Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

This week is a continuation of last week’s thrust entry. I am once again thrusting you backward in time, backward into the mind of an overly emotional young woman. I have always felt things acutely and nothing brings about an attack of accute-emo-itis more than love. Now I’ve never had much luck in the love department (broken engagements, affairs, being left for other men or women, blah blah blahty-blah) but the older I get the more I try and change my outlook on love. It’s a work in progress but I’m getting better at not judging my own value based on how my lovers have treated me. I’m not a sad-sack lump of a spinster. I’m a cool chick with goals and a lot of love to give, in my way. However I choose that to be now. But this girl, the one who’s about to appear below… she didn’t have that outlook. Her entire life was based around becoming a wife and mother. Yep, at the tender age of 13 when she had her first failed relationship & ever since. Up until about 2008. That girl is coming out of the shadows to share these musings with you. Hope you enjoy!

I sit on my bed, looking out of my window.
I watch you get in your car
and drive out of my life

I loved you
I waited for you
I sacrificed for your benefit
And you drifted

When you held me
My worries disappeared.
I forgot all the things
That were going wrong.

Then we began changing,
Our two new selves
Emerging from their cocoons,
And we began drifting.

Now as I sit on my bed,
I love you.
I’ll wait for you,
And you’ll drift away

It is dawn.
And with it comes the tide;
The waves beat in
And the waves retreat.
They fall back and feast upon themselves.
This is the steady breath of the sea.

She sits at the water’s edge
Letting the ocean lick her feet.
She begins to think as she sits:
About life, love, family and faith. 

“My life is good,” she tells herself.
“My love is true,” she hesitates.
“My family is well and my faith steadfast.”
With every thought her certainty wavers and
As she thinks, she sighs. And weeps.
With every thought Mother Sea breates on.

The sun has slipped into his starry bed; and
The moon now shines in her haunting beauty.
Mother Sea lives, still singing her life-breath.

“My life is randon. Do I matter?
My love is chaotic. Should I end it?
My family is a unit and I the outsider.
My faith is sporadic.”

There on the beach she kneels and prays for change.
Slowly, reverently she turns and walks home.

It is dawn,
And with it comes the tide.
The waves beat in
And the waves retreat.
This is the stronghold of life,
The unerring breath of the sea.

Again she sits on the beach
Letting the waves kiss a path up her legs.
Once again she begins to think
About life, love, family and faith.

“It is good.”

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This week’s word is thrust. I had a hard time with it. But I thought a little differently about my post and came up with an idea. What if I thrust myself into my past poetic musings? Either that or write erotica. Those were the two things I came up with. Not sure if my blog is ready for erotica quite yet, so a stroll down memory lane it is. Mind you each of these poems is at least 7 years old & I’m not going to update or change them at all. And strangely, upon re-reading these (most of which were about a broken engagement from 2002) they could have been written just a couple of years ago with that ex. I made the same mistakes; I felt the same emotions. Regardless of what happens in the future, this time I will learn from my mistakes, if only by revisiting them periodically in written form. Here we go.

**Upon consideration, I decided to spread this one up over two weeks so it isn’t as obnoxious. Next week I’ll bring you a couple more excerpts from the mind of an emotional mess. Lol**

Does anyone else know
how much it hurts to
be destroyed by Love?
To be broken down
by the only one
who knows your weaknesses?

One day You, You antagonist
of happy feelings, You!
Killer of Love! Molester
of Faith, You shall get
your turn on the block.
You shall have your
shit-filled head sliced off
by the words of the
one you love. For she will
discover you, she will
find you out. And if not,
God help her.

For Lost “Love”:
I love you,
I need you,
Please stay.
You’re horrible,
I hate you,
Leave me be!
You hurt me,
You kiss me,
You heal me.
As if that makes it better.
You hit me,
You drive me away
Only to pull me back.
I listen,
I obey,
I succumb to you.
We break up,
We make up,
Oh well.
I’ll live.

I hope.

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Musings from 2009

I have a confession: I am an admittedly horrible blogger. Most times, the postings read more like a diary than something capable of holding the attention of someone who doesn’t already know me intimately. But I do have a creative side. I promise. I have had this practice for a while where I try and write everyday. Sometimes, it’s nothing more than a haiku or even a musing, but it’s at least something. I thought for the new year, I’d start off by sharing some of my dailies with you. Keep in mind, most times these are random and some of them are the fruit of the Writer’s Block Tree. But here they are, nonetheless:

Sometimes I wish:

That I still had the

ability to find joy

in the most mundane things

and that I could hear

the heartbeat of a worker

struggling to feed his wife & children

instead of just an

annoying hammer’s pulse.

Sometimes I wish:

The world could

once again be beautiful

and free,

but it’s too busy

being crushed under

the thumbs of concrete palaces.

Sometimes I wish:

That I could parcel my

personality into the

different aspects of myself.

I would keep each isolated

from the others

and wear each like a coat.

I would be the perfect chamelion.

I would be the perfect woman.

Sometimes I wish:

The person who occupies

the whole of your heart

could spare just a corner

of his own

where you could curl up

and keep his soul

warm and safe.


Ancient Ways

There she stands

Practicing her ancient craft.

With athame in hand,

She watches the smoke waft.

Tendrils of sage smoke rise

Slowly curling through the air

Up to the Ancient One’s eyes.

Her will also rides the wind there.

Crystals chosen and candles lit,

She could protect or bind.

Upon her altar the tools sit

Waiting to manifest in kind.

The last ingredient is added…

The most important part;

Adding intention to purpose,

The priestess joins her head with her heart.

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The rose, blushing crimson in the face of the dawn,
recollects the night spent in the hands of two young lovers, pledging and
until she lay cast aside and forgotten:
a warning against fickle love.
Bruised and brushed away, she hides her beauty among the swiftly falling
shadows to cover her shame,
for roses are wanton flowers.
They are always desirous of being desired, though each knows her fate once
plucked by an amorous hand.
Thus this blossom must now remember the cries of passion
as she withers in the panic of decay.
Oh! the fate of this most beloved of flowers!
How sad is the dying of a lover’s promise;
and how much more so the dying of a life lived only to symbolize that

Careless dandies plucking lives for the taste of blood red flesh,
and hope of touching velvety skin
rip each blossom from her lifeline, dooming one life to bring pleasure to
Women receive these gifts with the grace of a princess,
and the nonchalance of a murderess.
So in this way we stumble upon the nature of Love.
Love was the true viper in Cleopatra’s bosom,
the blade in Achilles’ heel,
all the Chaos that escaped Pandora’s grasp,
the downfall of every charming, pleasant young swain,
the ruin of even the most enlightened young ladies.

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What a lover you were,

What a lover you’ll be,

Such a remarkable guy,

The most important part of me.

You taught me to love

And showed me the sun,

You gave me hope

When I thought there was none.

As we grow older

And go our own way,

I’ll always remember

They were my best days.

Remember me, my dear,

Once in a while,

For I’ll never forget you

And your quirky smile.

Forever I’ll love you,

Forever it seems,

Because you were my love,

You were my dream.

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