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Soovin Cho

@soovincho

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souvenir without the ir
i write @soovignettes
luke 12:22-31

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spoken ver. // poem 001 //

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Poem 001 //

I stand outside
Away from my made-up intelligence
Delving back into a slow reverence
Not driven by
The driving, irreverent need for revenue
Nor intellectual certainty, nor relevance
Utterly relentless beasts, these things and

For what?
To say, “I told you so.”

I told you so that
When I die, you can cremate me and
My jewelry
Give all my clothing to the next of kin
Or to some kids who long ago are no longer in Bushwick

Spread these ashes across the sea
Scatter them for me?
To return to the earth where I came from
The appeal of death, the quietness
To finally say:
I’m come from dust and thus forth
I return

Someone messaged me, asking me if I’m well
Last July, when I wrote of torn skirts and saboteurs
Another called it a cry for help
All of them, I listened to and thought of
I considered their well-meaning wishes
And felt self-conscious for a moment

It’s normal, the act of mourning
The day when what comes to pass is
All we feared coming at us
What’s left standing of me but where I left off from
On the grass, near the trees
Consider the current state of them, with their dying leaves, and the lilies
Which grow

Now out of me

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♾️

.
thank you @carterleach + @brotherdannnn for capturing this joy-filled moment with such grace and love ! 🤍

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🤍🏛️🚏🪽🐚🌐🦢

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The death of a star
What becomes of astral prophecy
The death of a man
The aliveness of divine claim against logical reasoning

Persistence amongst
The sackcloth, ashes, and rust
Our existence of dust to dust
A potter's hands which make the finest china from clay and mud

To hold a light, to hold the truth
To say something different of humanity's value
In the hands of the divine
Ceramicist

Do I choose to trust

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everything—inspired

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seeing monet’s strokes colors and movement in everything all over in paris / le pradet
.
Claude Monet
Soleil couchant
Entre 1914 et 1926
Un “panneau” à l’huile sur toile marouflée sur le mur
(Musée de l’Orangerie)

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dust and ashes make pottery to hold
precious treasure ; eternal light unfurls
sackcloth and ashes lasts only a moment
hold tight , precious one ,
to the one who was sent

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art inside ! art outside ! art without ! art within !

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like jazz

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