Sunrise off of McDonald Road

February 23, 2021By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken + words written January 2019; Town of Onondaga, New York.

It’s negative one degree’s out.
I don’t know why I thought, even the few minutes I’d be out here,
I could handle this with kid gloves on.
My chest feels tight; I was holding my breath.
It’s hard to stay present when the temperature is killing you.

I read yesterday that all that is not “matter”
Is nothingness;  and in that nothingness
We can connect with the unmanifested.
That is to say, by paying attention to the 
Space between things, between walls, between us and them,
We can find our soul.
But an hour later I was in a sauna wondering,
“What about temperature? What about oxygen and carbon monoxide?” 
What about the very things that allow us to BE
In these bodies as manifested in solid matter?
Are these nothingness? We can’t see the space
Between these molecules, because we can’t see the molecules.
Therefore, if space is the portal into the unknown, 
and matter we can see represents the known
What about the known matter, that we cannot see?

I know I am sad and scared and nervous to get back to Los Angeles,
Yet I cannot see these emotions. Perhaps
They are just chemical: a physical
manifestation that my soul wanted to experience
Through the sensitivity of humanness.
I try to trust that this is what is supposed to happen.
That I signed some contract many lifetimes back
That would hex me against technology and lovers where I
Would in turn get so used to it that I would
Hex myself. So what I’m still trying to figure out is,
Am I meant to somehow fight against all this?
Claim that I deserve better,
It doesn’t have to be this way,
Break my back to overcome every obstacle
And actualize my life into one that my soul and ego were proud of?
Or do I surrender into what is? Surrender that 
Maybe I won’t ever get married or have a family
Maybe I will have to move back home
Maybe I’ve made my family’s life worse by being in it,
I keep seeing myself make mistake after mistake.
I try to do better, yet the resistance is powerful.
I try to overcome every self-destructive tendency
Until pleasure wants to take over and
Just run the show.

He was going through this same battle. 
He surrendered.
I was still fighting. I am
Still fighting.
But I no longer blame him
For breaking our contract. 

Sunrise Over Denver

February 16, 2021By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and poem written in November 2018. Denver, CO.

Thumping to a count of 10
My heart pitters then jumps
It’s often overwhelming
When I look outside in Denver.

The crisp of the air, not killing me,
But chilling me. Strengthening 
My ability to handle the changes.
For if I’m braced for winter, I can
Handle any weather.

If you don’t like what’s happening
Wait. It will change. It has to. I 
Used to relish this knowledge:
Knowing if I didn’t like where I was
I would never stay there.

What about now when I don’t want
To go anywhere? When the changes are
Rapid but I don’t want to go on tonight’s
Plane? What if I wanted to slow down
The pace of the day, so I could 
Spend more moments in pure
Gratitude?

Every day taken off, hand held, sacrifice,
Gas pump, Late-to-bed followed by
Early-to-rise… every time I said something 
Fear-based that was met with understanding.
Every little action that adds up to love
In action. I’m seeing it. I’m feeling it.
I’m trying to believe it and want it to stick
Around to see if it stays.

I don’t want to stray; I’m just scared of
What will happen in this city without
My influence. What will happen when
I’m in a position that requires faith?
My heart is thawing. I’m melting in
Wonder. I give myself over to the
Unknown. I give myself over and let go.

Sunrise Over Grassfish at Mendocino Magic

July 11, 2019By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in July 2018. Mendocino, CA.

Gravity.
Pulling my left then my right lids down.
I can’t vouch for my creativity when I can’t see the lines I’m writing between.
Feet out, lean back,
Wait.
The sun will crest over eventually. Let it be your alarm clock.
Nature had a different tone. When you get the call you have to go.
From bronze to gold to bright, bright green. It’s all relative and irrelevant.
When you plan to cheat,
Take the work, less healing
When the sun is further
In the sky.

These are extreme conditions.
Big love, four nights, one tent.
Seventy-five burners. I know no
One. Social stamina muscle
Is built, voice is broken.

It feels so good to listen,
Especially since everyone
Has had a wild ride
So far.

The Art of Not Giving a Fuck employed.
Grab that tambourine, feel the beat, or miss it, pick it back up again.
The point is to have fun trying.
To show people that you’re not afraid of your ego dying. Make a big mess of yourself now. No better time to let those fucks go. No one can do you like you can – and it’s needed here and hey – it’s needed everywhere.

The more you try to fit your gifts to what you think other people want, the further away you get from doing just that.
Yourself is what’s needed.
Sing a song and trail to a tangent then click away knowing that you can take the shifts and changes within and without you and it is always going to be needed, whatever your gifts so happen to be.

Sunrise at One Love Fest

February 9, 2019By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in October 2017. One Love Fest, CA.

I wish I was a bird
Their mating rituals are so simple
And with my love song
I’d know damn well when
He was calling on another.

Love the people in these photos
But everyone wants a perfect time
Let’s stop teaching the myth of “ready”
And instead replace it,
With the reality of choice.

My necklace that contains
Sodalite for self-love
Rose quartz for unconditional love
And amethyst for healing
Went missing last night.
But my bet is my stones’ called on another
Cause for me they’d done all they could do.

I listened to myself.
My body, my need
For boundaries.
I’m not ready for a good time.
I’m ready for a real time, or a nap
Whichever comes first.
It’s been one real of a week.
I put sparkles on my cheeks and
Cat ears on my head.
To feel like my life
Was some time else.

Either in the past where
My trust was still
As low pressure
As my playa tires
Or the future where
I love myself so
Much, that I
Listen to myself
And give me what
I need against peace.

    Sunrise at my Audition in the LES

    October 26, 2018By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

    Photos taken and words written in October 2017. New York, NY.

    I didn’t get picked again.
    He didn’t even touch my hair.
    Doesn’t he know that it’s virgin hair??
    Not picked, rejected, the idiots.
    Idiots! Sounds familiar.

    If he had only touched it he would have known.
    I look at their choices and feel pity
    for their stupidity that who they are
    looking for is me. I am that girl.
    I have that thick, luscious hair, with
    High cheek bones, eyes that will
    kill you with their stare; I am Medusa
    Look at me and risk your life.
    You don’t know what you want
    You don’t know what you want
    You don’t know what you want
    Look at me: I will hold
    you with my hair, I will encapsulate
    Everything that thrills you and terrifies
    you with one stare.

    I’m every girl you ever wanted in one.
    Why is it taking so long for someone
    to figure this out? I can chill with you
    on your couch, then fuck you in your car.
    I look good on your arm and get your weird
    humor. You can say weird shit like “I
    want to chew up your eyeballs and spit them
    out” and I will get it and love you for it.
    Your desire for me scares you because it
    has taken you over. You don’t know if there’s
    room for anything else. You know I’m the
    end. You know this is a mudslide.
    You don’t want me to hold you because
    you know once you succomb to me
    your will is useless. It’s over. The rest
    of your life is in my hands. Idiot!

    I never gave myself that power only you.
    You will hunt for the forbidden fruit
    only to look back years from now, see that
    I’ve hardly aged, I’m exceeding you in our
    Careers and that I’m ridiculously happy
    without you.
    You will feel sorry; you will realize how stupid you
    were. You were realize you were such a
    goddamn idiot for not even trying,
    not even touching my… hair. Not even
    seeing what could be possible with this
    beauty, this body, this mind, these eyes,
    these arms, these hands, this heart, this smile.
    Coward. Step out of your own way and stop looking.
    I’m right here. Focus now, readjust that focal length.
    You need a more shallow depth of field because I’m
    RIGHT HERE. Stop looking. You’ve found it.
    Don’t be an idiot.

    Self-Destructive Heat

    October 15, 2018By Focal NomadPOETRY


    Bathing myself in this heat
    I let the air pressure renew me
    Off of Spring Street

    Those ICEE’s look delicious
    Been craving a frappucino
    Both make me feel old and gross

    I refrain from the sugar
    Trying to find something sustainable
    I chug water and cocao

    I stare at an empty stage
    My to-do list is long but all
    I want to do is sit and sulk and drink

    Too hot to get high, and the polarity
    Might kill me. I’m so mixed up I’m
    Broken. All pieces of myself scattered
    Across the dead lawn of a place I once
    Wrote many poems on.

    I want to run away from typing
    I sit with the discomfort of this heat
    Hoping someone will text me back
    Rescue me from having to sit with this

    Tapping on dating apps, hoping to loose
    Myself in another so I can offer a big
    Middle finger to those who tell me I’m
    Not for them. Not now, unavailable.

    Perhaps they think I’ll always be around,
    Waiting for that day when circumstance will
    Align with desire. Life doesn’t give us perfect
    Timing. All it gives us is choices and feelings
    We don’t always have a say in.

    If I had a say in my emotions, I would be
    Robotic with steel walls as boundaries.
    But I’m not, I’m as penetrable as the wind
    But my gusts come with force, a fierce funnel
    Of dust and my particles are fine, they get
    Inside of people without them even realizing
    That weeks after I’m gone they’re coughing
    Me up. Choking on me, because I’m hard to
    Get rid of. Pretty and powerful
    Powerful wind, I’m an intense experience
    That I’m always trying to transcend.

    Imagine existing as the cyclone, where
    Everything that you love gets blown
    Away when near you. In awe of your
    Force, but can’t stand strong with you
    So maybe humans weren’t meant for me
    Maybe humans are too weak
    Maybe what I need is steel that I can’t
    Damage, skin that won’t chap even on
    A good day. Robots do their best to feel
    But it takes a lot to get through to them
    So maybe I’m what they need. Something
    Strong to move them, even if it’s subtle –
    Two opposing forces, not right on paper.
    Two opposing forces, that need each other

    Imperfect Shapes

    October 3, 2018By Focal NomadPOETRY

    Don’t make decisions from your pain, love.
    It may feel like you want to take the scissors
    and cut up all the shapes to shreds.
    It may feel like none of your circles were perfect,
    like your hearts were all lopsided,
    that your squares were only trapezoids
    and your trapezoids were more like stars;
    but don’t cut them into confetti.

    The world needs the imperfect shapes that only
    you can create. So take that glue stick and create
    a mosaic because when you put it all together
    what comes out of you will only fit together
    if you cut it asymmetrical.

    Confetti may be great for a party;
    scattering your pain across a room in celebration
    of our flaws. Flaunting our need to forget with
    every blunt that we smoke and drink that we sip.
    You can dance and sweat it out as much as you
    feel it in the techno but the beat won’t make
    your heart more even. It won’t make your
    nose less deviated. It won’t take the air out
    of your stomach and sharpen your hearing.

    When the party ends, your need to destroy
    what you are just becomes trash; moop
    that gets in the way of everyone when
    the high wears off. So cut it as perfectly
    imperfect as you can. Your shapes can
    create art that others can appreciate.

    Some will approach from a distance to
    understand it in totality from afar. Some
    get in close to understand what materials
    you used, the method upon which it was cut,
    the binding material and the foundation it lays
    on. Some will want to understand the whole
    journey of how you created it. Some will
    want to take it home. Understanding it’s worth of
    having as someone’s own. Also understand that
    Mosaics aren’t everyone’s thing. But just wait…

    The right buyer will come along.

    They will have a place for you that’s been
    needing to be filled. They will be ready for
    a large and heavy, colorful piece of art.
    It will fit in with their colorful and large home.
    They will see your art on the wall and know
    that it belongs on their wall, right above the
    couch, where everyone can see. Proud and happy
    that they found the piece they’ve always been
    looking for. Something they see everyday that
    Makes them smile, that makes them think,
    that challenges them on their own journey.
    Someday this buyer will come, and they will
    know it’s worth. They won’t hesitate, they won’t
    Question the imperfect shapes. They will understand.
    So don’t cut yourself into confetti. There is nothing
    wrong with you.

    Celebrate yourself by being yourself.

    A City of Shifty Eyes

    April 18, 2018By Focal NomadPOETRY

    Where do I start

    I’ve been afraid to write
    For what I might uncover
    From my time under another
    I wonder if it will ever get better
    Than it was with you
    And I’m ashamed to admit
    That I even miss a little bit
    About what we were because
    If I admit that, it means I
    Still haven’t found any better
    And how is it so difficult
    To find someone who wants
    To go there with you, who can
    Listen to every little squirm of
    Your big toe and push you to
    Your limit with every little flick
    Of your neck and other places
    And why did you have to come at
    It with all those false promises
    I know you wanted to keep them
    At the time but they mean nothing
    If you don’t resolve to keep them
    When it counts. So now every shifty
    Eye, every second date, every second
    Guess I take as a sign of poison
    Not to drink from that cup but
    Pour the elixir out, empty the glass
    Completely and set it on fire to
    Make sure no residue is left over.
    I know alcohol is all ready poison
    And im taking a risk there but it masks
    The smell and taste of something much
    More foul, especially when my go-to
    Is a stiff scotch like a vampire trying
    To reduce its urges to seduce, suck,
    Bleed out and shred. I drink to keep
    My demons at bay, to get to the point
    Where I care just a little less about
    The risks that I’m taking because
    Every time I kiss another I’m afraid
    That secretly they are you, or you,
    Or maybe even him. Because I’m
    In my thirties now and I don’t
    Want to repeat any more mistakes
    But I’m in my thirties now so a
    Woman should be able to responsibly
    Get her licks, right?

    Spring on the Horizon

    March 15, 2018By Focal NomadPOETRY

    Cheese Borek at Barnsdall Art Park

    Spring is coming
    I see it on the horizon
    As the sun goes down as late
    As 7 o’clock
    I embrace the later darkness
    The illumination of the sun
    Of giving into more daylight
    They say the full moon
    Illuminates that which we had
    Been pushing beneath the surface
    But the moons light is only a
    reflection of the sun
    So it’s time to cut out the middle man
    It’s time to say yes to the sun
    Say yes to the dawn
    Say yes to things bright and shiny and
    New. I realize that I am not
    The same person I was a year ago
    I realize that although I went my
    Own path, and even from that
    I sometimes strayed, it was still
    My way – and that’s okay – that’s
    Grand that’s just divine because
    My journey can’t be like his, or his
    Or yours or hers. I can expand and
    Become more clear at the same time
    Tunnel vision never got me anywhere
    I really wanted to be. It’s fine to take
    Sideways glances. It’s grand it’s
    Divine to experience all things.
    Mixing the old with the new. I keep
    The things I love like this sunset
    View and try it on with a cheese borek
    An Armenian bakery that’s been
    Around the corner from me that
    I never stepped inside of until today.
    Maybe it’ll be my favorite new pastry,
    Maybe I’ll get indigestion. But how
    Will I know my favorite foods until
    I’ve tried them all? How will I keep
    Growing outward if I limit myself
    With assumptions? How will I learn
    From advice if I don’t first listen,
    And try it on for size?

    Sunrise from Flight 24

    December 8, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

    Photos taken (on my iPhone) and words written in October 2017. LAX to SYR.

    I thought we weren’t going to see it.
    I was sure the light would hit the pilots
    Eyes and we would just get a magnificent
    Casting of orange over the mountains of
    Clouds. But sometimes when we think
    We’re only being given a glimmer
    The skies surprise us.

    Facing just east enough to catch it in
    The top left corner of my oval window
    I feel a rush. Bright, neon orange crescent
    Peaking over peaks and valleys of clouds.
    I almost forgot to shoot this one, hence,
    The iPhone. My smart device doesn’t really
    Do it justice but I’m proud of myself for
    Showing up. Most often, that’s what counts.

    I’m exhausted and can’t figure out how to
    Sleep. My heart is finally back in its chest again
    Because it took getting up here to find it again
    As for the past week I’ve been bathing in the
    Sunsets I’ve shared and remembering them
    In the reflection of these icey blue eyes
    Eyes that sat above lips that were always primed
    To be kissing mine. I found my heart –
    And my head – again; back in these clouds.

    I look forward to crimson and rusted leaves
    Biting into tart and sweet Empire apples
    Drinking cinnamon-spiced hot apple cider
    Wrapping myself into a long navy blue dress
    And standing there in the family dirt surrounded
    By my favorite senses, alongside my whole family
    to wish my sister and her husband a life as
    full as my heart. The only other person in my
    life to know what it’s like to pick the biggest
    apple at the top, to have dad carrying 2 massive
    bags down the hill, to not be able to have just
    one fried apple fritter. To know that
    some days the apples are too sour, sometimes
    we can’t get to the top, sometimes it’s muddy
    but we’ll always find each other connected by
    our traditions, and our showing up for them,
    and that, is love.