Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Though blind

She hates how wildflowers

will not open in winter,
how birds and leaves drift
past the house like strangers
on a long walk.
Though blind, sometimes
her hands flutter at the door
but the lock is screwed tight.
No speck of dust, no fleck
of memory splays forth
to recollect the pristine joy
of having loved, once.
The wings of grief linger
in the silent box of her heart
while outside,
in the reverential sadness

of the night, bats swoop
and flap
past her shuttered,
inscrutable house.

© 2005 Christine Klocek-Lim

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Isosceles Design Studio

Above is a photo of the reception desk my brother and his friend Brian designed for the eDavid Gallery in Bethlehem, PA. Today my local newspaper,
The Morning Call, is running an article about them:

"Photos of the Chrysler Building aren't the only steel-themed work in the new eDavid Gallery. Custom furniture designed by Brian Slocum and Joe Klocek of Isosceles Design Studio of Bethlehem has an important place."

Here's what my brother had to say:

''As designers, Brian and I both have a love and appreciation of craftsmanship and of making things that are not only beautiful, but work for the environment and the client's particular needs,'' explains Klocek, who credits for inspiration hanging around his grandfather, a violin-maker, and his father, who painted custom designs on cars for a living. ''A lot of the time, architecture is designed for the architect. It's sterile, it doesn't respond to the environment, to surrounding buildings, and a lot of the time it doesn't even function for the client. At Isosceles, we do client-focused design, and that makes all the difference.''

The furniture and gallery are fabulous. Here is a link to the gallery: eDavid Gallery

Friday, March 17, 2006


So the spring rain is pouring down outside again

soaking all the fresh new leaves
and rich bark and ground
just as it did when I was a child
down the cabin on the swing
in the damp
while mom cleaned inside and dad hammered
up that new plywood.

I'd stare out over the creek
at the feathering spots of the raindrops on the surface,
at the tiny flowers blanketing the small clearing
in purple-white-wet.
Nothing has changed since then;
the sound still makes me feel
and happy
to be here.

—for Joe

© 2000 Christine Klocek-Lim

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


Don’t judge me
she says as I walk in.
I know love is a puzzle,
but her words confuse
more than usual as they fall
from blue lips.
What is she doing there,
on the floor,
wanting to be unmade?

Blood does not lie
as it streaks linoleum.
It doesn’t soak in.
It just leaks like a dropped cup
of coffee, a wasted taste
I lunge for, try to staunch
with a dishtowel.
It’s too late
the tree outside says.

Leaves drop like grief
onto wet ground.

© 2004 Christine Klocek-Lim - First published in "Ibbetson Street," Issue 18.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Autumn Sky Poetry - Number 1


The inaugural issue of Autumn Sky Poetry is now online at www.autumnskypoetry.com.

Read poems by David Ayers, Smith Browne, Stephen Bunch, Paula Grenside, Sharmagne Leland-St. John, J. Brian Long, J. Rod Pannek, Elisha Porat, Catherine Rogers, and Whitney Vale.

It's all about the poetry.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

How to photograph the heart

You remember how the lens squeezed
unimportant details into stillness:
the essential trail of rain down glass,
the plummet of autumn-dead leaves,
your grandfather’s last blink when
the breath moved on.
Your startled hands compressed
the shutter when you realized: this is it,
this is the last movement he will take
away from the silent fall of morphine,
beyond the soft gasp of the nurse,
past the sick, slow thud of your heart
moving in the luminous silence.

© 2005 Christine Klocek-Lim -- This poem appeared on the Guardian Poetry Workshop's shortlist in December 2005 for Lucy Newlyn's exercise on "inscape" poetry.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Impossible Flight

the wild sky smears us
when we look up—
always curious.
The birds are flying.
The clouds
and stars

On TV a rocket blooms
and people thrust themselves free
of the planet’s atmosphere.
In space astronauts
are earthed
in a cage of air.

Because we all walk on dirt together,
biology constrains our space.
Here on dirt we live.
Here I breathe and rise
from the dusty ground.
I rattle my windows.
I clutch a brilliant red parachute
filled with adrenaline
and leap—

The sky soars.
The flat horizon soars.
I fly until this precious freedom
disappears into the wind.
I gaze at the black moment
where air meets space
and I fall
just as I realize
flight is not impossible.

© 2001 Christine Klocek-Lim

Wednesday, March 01, 2006