So often it steals our passion and replaces it with exhaustion. It sneaks underneath conscious intent like sleep undertakes motivation. We cannot fight biological needs, and trying only makes the depletion worse. A fever returns the moment we push past the need for rest. Doing our best to rise above the rules and machinery, we … Continue reading Rebel Dreamer
I built myself up from deep under ground but it isn’t enough to contend with night. The monsters and ghouls cannot bare the light of a new day when their eyes have been sewn shut for ages by their own hands. A needle to pierce the flesh of tender eyelids and turn them hard with … Continue reading Firebird
Impending Apocalypse. The fear bleeds in like a raging river preceding the wave. A flicker in the corner of my eye. Is it the walls about to crumble on top of us, burry us alive before the tsunami hits? Is it the floors believing they are really the sea, willing to relinquish their shape for … Continue reading The End of Time
Don’t mind me, I’m just surrendering being broken calling back all the fragments of me throughout space and time, all the pieces that got lost somewhere, stuck in shock, orphans in stasis, hungry for a mother in perpetual wonder of where they belong. I felt their search for millenia and even made it part of … Continue reading The Seeker
In the wreckage of my heart can I open anyway? In the disaster land of the aftermath of choices can I open anyway? In the rubble of decimated villages ravaged tribes pillaged body can I open anyway? Lying on the ground bleeding from takers conquering can I open anyway? Can I open to be torn … Continue reading To Be Torn Open
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
Poet's Notes:
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.
Here is a piece I wrote about being an almost step-monster.
I have olive eyes, a green I never loved. I wanted viridian, or better yet: sage. I wanted light eyes, bright eyes, eyes that pierce and coax against their will. Eyes that people remember because they electrify; Such powerful beauty they are hard to look at (for long, at least). But my green isn't bright. … Continue reading Eye Contact
