Selected Poems



     

Antonia Alexandra Klimenko






Separation





That my left foot knows
where my right foot is pointing
is ever a wonder--stumbling 
as I do over my own words

Many go to war 
left foot    right foot  
left foot    right foot 
defending the illusion

Afraid of human gesture
they live in  separate camps        
and cities torn in two

I hear them sometimes late at night--
mad with grief and suffering

beating their wings against a sky
disfigured by the moon
cramming their mouths with darkness

then wondering why    
they go hungry
or die alone on the road

Sometimes, even, hoping 	
the enemy will come to visit





The Path of Empathy



                                                     "When did the left foot stop walking with the right?   
                                                                                                              --Fu Schroeder    
                                                                                      Green Gulf Ranch, California               
                           
                                                             Head swollen, eyes still blackened and green 
                                                                      from injuries sustained in a skirmish-
                                                                                                      I turn to meditation         

																					
																					
My body, this old dog
finds a spot to rest--
it is my mind  that rattles
like a snake in a bamboo tube
 
Is it not the same with war and peace?
Within     without
my country   your country
I'm right   you're wrong
Hsssssssss

Many go to war two by two-
left foot   right foot
left foot   right foot
forgetting they are One
Others---yogis
may cross the entire universe
without ever having left

Every day
I put one breath after the other
just as Someone Else	 
puts the other breath before
Breathing out   breathing in--
the world becomes larger 
the world becomes smaller--
continuously living
continually dying
 
On stage   online    on website blogs:
message in a bottle--
see me hear me  feel me touch me
screams a disappearing world in high definition
while I   in my easy chair   feed these pages
with bite-size impressions

3,000 Burmese monks walk barefoot 
in protest of their government
3,000 Burmese monks walk barefoot 
with Jesus in the desert
walk barefoot 
with Buddha in the forest
walk barefoot
with Moses on the mountain.
 
The earth is moving
and still I sit
The mountains are moving- 
they  are running beside the rivers
But  I do not budge--
I hear but I do not listen 
I am liquid  says the snake  your river flows within.
I am skin  says the snake you can peel me like a glove
I am  mindful   says the snake   you must change 
to be changed

When did the left foot stop walking with the right?
When did you stop becoming me?
 
There are many languages
but there is only one tongue
When I opened up my mouth and heard myself scream
I could feel the dry explosion in the squeeze of my throat.
I could taste the brain's bitterness on the tip of my tongue
When I opened up my mouth and heard myself scream
a thousand consonants like stars flew in different directions.
Consonants gagged on spittle and yesterday's dust
consonants gagged on consonants
and in no particular order

When I opened up my mouth and heard myself scream
I knew   then   that they would want to blindfold this poem 
and question it until it cracked!
Soon    they are sticking bamboo shoots 
under the nails of each sentence to extract its full meaning.
But I do not budge
I won't give up the vowels

I WON"T GIVE UP THE VOWELS!!

I , a large toad   growing larger on my cushion
transforming in mid-air. nightmare into dream.
Eyes that stutter with all the old stories--
the history of my life
written across my bruised body in Braille.
 
Where is Kindness?
with her thousand fingertips
to trace the shadow of our suffering
and soothe its man?
What have they done with Quon Yin?
with her thousand arms and cameras flashing-
eyes rolling in the palms of her Hand
eyes to record and to remember. ..
what we leave out!
 
3,000 Burmese monks walk barefoot 
in protest of their government
while I    a large toad    a leap of faith
go hopping on one foot across the Universe
across the only One path I know-
the path of empathy
 
My mother (breathing out, breathing in)
rolled bandages in basements
with women who wore numbers on their arms.
 My father (left foot   right foot)
could never step into anyone else's shoes
When he died...they had to cut off both his feet
 
When did the left foot stop walking with the right.
When did I stop...becoming you?




The Crossing



                             
                        News Year's Eve-The year Gore lost the election
                 
In a year of uncertainty    
                                      and rush to judgment
I question the validity of midnights
and other deadlines I must cross   
Bridges are fine 
for comings and goings   
for meetings and partings 
for making that connection.
but you can't plant a garden there 
or watch your children grow 

If you want to make a real connection 
consider your neighbor opposite you 
and extend yourself  
You can hang a bridge on just one breath 
if your spirit is strong and true.
You and I without words     
are already in conversation 
You and I are more than 
water under the bridge 

In a year of shifting currents 
                                and torturous turns- 
I am a river   And everything 
that comes and goes
that rises and falls
that turns and returns 
moves inside of me    
I travel with the sun 
and by the light of the moon 
who wanders like a gypsy 
along the riverbanks of her mind 
while I hold the Mirror

I am water    blessed with healing     
thicker than blood  
and in communion with all things
I talk with the birds and the wind in the trees 
and the heavens reflected above.
I sing myself into oceans 
and dance on clouds in the valleys below

You and I    without words    
are deep in conversation
We meet in the flow- 
between the rising and falling of each breath.
In the flow-
between the rising and falling of rain
In one drop of water...after it falls...
before it drops away...at the still-point-
where all things are reflected.
In that moment of transcendence   where 
everything still is moving      and    
everything moving is still   
Even Time    as it ripples across your face 
and dissolves    as in a mist    or  a dream

In a year of uncertainty    and rush to judgment 
I turn to you    In you 
I long to see my own reflection-
my one true face that waits for me
in a place beyond my longing.   In you 
I long to hear my one true voice
that lifts me deep within myself
before the echo before me
I cannot grasp my endless scream
nor carry it alone to where it calls me

Here with you in the dark, I recite the stars
and trace the face you turn toward heaven
Here with you in the light, I listen for that voice
that carries with it     all the ancient voices    
all the streams of consciousness
who have passed this way before-    
my mother's mother    my father's father-
all who have carried me here to you

In a year of uncertainty and rush to judgment   
I am my own defining moment
moving forward with the certainty 
that I am not the same person I was    an hour ago    
My heart is a river   And, like a river  
I cannot enter myself in the same way twice.   
I carry your river in mine-one heartbeat at a time    
This is the kiss at midnight
this is the moment that counts--  
my mouth as wide as the sky 
my heart a vessel 
emptying into an Unseen Ocean

I am a an River
and I make this crossing... slowly