Tag Archives: fate

Speechless

Some days silence is all I have to write with
my soul paper upon which to scribe
and my heart the only witness

…but even this is loud.

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Mistress Summer Bid thee go!

Summer, leave me
I beg thee let me go
For who are we to change
the course of what we know.
Here – I – sit
Mid-Winter, trapped
with only dreams
of you to sate.
No more green hills
rolling sighs
no warmer breezes
and cooler skies
no more flowers
seeking rain
or endless nights
in raptures plain…
No, we had a place
but time has moved
me thus
please haunt a
younger soul
to satisfy your want.
If I could return
I’d gladly go
take your hand and flee
for mortal eyes
and mortal breath
live life more like Elder’s leaves
and thus my autumn has come and gone
the snows too soon will fade
and I
I will be but a dusted
dream on wind and do’ and shade.

Life is a symphony

Life is a symphony
a cacophony of thunderous will
a voice spun in praise
a sigh from the height of heaven
a bellow from the deep
Life is a symphony we must keep

Life is a symphony we must keep
playingLife is a symphony
every piece essential
ever note, line, and bar
every cymbal, tenor, and key
every string strung on the measure of who
we are …
Life is a symphony we must keep
Life is a symphony we must keep
playinguntil we can play no more

so when world wanders into unfamiliar sounds
when realm of understanding shivers with
unwelcome tone
when it rackets, rakes, and rages,

we must keep our fingers moving
our head swaying
our feet dancing
we must lift our voices
we must sing, play, and rejoice
we must be the orchestra
that brings

life…

and play
until we can play no more

because
Life is a symphony we must keep
Life is a symphony we must keep

Carving Board

I am not

your carving board

I. am. not. your carving board!

I am not the place to hold your

hatred when it’s dull edge

needs to feel souls bleed!

no

I am not your carving board!

I am not

your punching bag

I. am. not. your punching bag!

I am not skin holding your

worthlessness when i’s frayed image

needs to feel like it has knuckled teeth

no

I am NOT your punching bag!

I am not

your garbage bin

I. am. not. your GARBAGE BIN!

I am not the bone structure waiting

for the deragatory spit you spew

when language has your fill

no

I am NOT your garbage bin

I am not your sale

I am not your deal

I am not your break up

slide down

lay back and un-feel

while you thrill

I am not your undo

your untrue

your reason to forget

I am not your sin

your stick up fed up

get luck – y dirty

clothes pin

holding up the laundry

you refues to hang out

to dry

neither am I your

false pride

I am not your shadow lying

your peeping eye prying

your dogma flaunting

hatred signing

standing on the corner

mocking mourners

I am not your breaking

nor your entering

nor your black and blue

swinging

no.  nO. NO!

I AM courage

though you strike me

I AM bravery

though you cut

I AM authentic

though you disparage

I AM me

though you think I’m not

.

.

.

so no

I am not your cutting board

Here it goes again

((have a melody, but not sure this is ready – wanted to post for your thoughts anyway))

.

Here it goes again

your voice echoes down the hall

lingering out of reach

and beyond the light of it all

.

I scream but no words

make a sound

scattering on the floor

like broken glass on the ground

.

my hand brushes shadow

like a ghost in the mist

smoke filtering

from between your lips

.

I can’t stand this

.

I must be invisible

I must be unseeable

I must be invisible

a ghost in the heart

of your world

.

So

I write your name in the stars

I tether the wind where you are

I gather tears to make it rain

I build castles out of daisy chins

but I am invisible

.

(aside)

This side

this side is difficult

this side is difficult to embrace

This side

This side is hard

this side is harder to chase

when all the things I dreamed

are less than what they seemed

still I  try…

But

Here it goes again…

There is a willow in the wood

There is a willow in the wood

she weeps for want of wonder

lusting at the stars.

She digs roots deep

depths of longing

and deciduous dreams,

but as she reaches skyward bound

earth calls her branches down

wind moves her tresses fro

a lovers dance

then quickly goes

e’en bird and bee are free

to languish here and there

in blossoming of spring.

So the willow in the wood

wants but no one seeks or should

weep with her

when stars trapse below or

autumn beckons

winter’s snow.

Salt in the wound

I grow furious
with the perpetuation
of the negation
of my gender,
through handmedown
stories created to
subject
neglect
find defect
in everything

I am

by hands
un-bled by the moon
nor birthed memory from womb
but have painted every ”
good thing done
in the shadowed
story
of babel’s fruit.

I am

neither weak
nor the cause
of your ill fortune

We, neither male nor female
neither old nor young
rich nor poor
straight nor gay
creed or none,
are the masters of our souls.

Master peace and find peace.  Master self and others will see your truth.

Master hatred and find only hate.

Regrets

trace backwards;

begin at the end

move towards the middle

pick up sticks left

and move on to the

beginning.

Stop.

Begin again;

lead out with confidence

knowing the path familiarly leads

to the right and skip with

glad feet beyond it

purposefully pause on a rose

missing meanacing faces in alleyways

and when soft cheeks greet

kiss them without fear

walk past ivy

leagues of seas unconquered

with a tough feminine hand

so when the marches directionanally

head on

speak clearly without any

implications

subjugations

subterfuge or fear;

leave the rest of what was

as if it never happened.

Stop.

Wake up.

move forward.

Somewhere, where the sidewalk ends

Somewhere, where the sidewalk ends,

my foot intrepidly tipped and toed out over

a dusted edge;  worn with the

age of ancient travelers and

standing guard for others to tread.

In the landscape reaching out beyond

mist and grey mottled sage sea billows up

in defiance, thumbing its leaf and tendril at

cemented steel monsters; consequently

beckoning me to remain – safe and

boring.

No!

The clarivoant sky plays stories of

could be and should be while

megalithic microscopic slither stomp and stray in

a game of tag with memoried moments marred and maligned

with vivacious joy and undetermined sadness

as hummingbird flight trips towards tantilizing

heavens teasing raven black shadows to chase;

my imagination uncaged:

Oh, here, where the edge drops off

stone turns and humble rock

gather to host a trail of events

leading to a brilliantly begged beginning and seeking an

reverently ridiculous end

in a story to spin for another

generation.

Lingering, for many a day

I’ve sought council on character crossing countenance’s

countenance to decifer

what words to hire, inspire and toss

and tarry across the threshold of vision

to worlds I cannot see

but holding on to with hopes blade and

verses torch, in this new land of

unbridled horse runners, dog sleepers, and

birds speaking french;

for a story unfolding and

remembered.

Out here, where the sidewalk ends,

my every word universe of every

needed fabled verse awaits my

next move.