an equilibrium -
What shatters outwardly, we pull inside an arc where passions come.

Radiates, implodes.  

As long as style defines what look we seek, and feel we brood about -
Let heat convect, let nova be the love we make, let heavens pout.

My eyes onto yours.  Erratic steps.

No matter vast the limestone of geometry, we find each other -
Oh, for a scent, love, run down you, along a slope onto forever.

We stand in contrast to man.  

For always there is no escaping you, no moment that is sacred -
Your scent my oxygen, your fingertips my feel, my want upbraided.

I take up childhood play, as if I knew no better of a flame -
For curiosity is mine, no matter what is in a name.  

Life of adoration.

So dawn creeps in, glides up, and tangles salt wash air and limestone wall -
The aftermath is always languorous, and love is at a fall.

Poetry for Calvin Klein Provocations © Ron Villejo

A Haunting

a photo I took of a art piece at Art Dubai (2011)

An unusual subject, an unusual composition.  These are silhouettes of women, obviously, but the artist cleverly reversed light and shadow.  I was struck not only by the light, but also by the texture of brushed gold.  Which were these three women.  What were they looking at, and what was this piece about?

I was one of many whom

You had tangled in a room –

For a sight you did not want

Would become your nightly haunt –

For a feel of light was I

Never seeking in your sky.

A Haunting © Ron Villejo

Awake (5) The Mortal's Redemption

It's been six months and Taylor hasn't slept for a minute of it.

His girlfriend (Kate) is unaware of his extreme insomnia and leaves him overnight while she is away on a business trip. In her absence Taylor's sleep deprivation turns to psychosis.

Now alone he imagines his household appliances tormenting him.

Until he decides to act.

Awake is a film I discovered three years ago, and it was so disturbing that it inspired me to write this five-act poem:

The strain of violins is notable,

Piano enters in adagio.

The mortal, noble for the possible,

May stake a place from its imbroglio –

Where angels weep

And saints redeem,

So sinners sleep

And lovers dream.

Awake, Act 5. The Mortal's Redemption © Ron Villejo

Awake (4) The Stalker's Dilemma

It's been six months and Taylor hasn't slept for a minute of it.

His girlfriend (Kate) is unaware of his extreme insomnia and leaves him overnight while she is away on a business trip. In her absence Taylor's sleep deprivation turns to psychosis.

Now alone he imagines his household appliances tormenting him.

Until he decides to act.

Awake is a film I discovered three years ago, and it was so disturbing that it inspired me to write this five-act poem:

Scene 1

The loud and smoky bar

Is often logical,

And geometric light

A perfect camouflage –

For no one notices

How night is pivoting.

The jostling of the crowd

And pounding in the air

Are all that matter now. 

That powers fall in step –

How anonymity

Is opportunity.

Desire like fire is here,

Its object crystal clear.

Scene 2

There is dilemma

To this agenda –

For when unspoken

Statutes are broken,

Then there is reason

In any season

To kill the breaker.

Long live, the maker!

It can be heaven

In states uneven –

That powers may angle

For those who mangle,

In whose possessing

Desires undressing.

Scene 3

Compress the world

In measures that

The human hour

May understand. 

The narrowing

Of night will come

As seconds slip.

The metronome

Foretells an end –

So let desire

Be satisfied,

Let voices drown

‘Til powers be

All that there is.

Awake, Act 4. The Stalker's Dilemma © Ron Villejo

Awake (3) The Madman's Curse

It's been six months and Taylor hasn't slept for a minute of it. 

His girlfriend (Kate) is unaware of his extreme insomnia and leaves him overnight while she is away on a business trip. In her absence Taylor's sleep deprivation turns to psychosis. 

Now alone he imagines his household appliances tormenting him. 

Until he decides to act.

Awake is a film I discovered three years ago, and it was so disturbing that it inspired me to write this five-act poem:

Is there a way to stop the beating of

The metronomic pulse inside my head –

We know how time may race for those in love

But slow for those whose dread is never dead?

Is there a way to stop the taunting of

– As if the television were my head –

The lady whom I love, but can she love

The way I was the night I struck him dead?

Is there a way to stop this thinking of

Whatever runs like ink inside my head –

This trauma from a tale I do not love

To tell and wish instead that I were dead?

Awake, Act 3. The Madman's Curse © Ron Villejo

Awake (2) The Guilty's Descent

It's been six months and Taylor hasn't slept for a minute of it. 

His girlfriend (Kate) is unaware of his extreme insomnia and leaves him overnight while she is away on a business trip. In her absence Taylor's sleep deprivation turns to psychosis. 

Now alone he imagines his household appliances tormenting him. 

Until he decides to act.

Awake is a film I discovered three years ago, and it was so disturbing that it inspired me to write this five-act poem:

The coffee pot is hot enough –

I switch it quickly on and off.

It percolates just loud enough –

I switch it quickly on and off.

The coffee pot speaks well enough –

I switch it quickly on and off.

It needs a talking to – enough –

I switch it quickly on and off.

It knows how guilty well enough –

I switch it quickly on and off.

Awake, Act 2. The Guilty's Descent © Ron Villejo

Awake (1) The Insomniac's Night

It's been six months and Taylor hasn't slept for a minute of it. 

His girlfriend (Kate) is unaware of his extreme insomnia and leaves him overnight while she is away on a business trip. In her absence Taylor's sleep deprivation turns to psychosis. 

Now alone he imagines his household appliances tormenting him. 

Until he decides to act.

Awake is a film I discovered three years ago, and it was so disturbing that it inspired me to write this five-act poem:

There are no boundaries

Of night and day for you –

No place where rosaries

May say a prayer for you.

You see piano sheets

Like lazy autumn leaves,

But do not hear the streets

Of errant rustling leaves.

No matter sitting up

Or standing bowed as lead,

No matter coffee cup

She takes you know is lead.

So laying down awake

Is hell as hell shall make.

Awake, Act 1. The Insomniac's Night © Ron Villejo