Some short poems by Isaac Eide


My Turn

If you love everything.

If you hate everything.

If you do not know where to turn.

Write.

And you will turn,

   al(l)ways.

I Magi

Imagine there were no cracks in the universe.

Imagine that fit snugly together and had a that it was meant to be.

Imagine now that the opposite of that in actuality the opposite of that is happening.

A swirling mass of messy particles bumping into each other existing in all the places at once and simultaneously nowhere. Imagine.

Now imagine.

Imagine now.

Image.

I magi.

I’m a.

I’m.

I am.

I

imagine

therefore…

By the End

By the end of this poem I will know what I am doing.

By the end of this poem you will know what I am doing.

-Isaac Eide

Chipotle


Today my aunt asked me to change my home address from India to New Jersey on my resume for a job at Chipotle.

My cousin said, “My appetite after coming to USA has increased. I can finish an entire rice bowl at Chipotle.”

Assimilation has varied forms.

The Invitation


It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon.

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

–Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Flowing like a river


And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river
For many men come and many men go
But I go on forever

But this curving and flowing tires me
Leaves my legs and breasts sore
Many men enter and many men see
Though none show love to this whore

My body twists and turns
Struggling to join the river
Night after night my heart churns
Will I get to see him ever?

The speed quickens, my mind struggles
As I try to keep my pace
My legs twisting in these endless juggles
Will I ever get to see his face?

Once upon a time,
Was a story I well remember
Passion was love, beauty was fine
And two hearts dreamt of forever

She was the lyric and he was the song
In the endless chasm of space
Ardor was unbridled in a land of no wrong
Yet, she struggled to keep her pace

Through the many penetrations of chance
She tried to join the river
Hoping for that one last song, that one last chance
And she resumed dreaming of forever

And then she arose to bubble forth
As she glimpsed his face and smiled
Picking her clothes from Fate’s mighty wrath
Ready to flow yet another mile

This was something I wrote for my poem writing auditions. The first stanza is from Alfred Tennyson’s poem, “The Brook”

Tell me stranger


Tell me stranger why can’t you look into my eyes?

Is it the hurt, the pain or the woven lies?

Are you afraid stranger? Look into my eyes and say

What keeps you awake night and day?

Why can’t you fathom the trust I have?

Tell me stranger, what makes you sad.

Is it the anguish, the disappointment and the rage?

Or the betrayal, the mistrust that builds this cage?

Why do you hold on to the hurt and despair?

Why can’t you see that I still care?

Maybe things aren’t what they used to be;

We have progressed from being two to three

I may have made mistakes and gone wrong

But I have learnt to get up and still be strong.

So look into my eyes and tell me this

If you see conviction and the chance I don’t want to miss;

Don’t you see my sincerity shining through?

Don’t you see I still love you?

I wish…


I wish somewhere over the rainbow to watch bluebirds fly

I wish somewhere in the depths to see fish swim by

I wish somewhere among the dark blanket to swirl with the stars

I wish somewhere along the road to break all bars

I wish sometime someday to hear that voice again

That makes hearts flutter, soothes all pain.

I wish sometime someday to dance with the leaves

Sing with the birds, whistle with the breeze.

I wish somewhere someday it doesn’t remain sometime anymore

I want to feel, I want to dance, I want to soar…