This morning I needed a notebook, and spotted one that appeared to be unused. Upon opening the cover, I discovered one lone page occupied by the following poem. Enjoy!

Searching This Mad Confusion

This is my Mabon offering. These lines originally came to me on the nights before and of the full Harvest moon, but sat in a book I’m reading until this evening. Enjoy!

Harvesting the Moon

Shuffle on concrete

Longing crunch of coming days

Chilling cold I crave

 

Leaves brief existence

Short lines and words lost so soon

Nourish the next one

Monsters Will Destroy Themselves

The Architect

She builds her castles not with stones…

They raised her around music,
And it was part of her daily life.
A Talent, she was.
She could sing before speaking,
Write before reading,
Weave before spinning the thread.
“Talents tend to choose their power,”
The doctor told them.
“Soon she’ll pick one and the others
Will be forgotten.”

Not so with her.

She learned to read,
And soon Mother was getting calls.
“Turned the playground into a castle again”
Or
“Burned the classroom with a dragon.”
And there was nothing
Mother could or would do
To stop her little Talent.

Then she began to learn music,
To decipher the tones and notes.
She melodies and lyrics wound through her brain,
And soon the piano teacher was refusing to tutor.
“She changed my living room into a forest glen!”
The answering machine said.
“Find someone else!  I’m through with your Talent!”

Whatever their Princess imagined
Would become real.
They hoped it would stop when she reached womanhood;
That was their only prayer for years.

And so, it seemed
The Talent had settled.
She discovered boys, and girls,
Reality.
There was no need for her to weave
Since she was imagining the world before her.

And not soon after, she was gifted with headphones.
Their Talent had learned how to control her powers,
And life was good.

She learned to play instruments,
More than she could handle,
And through her years she became a musician,
A poet.
Her Talent was welcomed on the stage,
She began to rehearse the images;
Her brain became the projector.

One winter night, a man in black was at a concert.
He listened to her raptly, and enjoyed her movie.
He found her looking at the reflecting pool,
Made her a job offer
She couldn’t refuse.

And now, that wacky little Talent,
Is using her powers
For all the wrong reasons.

Ghost

Deserter

I was looking for a poem to submit and found some more gems hidden online. Enjoy!

Hoops

Yet again, after an impromptu month-long hiatus, I remembered I had a tarot blog that I would like to grow.

The past month has gone by in a blur. Not that a lot has happened (although a lot has), but it’s just been busy. And trying to get back into a consistent swing of things is hard for me. As the dust settles, though, I can discern a pattern forming. And now that I see that, I can once again begin to decorate and clean what’s been caught in the undertow. Read the rest of this entry »

It seems like each shuffle is a loaded catapult. Cards jump, and I have to decide whether or not reading them is prudent, or if I’m shuffling the cards wrong. Lately, it’s been harder to focus and center before I do my readings. Something I attribute to working nights and getting used to being up all night these days.

This evening was something entirely different. Read the rest of this entry »

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