This linear unfolding isn’t even for the birds cause I’m pretty sure they know the truth about time. They fly secret patterns only seen by their own kind, and unlock the scrim with reality flowing behind it. They let out the currents of the true wind before they close it up again. So they can … Continue reading The Truth About Time
Author's Note: In Greek Mythology, Poseidon fathered many children through powerful women by seducing them, or raping them when his kinder efforts did not work. Atlantis was allotted to him and it is said that he populated the land with offspring from a mortal woman. Some say Atlantis fell in war with Athens because they … Continue reading The Seafarer’s Prayer
I want sing it all out of me. Some don’t like the speed, but I love the tone. Something reaping while bleeding that becomes something more. A lament for the dying who are not yet dead. A lullaby for the sleep walkers to find their beds. A whaling at the grieving wall. A gut wrenching … Continue reading The Hymn of the Mother
I’ve become a fearful, and fragile thing, only strong and powerful when I'm wild in dreams. I may look well but nothing is ever what it seems. No one knows what unravels underneath what is seen. I’ve been a trophy for a hunter and a doll for a prince. I tried to reveal how real … Continue reading Ethereal Lights
Is everything crumbling around me, or is this merely my fear? Why do I feel at any momentall things could disappear?I endeavor to hold ontothat which I care about. But every day I seem to wakewith great mountains of doubt.As if I climb a steep incline with legs too week to stand. As if I … Continue reading The Will of a Whisper
Welcome to The Flipside, to The Upside Down. Here, everything is as it should be. Here, we live inside dark clouds. There is no sun in here, no days full of light. Here the shadows are more than echoes of a past we try to fight. Here there is no floor firm under your feet. … Continue reading The Upside Down
This was written in response to a journal prompt by Pixie Lighthorse from her book, "Prayers of Honoring Grief." The question was: How can I honor what I've been through?
Poet's Notes: I rarely write rhyming poems, unless I'm writing song lyrics, and even then they are more loose and lyrical. This is not technically perfect rhyming or meter, I just wanted to try and express an idea this way. It's a good exercise, and sometimes the limitations of rhyme lead to more concise metaphor, or at least, to keeping one on a more defined track. Also, there is irony in this topic being expressed within the confines of an imposed 'meter', which is apropos, and somewhat amusing to my geeky brain.