who i am by isaac joel louie

i
am
an earth dragon
born of the thunder clan
chinese-canadian settler
 third generation
 islander at heart.
i live for the wind
 the rain
 camp-
 fires.
four seasons
 a stove.
hair of abandon
 the coo of a moth.
one sun, one moon, all stars
 &
i’ll be the first
 to spot
 an eagle.

embers

Be warmed by the fires of love.
Be rocks drearily coaxed into slow, radiant heat;
bask baking bare to the breeze. Be the middle of the circle. the centre of family.
the baby born into the arms of grandmother and grandfather.
Be the beat of feet and soft bed of palms turned up to the sky.
Be the whispered moment. Be the background voices and the sound of mom. ear to warm chest,
like the ear to a shell. it is the ocean calling.
Be seen in the dancing shadows. Be the delighted shrieking children.
Be the hunters drinking mead.
Be the warm mug of coffee, cigarette in finger,
hands wrapped ’round glazing clay; looking down
into a bowl of stars.

Looking at the stars

“Looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map.

Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France?

Just as we take a train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. We cannot get to a star while we are alive any more than we can take the train when we are dead. So to me it seems possible that cholera, tuberculosis and cancer are the celestial means of locomotion. Just as steamboats, buses and railways are the terrestrial means.

To die quietly of old age would be to go there on foot.”

— Vincent Van Gogh, as quoted in Roger Ebert’s memoir Life Itself.

the sea of stories (and creation)

look at the sky
a web of stars
without lines,
a game of connect the dots
drawn in invisible ink
escaping with the moon

maybe if we were close enough
you could drag your finger through the constellations
and feel each thread, strum a song
and call it god;
weave a patch
in
the fabric of existence

or spin heaven into a spool
and save it for a time at sea,
letting it out at the quiet of night

(or
make a home in a corner of the room
at the light of morning)
hang tiny beads of dew like
drops
of
honey...


and sail on, unfold into a map
a cornered box of a sphere,
the opened gift of raven's chest

float atop
    the sea of stories
               and creation.

the mystery of what i see

i don’t know if i’m attracted
to the mystery
of what i see
or don’t

but there is something about
the things i know about you
and the beautiful

spaces between those things
like distant stars
that close up blind me
but from a distance
make sense and shapes
and stories

and i’m a dozen little children
robed in fur
whispering in each other’s ears,
guessing and gossiping:

under the spell
of the nightsky
magic.

moonlight ball

Moonlight Ball (click to enlarge)

This is another MSPaint painting that I drew today. It’s called “moonlight ball” and it’s a picture of two animals, a wolf and a swan. Like any painting or drawing, it started with a line. A shape. And then it evolved into what you see before you. I don’t know if I’d say that it’s a complete painting, but I’m satisfied enough to share it with you. Unfortunately I can only post JPEG’s to the internet (unless someone knows a way to post BMP’s or other hi-res files?) so if you want the real thing, just send me an email at isaaclouie [at] gmail (dot) com. I guess that is the state of our technology, like how you hear the record music of a waltz through the static and “noise” maybe in the future this will be our nostalgic “JPEG phonograph.” So even art, though blurred and distorted on the internet, can still affect feeling and emotion.

What do you see? What do you notice?