No… I’m not going to write a poem about the annoying noise that plagues me right now. It’s the only noise I can hear when my fan is off. But that’s okay; the airflow feels nice. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m a Phoenix. I like the symbolism in the burning of the old. I have a certain propensity towards fire, and I feed that inner fire that fuels my mind, body, and soul with all it needs to survive and flourish.
And it is through the image of burning that I express myself, an inward spark that expands outwards, an explosion that creates its own universe.
So this might be more of a photograph in words than a poem.
I’m burning, burning, burning.
I do it all for me.
Let the flames consume what I have inside,
Turn the trash into treasure.
I am the alchemist hard at work;
Such dangerous fumes eroding my mind,
Dancing on a stage and letting you watch.
The more I take off, turn into masterpieces,
The more I authenticate, actualize.
And as the strings I called a top
Snake down my body, my hips and legs,
Pool on the ground,
I scream at myself
“This is mine, for me only.
No one else can share in this feeling,
Absolute freedom, the lessons you taught.
I might be the student, but I will always be the captain of this ship.”
And who cares if you may find it arousing,
Because this is mine, and no one else’s.
I’m burning, burning, burning…
Or maybe I am doing it all just for you.
“Look at me; you know you want this.
I listened to you speak, on the beach,
Before the bed-sheet ocean.
I took what you said, hammered it down,
And I made it this performance.
I am taking what you gave me and using it against you now.
So watch, and let the magick work.”
Stark naked, in all my glory,
I will bring you to your knees.
I’m burning, burning, burning.
So Far Away
We all know the battle to end all battles will come.
And it will be the hero who runs ahead
Who will change the course.
She’ll dash out ahead of the others,
Hips swaying to music that only she can hear.
The rubble that surrounds her will fade into galaxies,
Her feet kicking up stardust as she begins to dance,
Telling a story with the movement of her body.
She’ll practice her form, dancing around her studio
As the t-shirt that she loves rising and falling,
Moving away and towards the waistband
Of black shorts and red panties.
A black loop swings with her,
Mouth moving in silent prayer.
And you’ll smile and shake your head,
Or how about the random lines and couplets,
Scribbled on mirrors and windows,
As she takes another captive.
She’ll photograph him in curvy mug-shots,
Before incarceration between cardboard gates.
A select few she chooses;
The Stockholmed ones who turn traitor,
Dressed in her version of prison-orange,
But given the opportunity to dress up
When she marches into new territory.
And still, with each breath she takes,
You’ll shake your head, and wonder,
What about those nights where she loses balance?
The sound of shuffling cards,
Or the whiff of sandalwood,
The glow of candlelight that she lives by.
Or what about those days when she’s hard at work,
The general consulting her troops and planning attack.
She’s powerful, smart, and cunning;
The one who shared the dream once yours,
Who, now that she is here, you can see,
She could have been great in that position,
The one who could have achieved your goals,
But she is here now,
And you smile and don’t wonder why.
Perhaps you weren’t ready for her power,
The one who’s fate as told by the Empress is to rule,
The girl you love with the keys to The World.
And as she turns, cold feet running along your calves,
Amber hair turned black in silver streams,
Curling her arms around a pillow,
Nuzzling her face and nose against the heart she sleeps with,
She’s the one who needs to succeed you in battle,
And you’ll shake your head a bit,
Smile, sigh, and laugh, knowing
She got you here, and she had won the battle before it began.
Living a half-hour to an hour away from everything has never been a big inconvenience to me. Sure, rising a couple hours earlier can be annoying, but I’ve always been a morning person. My morning commutes are often made accompanied with a soundtrack of some sort, whether I’m shuffling through my collection or satisfying a certain aural craving.
Sometimes, those aural cravings become an aural gluttony. I’ll press the ‘back’ button until I realize that I just want to hear one song and change the settings, and then turn on my autopilot and let a story or poem germinate.
This is one such poem, based on Oasis’s “Champagne Supernova”. Lyrics appear in italics, and I credit the band’s beautiful songwriting and balancing of sounds for sparking my creativity. Enjoy!
One of the few things I dislike about working first shift is that the distance between me and work puts a damper on me doing anything before I go in. Sure, I could wake up X-amount of minutes earlier and do stuff, but then I’d be going to bed as soon as I come home! Moving into the city would change that, but since I’m still unsure about how I’ll be able to afford that on my own, I’m still in the boonies with crazy people and loving animals.
I think the cards picked up on that tonight. I came across this post about using the tarot as a method of prayer, so I think tonight’s reading is a message from the Divine smacking me with a cosmic 2×4. Read the rest of this entry »