And if only
people could
hear
what I'm really
saying,
could see
what I'm really
experiencing,
could feel
that I'm really
trembling...

then they --
you
wouldn't have to
know
the end
of this poem.

©jln.

Sometimes
there are
no words to
describe
how you feel.

Simply,
you are just
aware.

Aware.

That hollow
space
that ghost
figure
sitting beside
you.

You nestle
your head
to your side

feeling
a shoulder
to catch you.

Just keep feeling.

Until your head
your body
falls.

A bump in your head.
A bigger bump in your heart.

Aware of
that hollowness.

©jln.

They say
the hands can
tell the future.

Look, look!
Look at those
lines criss-cross
zig-zagging
one another.

Does that say
I'm gonna have
a kick-ass
career
in real estate?

Does that say
I'm gonna be
the next
most powerful
WOman in the
free world

or maybe
American Idol?

Or does that
simply say
I have a
very lined
palm.

You know
what I see?
What I really
see?

A hand.
Just one hand.

Used to be
held.
Wanting to be
hold.

©jln.

In the middle
of words and
faces, food
and phrases

I see an
apple -- a
bitten apple
just one bite
floating by.

It caught my
eye.

And my heart.

How can an
apple float by?

It disappeared
into a corner.
It came back
a few minutes later.

There it was
again
floating by
catching my eye.

This time,
it dropped
my heart back

bitten.

I picked it
up and looked
back, asked
why.

The apple turned
into a corner
and disappeared.

Give it back.
Give me back
that bite that
little piece
of my heart.

©jln.

It's hard
to say

Hi
hello
how are you?

Not bad,
thanks.

How about you?

When all
you really
want to say is

Hi
hello
I've missed you.

I've been a mess
without you.

How about you?

It's hard,
I tell you
wanting to
cross that line.

It's like
your lips are
moving

but
your eyes
your hands
your heart

the rest of
your body

betray you.

©jln.

I remember
being sick
some fever
sweating profusely
strangely freezing
and shaking.

I was five.

And she - hers was
the hand
that constantly checked
my temperature
101℃
the thin poisonous
contained mercury
whispered.

Hers was the
worried eyes that
looked down
at the sick shell
of a child I was.

Hers was the
reassuring smile that
calmed my young
heart and silently
told me I was gonna be
all right.

Tonight,

hers was the foot
I was softly massaging
to relieve her
pains of walking

to ease
the swelling of
her roughly lined
ankles brought about
by years of
walking
working

more walking

to get us
where we are now.

She smiled
as she kissed
and hugged me
goodnight.

I know that smile.

That's the one
that says
everything
is gonna be
all right.

Calming
embracing
my already adult heart.

©jln.

Walk with me,
I hope
you don't mind
the tok-tok-tok
of my short-heeled
black shoes.

The seemingly empty
bland corridors
theatrically whisper
the tok-tok-tok
back to me,
back to you.

Walk with me,
And I will hum
some verses to
your searching ear --
hmm hmm hmm.

Hmmmm...
Hmmm...
Hmm...
Hm...

Listen.
Just listen.

My short-heeled
black shoes and
my heart quite bashful

are singing

to you.

©jln.

What happens when
two famous neighbouring
questionably hostile
uninhabited godly
celestial bodies
stand together
just a little bit closer
in one night?

It makes some people
curl up and sleep
and dream of a
dreamless sleep.

Some, however

get goosebumps from
standing outside
very late
six stories high
strained neck, opened mouth
squinting eyes wider still

gaping

up at the bottomless
pool of dark ink
in the sky, feeling
rather special and
important - since two
celestial bodies don't often
come together - just
once every sixty years
they say.

Yet

eventually there comes
that sinking feeling
mouth eventually closing
eyes slowly looking
downwards
by the mental gravity
as the realization hits
that one is drowning
drowning and gasping
and drowning
in his own insignificance.


©jln.

There are two kinds of people in
New.
York.
City.

One that looks straight ahead --
not looking at anything but
where he needs to be.

and

One that looks up and around
the tall scrapers that pierce the canvass sky
with his mouth hanging open.

©jln.

In shadows, we touch longingly.
In that small space of darkness,
we run around and play
careful though not to touch
a panel of light
get burned by fire.

In shadows, we hide discreetly
feelings of desire, feelings of
truth and honesty
whispered words of love
written questions in air
left to be blown, unanswered.

In shadows, we write words
in bottomless black ink, we write
and we write until the
shadow is filled with truth.
Come daybreak and sunshine
words are stepped on and squashed

eventually absorbed by land
eternally concealed by the ground.

©jln.

I fell in love with
a stranger.

It was love
at first seat.
He got in
and sat
beside me
inside an orange bus.

The bus turned left.
The bus turned right.
And every single
time, every turn,
our shoulders
kissed --
our arms
made love.

More turns
here and there.
We saw the world
as it laid before
us, us two
together.

that young Green Gables girl
would've been proud

One sound was all it took.
He stood up, still and shaky
for a few.

And the seat turned cold.
And my arms froze.
And my heart died.

You have to get off
the orange bus
sooner or later.

You have to fall
out of love
sooner than later.

The goodbye,
I guess,
is implied.

©jln

John Mayer sings:
"When you're dreaming with a broken heart,
the waking up is the hardest part."
And the crowd sways
and tears.

Last night, I
dreamt with a broken heart.
And all I wanted to do was
wake up.

You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for a moment, you can hardly breathe.


From the nightmare pain
of you being there
a kind of sadness, a kind of truth
that all I can and will ever be able
to do
is to dream of you.

Wondering was she really here?
Is she standing in my room?

So John Mayer,
just keep on dreaming
and writing songs that
make people sway
and tear.

No she's not.

I'd do everything -
anything
but
dream.

Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone
... gone.


©jln.
Used first verse of Dreaming with a Broken Heart by John Mayer

That long rectangular space
below the door, any door
between that and the floor.


The reason why I like
standing before the door is
that I can feel the rush
of the air from the other side
the cold touching my toes
my knees, my thighs,
my heart, my lips,
my brain, my mind.


And I move in a little closer
still - until my nose is touching
the rough wooden door and I’m
face-to-face with once nature’s
little green child, so dear so alive.


I move in until my toes fit in
that little space between
up until it hurts my skin
because the other side is


where I want to
Be
Where I’ve
Been.


©jln.