Conjuring Identity

Conjuring Identity 

i fancy myself alive;
then, again i declare myself dead,
i tickle myself awake,
and wring myself asleep,
i clasp to things of old,
drain myself of new,
lick my wounds myself,
continually seek some truth -

i cling to mouths of dragons,
who write out my dreams,
and i cause my crows to shutter,
when i melt off into unconscious,
i dwell, as a buoy;
in the center of icebergs,
but, drizzle in fiery flames,
my toe nails annoy -
dried clusters of earth,
from burrowing in the ground;
playing hide-n-seek with tree roots,
{connecting as One}
i found my wings dripping with sky dew,
a flight breaking sound -

i fancy myself a nothing,
but an everything in between,
my night terrors keep me smitten,
on a world less traveled,
my daydreams are manifested,
by the pen of my Dragon -
safely collected in his annuels,
until i am alive;
or am i dead?
rationally speaking,
all of the above!

Accepting Fate

Accepting Fate

words were the fantasy;
they sang pacifically,
interlocked lyrically,
deeply concocted -
pining within her heart

it pounded desperately,
waiting patiently,
desiring so innocently;
(foolishly)
to hear his whispers -
that would finally,
compassionately; speak his truth

she wished to know, expectantly;
to have that void filled,
ultimately -
to understand extensively,
(once and for all, absolutely)
did she live exclusively,
in the wells of his heart?

the pleasures of knowing; conclusively,
answers to cling, {solidity}
upon the neurons, so tragically
that could definitively -
spark within her mind

nothing more, nothing more,
than, to justly have those words;
embracingly, tucked so gently,
effortlessly into her core,
quietly hidden away

when the finality,
of the last fallen star,
crashed into her moon,
reluctantly she gathered,
all the shining pieces,
and realized his silence,
was the answer,
she obtusely; chose to ignore

Conceiving Stars

Conceiving Stars

creating stars with my eyes;
plasma erupts-
luminously, bound in gravity’s hand;
I am not finished
manifesting celestial spheres,
I’ve just begun;
unfurling asterisms,
through the galaxies,
waiting to explode -
the breath of dwarf stars,
hiding in my stellar remnant,
confessions of constellations,
demand my existence!
my soul stretches,
from a gravitational collapse;
eluding light, my thoughts twist;
black hole whispers,
fine tuning the reality,
that lives within my chest -
gravity prevents anything,
from escaping

Unraveling

Unraveling 

how does the soul’s thread untangle,
or unravel the twining of its ethos;
seared in decades gone by?

how does the connect untwine,
when the heart was so faithfully seared,
and the mind unwaverly fused,
into the locket of another’s arteries,
who flagrantly twisted these chords -
simply to dangle as a yo-yo

how does one unknot,
a scalded heart,
and scorched soul, bound;
into laces, blistered through stitches,
pumping in and out of cold veins?

(unraveling, collected as coiled ashes)

Queen! {pawn} (Repost)

I am sharing a short poem’ish story, that I posted on my other blog. I was reminded of it earlier this morning so I thought I would share it here. (UnpeggingRetro)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Black-and-white squares glared through my pupils, pretending that I was wearing a crown. Lights bounced their reflection meticulously around my head –
halo hovering slightly above, just enough to give such impressions.

Impressions, that I may be allowed to move, as if I were Queen. Such a haphazard to dispel a truth; why of course, I AM Queen. (Of hollow)

I walk back and forth freely, diagonally if I may wish – without any disruption, unless! I walk slightly out of my square. Am I with or without color today? It will depend upon the King’s mood, for it changes with a whoosh; the slightest of inconvenience.

Hush! We dare not speak, nor tell of such things; the rooks like to use me. They push me this way and that to save themselves, the King revels in their flattery. As much as when I pour out my laudations. I give my praise – still it is never enough, the King adores and abhors both left and right, carving out jagged little aggressors coated in smiles; my way.

“Oh, aren’t you the fabulous Queen, too bad you have such a time with your moves; but I know you will be perfectly fine … well once, you get everything fixed. Your color seems a bit gray today. No, you look quite fine, I do not pay much mind to looks anyway. You need not worry. Are you sure you moved to the left? Yes, yes, indeed you did, you did. Um … why I am only helping to remind you love, your memory does fail you sometimes. Rather, I mean you have an excellent memory it was only that one time, and the other when you slipped diagonally and you meant to go left. Remember? Or maybe it was right, you went right and you were supposed to move forward? No worries, I am sure you will do fine today.” 

The King has spoken, his charge is full – flashing his words into my skull. An embellished head it is, floating above recourse. The gray jabs at my eyes, what color am I today? Have I already forgotten? King, please tell my what color am I today? 

“Why I only told you moments ago, do you not recall?  I will adorn in black.” 

But King, didn’t you say something of gray? Wasn’t I white today?

“Dear, Queen, your memory fails -such a shame; you used to be so quick footed and witty. It must be your age. And you do look fine for your age.” 

Colossal, what is the next move, I cannot recall my wits about me at all. I dare not ask my next move -stand still, Ms. Hollow… Ms. Hollow, it echoes of something; not right. I was, but a fair maiden dancing in the light of life. Now a gray Ms. Hollow whispers as my only name. I do not know that name at all, foreign – forged. A counterfeit, shaped and hammered into such a statuesque Queen.

The very mirror of such eyes that pretends to see gray; all the while basking in black-and-white, hiding in the shadows. Call me your pretty, your lovely as long as Ms. Hollow does not step out-of-bounds. Tear me into pieces, grinning through your teeth, draining the blood from my veins – I’ve been replaced with soot and ash.

Why has my mold chipped, flaked; revealing some far off remembrance of color? Must my eyes become unveiled? My King, takes pleasure in my pain – becomes rejuvenated by contorting my brain? Delights in my death; I see very clearly … he would rather watch me decay into shriveled pieces to stroke his own ideals, believe in his fantasies, keep me locked down in invisible chains because it makes him feel good-revived-ALIVE!

I am no Queen – I am nothing more than a meaningless pawn. At least, I finally know where I stand.

Do I look gray today? Why no, I am rather white and sparkly with a speckle of yellowish hue, call me Ms. Hollow … For I shall play for my King’s amusement.

Who shall be checked, mate?

Remote Memories

Remote Memories

distant mountains -
a far cry,
from the valley;
that was carved
by raging rapids,
who once dwelled -
among a flourishing heart

I Lose My Words And Paint

I am doing something different today. Let me explain. There are many times that for numerous reasons I can lose my words – I cannot talk, there are days that I cannot type them out either. My head will race with tons of words, but they seem to get lost in a black hole swimming in confusion and blocked up in my throat. It can be considered selective mutism, (I do have social anxiety.) in other cases I am not sure other than, I am too overwhelmed with emotion, anxiety, life, what have you and my brain gets jumbled causing me to shutdown.

It is kind of like my mind’s way of rebooting. During those times, I cannot articulate or express what I am feeling through word. Most of the time I have no idea what I am feeling. Many times, I feel that MUST get something out whatever something is. So I paint, or do scribbles/doodle shape things, or numbers other times I dance, but I am not going to record myself dancing and share it!

In recent days, I have lost my words quite a few times and I painted. I decided to look up “wordless  poetry” because that is what my paintings feel like to me. My expression of poetry through painting helps me find my words and then, I am able to capture them into written poetry … at some point.

As I searched about wordless poetry, I discovered Asemic writing, which I had never heard of, but when I read about it something felt right. If that makes sense. I am going to investigate a bit more and see what happens. I naturally make infinities and squiggle-like things as a way of soothing my chaotic soul. I find abstract calligraphy intriguing. Here is another link that I found ASEMIC. If you are familiar with this type of expression feel free to share any info or thoughts!

In the mean time, here are some of my paintings that I have done recently and several from 2012. I have no titles because I had no words.

I used my hand for the background of this painting with multiple colors. I thought my hand looked cool. Here it is!

I do not use these colors often, but I was feeling them with these ribbon-type infinities for some reason.

Sometimes I make flowers, not sure why, but it makes me feel happy. There are a few of my therapeutic wordless musings.

I also, want to extend a grand WELCOME to my new followers and an exuberant HELLO to my long timers! I appreciate very much that you are here and look forward to reading your blogs as well (newbies). (Old timers, you know I will pop around to visit. ) I am not always able to make it around the blog world on a daily basis, but I try to pop over at least once a week. See you then, and a Happy peace filled day to you all!

Back to your regularly scheduled wordy poems tomorrow, I think?

Whimsy Of Clock

Whimsy Of Clock

Darkness chimed a minute song,
rupturing between now and then,
erupting a stroke;
of Dawn, who brushed my eyes,
with the toll of hours gone by

Father Time made a wish,
from a fallen eyelash,
that rested upon my cheek -
his dew filled breath,
struck Town’s bell;
it kept tempo;
into the dong of Second’s hand

a radiant skeleton,(mine)
walked through an acronical place -
the continuance of Infinity’s embrace,
as eons ticked the tock of Pendulum’s memories,
they decomposed a world of flesh;
measuring Quantum’s chorus -
stuck in harmony of Clock’s illusion,
he rang, “Grandfather?”

Release Of The Dancer

Release Of The Dancer 

lull of restraint,

captivate inner strength;

forceful constraint,

unable to brandish

the call of an unbound soul  -

unjustly kept 

a Dancer can never be confined

{for long} 

Moonbound,

Star-trailed,

Milky Way pulled,

unleashed,

harnessed for a period -

eloquent discipline,

waiting to unlock Her leap!

Passing Moment

Passing Moment 

There was a moment;

when …

And all of that was left;

unsaid …