The Ruminating Corner

Swaying in my heart.

The quarrels we start.

The tandemonium we spark.

For Adeline stole my line,

And sketched you so vividly.

That my heart vexed from the memory.

And wire spires poke from my skin.

I never understood symmetry.   

My spine is winding, crouching in pain;

Listening to the rain.

Writing your name.

Hoping to stay sane.

Longing for the moonglow.

For silver linings are brighter after we fight.

Jay Poem 12.

Jen Junebearers 

Stepping barefoot out into a leafy glimmering patch. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† Junebearers shoo-in little red desires. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† O’ how they dazzle my senses.

Like when I was nine and picked all the wild strawberries from Gram’s patch. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† Couldn’t resist the taste. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†With stained fingertips and crimson mouth…I buried the leftover leafy evidence.

That Metamora June, when I was nearly seventeen; I gave you more than a handful of plump red gems. I had somewhere buried my leftover stained heart in that festival ground.

Your daughter, now seventeen, is the Jen gem of June.                        She harvest her own Junebearers with hands like yours.

O’ Junebearers…Junebearers, the truth you hold about June. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† They are here, as you are. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† They are gone, as you are.

Poem: Naomi Ruth

Images: Pinterest and ceramic image: Naomi Ruth


Jay Poem 10.

Science Fiction

You asked me who I was.                     I told you I was a water fountain always going up to fall back down on myself.

I imagined your love was like my battered pores‚ÄĒalways opening and closing.

Indifference, should it be this way? Better then broken.                         Are we really like goldfish?            That will die and be replaced.

Should I have asked for your forgiveness?                                       For I wanted that time as my great trial of love.

While you were away in science fiction…

I sat on those hard concrete steps…wore all black…twisted my rings.

Around 10:00 p.m. I had to sit on my hands to stop the urge to dig.

If you only met me back on that fiery October night; the dying of the red would never had started.

I nearly forgot you but when midwinter drew near, you left me in a way I thought I could never forgive myself for.

I was enticing like Helen, and I’m still drinking from that nepenthe cup. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† But the memories still abides in this numerical numbness.

Monkey Cup image: Pinterest

Jay Poem 1., Jay Poem 8.

Jay Icarus

He was like Icarus.                             He was my Aurora.

I tried to pin him down,                   Into a butterfly collection.             Make him a wish, as white as the night.                                                          A notion, as blue as the yew.

He only settles in memory,             Of an antique mind;                        Full of lifelong longing.

His vanishiment, to a new light spectrum.                                      Where feelings are not               Pangs of pain,                                  Only continuate bliss.               Where he remembers my name, Not the taken.

Jay poem 6.

The Haunting of Soul Kitchen

That beautiful man sang ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†“Soul Kitchen.” How suitably sweet before our time. It brings me back to my cousin’s kitchen.

The feelings of JEALOUS RAGE and self-pity. For I did not join you in that mature circle. Left with kid brother, passed out on your green thumb ganja.

I sat in the living room pretending to protect him, but I was intending to protect myself. Self-persecution my lingering demon.

Do, Do¬†you see what I mean? ¬†For big sister was seductive as ever! You, You¬†cautious but ever so nicely listened a lot…For she talked a lot. When I hear her say, “Do you want some?” You must’ve all been drinking darjeeling tea with your hypnotic weed.

While I lied on my belly, for my back was jittery from the paper I ate. As I gazed at Morrison Hotel, it was then that I felt you in that room‚ÄĒ we called a living room. ¬†No, No¬†it was my breathing room! A haven of my own. Where you tore into my cunt, and Yes, Yes¬†I let you! Only that time I was grounded to something true and entirely ours. For the night before, you pushed my back into the floor, and the day after I learned to forget the pain. I pushed up cobra style without a wince, to show that I had a strong back and I could take it anyway and anyhow you gave it. Why did I ignore your look? Because‚ÄĒ Why, Why? I was a sad child in the anxious seat of love! Yes, Yes¬†love! My mind screaming this as you retreated.

Since then, I allowed fierce turmoil to take hold of my heart. I allowed you to be stuck. In that Kit,Kitchen… alone, with maggots and chrome gadgets. Forever, under a fucking magnet! How, How¬†to get you out? ¬†Either…fear no more, what haunts beyond my breathing room. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†Or repeat, Learn to forget, learn to forget, learn to forget, learn to forget…(Jim Morrison)

Words: Na-omi S.                        Photo: Francesca Woodman appropriated and altered                     Music: The Doors

Mine Na Poem 5

Memory Dust

A mirror that covered a doorway, to the inside of my adolescence has shattered in my ebony mind.  
And the door is a door again.
Ajar and echoes laughter… Skeleton key hangs from the vintage knob. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†

I enter and I’m back in that lilac room with the pale yellow and rose print quilt…often wrapped up in.

How many hours did I spend alone? ‚ÄĒ Countless, with colored drip candles burning and Mazzy Star’s melodic heaviness over the stereo.
Staring into that huge mirror on an acid trip….warn not to, but I did. What did I see? A parallel of me? Not quite. It moves drip by drip…slowly and then zigzags down into unknown colors. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†

I was a witness to my own aging.
The memory ephemeral today, movement of living and like she sang “Turning into dust.”

Poem: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.                             Music: Mazzy Star

Jay Poem 5.

The Waiting Storm

A steam storm green,                        On my sleeve.                                        A steel winter storm,                        On my bare shoulder;                       For my everyday roar.

Smiles are torn                                         As a memory swore,                              I was doomed to love you alone. What crazed dream must I live in?                                                      A swooning love.                                      A supersonic wind whipping blue Neptune.                                                  A raspy Lenore to adore.

For my stars await, to still be polished. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† For my heart awaits, its’ beats. ¬† ¬† For your return.

Poem & Handwriting: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.

Jay Poem 4.

Amethyst August

She dreamt of an August night,   red and blue run across his chest.
binding his heart to bleed amethyst.

Once, he lied in her lap, sank in the fragrance of sunflowers.                 He stretched out upon her, like he was lying on the cool meadow ground of Colorado.

His hand danced in hers,               her slender fingers                          bended and bounded, in his mind.

She never got to kiss him on a starlit August night. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† For the stars, scattered… ¬† ¬† ¬† forever a mess.

He always remains, in the age of twenty-four, and she is no longer the child.

Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.

Jay Poem 3.

Holland House

They have you up on ancient faces.
By the train tracks, time has elapsed.
You were to be the healer, of my sweet teen-aged years.
But the last ducky has had its’last quack.

And the Holland House still stands, but no longer does it echo, with your laughter that swarmed,in my child mind.
And somehow decaying furniture has outlasted us.

For a decade and a half, mourning has hovered in my heart for you, and it keeps hovering, hovering, hovering… Like that morphic Raven.

Poem & Photo: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.

Mine Na Poems 1., Uncategorized

The Season of the Monarch

She thinks…”We are all skulls, jouncing in our heads. Destined to be a stone.” 

She wishes…God would make her into an opal; as she’s burning her cells. Wasted on a nicotine fever.

Will she ever understand her sadness? And there is a heaviness in her chest, that shouldn’t be ignored. 
Familiarize her death, as delicate as the monarch’s wing.

With all the ways she pacifies herself, still the memory…the mention of his name seizes her heart.
She will rise up, Be forever lost in the infatuated morning.

Poem by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W. Photo by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.