What Do I See Through Eyes As Pale As Snow?

What Do I See Through Eyes As Pale As Snow?

Glimmers of line and angle,

Contrast of curve and bow.

Crunchy stars that dance in place.

Empty houses where walls

only meet other walls.

 

Tangible ghosts speak

without curtains to reveal them.

Solid escapes made of absence,

of void.

Vast, tiny worlds of flapping cloth.

Fuzzy lives of mirrored selves.

 

Cracks in the plain

howl voiceless nothings.

Muffled synapses speak

in bursting deaths.

 

Depressed keys hold

for release, for ending.

In waves of echo

still surfaces reveal saints.

In slippery illusion

blank faces reveal

You.

Advertisements

Exhale

I want to preface this by saying this was hard. I didn’t just bounce through this unscathed and I’m still not totally okay. I’m really not.

But…

I’m not finished either.

If you want to see my other post, my initial reactions and my grief, check out To Mourn The Death of Self. It’s darker so be prepared.

 

Now however is the time for next steps. I’m sure there’s something in your life you can relate this to. Like falling down hard, like blood and scarring hard. Breaking up with the love of your life because they let you down. We’re heartbroken. We’re crushed. We’re beaten. We’ve definitely lost.

So what next?

Well we can roll over and die off just like they want us to or we can continue to be a great big thorn in their sides and fight back.

It will certainly stay bad and get worse if we do nothing. That’s a guarantee. It will be horrible, bad things will probably happen a lot, but they’ll happen a lot more if we stay silent.

We’ve all shown that we don’t want to be silenced anymore. We want, no demand for own voices to be heard. So speak up. Speak out. Be loud.

Don’t hide like they want you to. Don’t be quite because your voice upsets them. Don’t be swept under the rug.

We can get through this. It’s going suck, so bad, but we can and will make it through.

And at the very least, let’s not make this easy for them. Let’s put up a fight, a really good fight. Protest, sign petitions, speak up in social and public situations when something is wrong.

Remember, most of us didn’t want this. We were the majority. Electoral college is broken, so let’s fix it. When we speak together as one we can change things. No, not easily and maybe not entirely but little things will get better.

And little by little, it will grow larger.

We can prepare the next generation and indeed we have. Look at the way millennials voted. Change can happen, it can.

Birth is hard, painful. And make no mistake, we are birthing a new world. I hate that there have to be intermediary steps. I think maybe what I’ve heard about Bernie, and him likely winning this, and it does sadden me. I love Bernie, in fact I caucused for him, but I feel like the reason he would have won is partly yes because he spoke a bit more for middle class families but also because he is male.

Why is voting for a woman so hard? Why?

We have to change that. So speak up for women. Act for women. Be brave for women. Be powerful for women.

And don’t forget the others who need you. Speak up for people of color. For LGBTQIA+ persons. For immigrants. For non-able bodied persons. For those with mental health issues. For anyone who is being oppressed.

SPEAK UP AND OUT.

And at the last, some quotes to get you through.

Never Give Up. Never Surrender. Don’t Give Up. Ride Out With Me. Light Can Be Found Even In The Darkest Of Times, One Just Has To Remember To Turn On The Light.

Death Like Raindrops

Death like raindrops falls upon the Earth,

washing clean a surface of pain and degeneration.

Death like wind blows gently the waves of the ocean,

rushing toward far, yet familiar shores.

 

We will stand upon it. We will walk the pale

beaches of lost knowledge

and find again what once was laid deep

in our bones.

 

We will rest upon the foamy water line,

seaweed and life tangled in our hair.

Till we rise and walk down the horizon’s edge.

Sharp like a knife it will cut our lives apart.

Letting what should fall away

be cast down into the pool of the Creatrix.

To be made again with purpose and skill.

 

And if we find that we can balance,

on the wedge of the Great Womb’s Divide.

We will walk on to a new realm

of knowledge and communion.

 

If not,

we will teeter.

Back to the World’s Shore

and find again our chance,

our responsibility,

to cultivate our simple truths

and forget

the false anchors that fasten us.

 

Till we know again, as we always do.

That life breathes death breathes life.

The hoop of vast chaotic energy

of We.

A Full Moon Calls to Me

Rising bright and fair, it calls to me.

I must go running,

leaping into the night.

 

Wind rushing behind my heels.

Breathe life, freedom.

Power galloping through a monochrome landscape.

 

Freedom dance beneath a pale, white smile.

 

Run, breathe.

Run, breathe.

Fly.

Women

As I began my work day today, I listened to Pandora. As I always do. Well, a new feature is the thumbprint radio station which allows you to listen to songs from all your stations which you have thumbed up. Today a song I hadn’t thought about in a while played. Bitch by Meredith Brooks.

This got the wheels in my head turning. I thought about all the things I love about women and how very different we all are. So, I thought I would share some love for my fellow women out there.

 

We are amazing.

Sometimes we are tall, sometimes short.

Thin and curvy. Straight hair, curly hair, crazy hair.

Fair skinned, olive skinned, dark skinned.

Book smart, street smart.

Athletic, introspective.

Outgoing, quiet.

Emotional, logical.

We sometimes experience lives of struggle and wanting.

Sometimes we have lives of excess and success.

We are mothers, alone and part of a unit, raising a new generation.

We are single, business women pursuing personal goals.

We are born in our bodies and we change our bodies to fit our hearts.

We love men, women, both, all, and none.

We are flawed. We are perfect.

We are amazing.

We are women.

Hear us Roar!

Sight Sensing

My eyes are brown.

Like moth wings

with awkward cream spots

floating around the center.

 

When I look close

at the edges and valleys.

I can see spires of rocky, brown landscapes.

Mountainous, spiraling curves which dip

and duck and flash

as I blink back

droplets of imperfection.

 

What would it be?

To live in my eyes.

To explore the crevices

and get lost in the black cracks

between bark-colored crags.

 

I do not know

the heart of my eyes.

I have never been there.

I see

them only from distance.

A meteor passing

by the foreign world

of my optical orbs.

 

I know what it is

to touch

a moth’s wing.

To have your hands

and fingers sullied

by the powdery, flight ash.

 

Would my eyes,

my own means to traverse the world,

also leave dust

upon woeful travelers?

Dusty remnants of unoccupied roads.

Found deep within

my moth-wing sight.

Seedling

Gray squares obstruct my light.

Dead and progressive slabs,

Cover my feet and block my path.

The light bounces furiously,

With no soft place to land.

Where once there were carpets of green,

Now only slate, hard, cold tiles.

Breaking, fighting my way free.

Reaching for Apollo’s face,

Green hands fly up.

One small triumph,

A step toward my Mother;

In a world of metallic giants.

Earth Mother

Dedicated to She who is bigger than name.

Her breath lies over me,

soft, firm, deep exhale.

The strength of her beauty

pushing, bending, not breaking the frail.

She carried the world inside,

protected in her womb.

She let it run free

yet always its guide.

Swift feet and faces that bloom.

They sing their praise

through hollowing and rain.

Through chirps and thunder.

Wondering creeks

each a vein.

In her embrace.

We are part of her,

neither below or above.

Walking Home NSFW

I walked down
a road of dirt and gravel.
The ground rattled
and my thumb curved toward County I.
The rusty smell of road kill
filtered through my nose.

Dry mud flaked
off my pants with each step.
Half a bottle of Jack,
a pack of Red Apple cigs,
and my lucky
black lighter.

I met a man in red flannel.
“Goin’ to join the hippies.”
His rough voice dragged
through my ears.
I shook my head,
took a sip of Jack.

It was ’92,
what hippies?
Must have had the IQ of a dishrag.
I wished for his innocence.

He wiped a tear
on his shirt.
“Gonna miss days like this.”
He was talking to the sun.
“Looks like God just stirred up the sky with a stick.”

Stick echoed in his throat,
as he squeezed the trigger.
Even after his blood hit my face,
I thought he was god.
The hammer of the gun
was the only sound for miles.

Turned

I wanted to break the rules with this one. Most professors and poets and people will say that in a poem you should not use many adjectives. I dislike this rule. Adjectives are my favorite. So this was my way of saying, “I do what I want.” Also I like vampires, so there’s that in there too. Clichés and too many adjectives, take that poetry rules!

Burgundy, velvet drapes

dusted the ground

near the high round window.

Breathing cobwebs

hung in shadowed

corners.

Jumping water

echoed off the marble

floor.

Chocolate wood

lined the frozen

walls.

Each rhythmic ping

took longer

than the last.

My mind strained

to hear the next

expected

drop.

Sleeping lights

would not shed

their glow

on me.

Emerald eyes

stalked

in the distance.

Rough

breath scratched

on my throat.

My wet, bare feet

slid on fierce,

marble floors.

My drugged body

fought for safety

from the intoxicating

poison.

Cold, strong hands

grasped my unaided

arms and hurled

me into the dank,

solemn bedroom.

Short breaths escaped

from my lips

and icy sweat

dressed my brow.

Smooth canines

pierced the skin

by my clavicle

and strong lips

sucked out my blood.

Warm, liquid rubies

caressed my skin.

Cold no longer stung

my eyes.

The dripping water

trembled in my ears

and my arms went slack.

New vision filtered

my sight and ghostly

shapes took form.

No cold, no warmth.

Only the still

sound of water

on bloody, marble floors.