¶ as i shouldered your heart ⎟ PEA

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I was walking down the path,
as I shouldered your
crumbling heart.
You pushed against me
about to fly like loose leaves
along the wind.

The slow tortoise winked,
the moose battered his antlers,
the crows screeched in warning,
their fear drawing us nearer
into clearer darkness of the
faded day.

We stop to settle and sup,
as the sun’s last rays tickled
the tops of leafless trees.
A small fire to keep us warm,
I hold your heart in my hand.

You run with the fire of life
and of joy.
I pick up the pieces,
humbly loving your spirit.
You fly in the wind,
threatening to leave,
but your warmth and goodness
keeps you here with me.

Such a big heart determined to race,
round corners,
round bends,
and back from the moon.
“It’s such a big, big world,”
I whisper in your ear,
“The world’s not ready
for you to disappear, yet.”

On we must trot or night will
gobble us all–
Once again,
I shoulder your heart,
Your soul is nestled,
And my heart is full.
But what about days,
when I’m left all alone, dear?
I want you to stay,
to be here with me forever.

The tortoise has slowed to
walk us to safety,
The bucking moose has lent us
his powerful antlers,
The crows scream in murders
to frighten the night.

I hold you in my arms
as tears slip away,
We walk into the warmth
of the hearth and the home,
We drink teas and snack on
honeyed-peanut butter;
Raspberries for tortoise,
Grass for dear moose,
Charms for the crows,
who resent the implication.

Let’s slip into the darkness,
the safe one with dreams,
where it is okay that less
is more than it seems.

 

–fin

Links: http://poets.ca/2016/02/08/national-poetry-month-2016/


Heaps of love,

wordplay xx

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¶ Sweetest Spring and Evergreens ⎟ PEA

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There is a gentle breeze
That ruffles dreams;
It smells of sweetest spring
and evergreens.
It never wavers but
Kisses cherubic, weightless clouds,
and stimulates subtle
memory.

Hold your hand up to its path,
Feel your spindly fingers dance,
Light as thoughts,
Free as love,
Comfort, and mindful serenity.
Smell its past and lingering tales
as you fully breathe
your mortality.

Sun streams through lashes
and closing eyes,
Whilst laughter churns from
deep within.
Light as air and happy child,
Who’d have thought,
it was just air?

The earth sighs in meditative
suspiration, as we move around
the galaxy.
The stars are past,
as we are passed,
and dust settles over youth
quite fast.

In times of old, and times
to come, the breeze sets sail
as souls swim by,
Raise your hand
up to their path,
They make your fingers dance
as they sing
‘Good Day’!

Relax into grass, that
folds beneath you.
Listen as it crumples.
Millions of tiny springs,
that support your body
and usher in new life.
Breathe in the breeze
that tariffs dulcet tones,
and passes them onto
abject pilgrims.

There was a day,
when you were sad,
but honeyed hues coloured
your hearing eyes;
Recall the dreams
Of weightless flight, and
dream sweet dreams,
my dear, tonight.

–fin

Links: http://poets.ca/2016/02/08/national-poetry-month-2016/


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In Time, You’ll Be⎟ PEA

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Sometimes, there is lack,
A lack that likes to remind you it’s there,
It wants to be acknowledged, nurtured, and loved.
But sometimes you want to ignore
the lack.
Getting over it has a knack,
It’s a skill I lack.

Sometimes, there is a wound,
Salt and dirt live there,
They dance to the beat of my heart,
As it works
furiously to heal.
But on, they dance.

Often, there is a hush,
It comes in slowly,
It never leaves in a rush.
You may have time to fill your lungs,
Or scream out your anger
So loud your voice cracks.

Often, there is a dream,
Frequently ignored;
to be suppressed by the lack,
that makes its home
crushing your heart.

Some days, there is an itch,
When you scratch,
you bruise skin,
The outer shell cracks,
And leaves you grim.
Plaster yourself back together,
Make yourself whole again.

Some days, there is a tiredness,
It hides under darkened eyes,
It announces itself with a depressed
lions roar.
You fuel yourself with coffees,
Snack on cakes, and sweet  teas,
Sometimes, those are the best days.

One day, there might be a sun beam,
That shines on your heart,
It sends growth throughout your soul,
It lightens your load,
It fills your lack,
So it feels more like
a history
that’s past.

One day, there will be lines,
That mark your path,
Engraved upon your thin
skin.
Lines, counted, reveal your
capacity to love
and the rich stories,
that you sink into as you fall
asleep.

–fin

Links: http://poets.ca/2016/02/08/national-poetry-month-2016/

 


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That of which I am made ⎟ PEA 2016

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I’m just not feeling it,
As you dance to the chart-hit,
Your smile is misleading,
And it’s you I am needing,
But your eyes sway faster
Than hips, who’re you after?

If I leave now,
And you, I disavow,
Will I lose myself,
As I detach from yourself?
Will I break into pieces,
My new heart a prosthesis?

Coz your hunger increases,
As my self-worth decreases,

You crook your finger at me,
I smile; I dare not flee,
For your spell catches my knees,
You’re my addiction, my disease;
You look into my eyes,
I tremble through your lies:

You whisper love and desire,
I’ll surely burn on this pyre,
Barely holding onto life,
As you plunge in the knife,
Twisting and turning its tip,
With a fast and strong grip,

Your hips sway to the beat,
Your voice is so sweet,
But I’m just not feeling it,
As you dance to the chart-hit.

I want a new chance,
I, too, want to dance,
With joy and freedom
and equality,
With a them that is them,
and a me that is free,

So I push off your hold,
Daring for freedom is rather bold,
Alas, I breathe nectar of sugared hope,
Glad to be untethered, cut free, from the rope
That tied me down, like a lead-weighted
balloon, anxiety and depression slowly abated,

I swim in the ocean,
Healed by a magical self-taught potion,
Laced with one’s sovereignty,
Happiness by degrees,
Ginger and spice,
And everything nice…

That’s what little girls are made of.

 

Poetry Month ⎟ Poem Everyday in April (PEA)

Dear Reader,

I haven’t uploaded any poems lately, which is unusual for me because I normally write quite a lot. In Canada, April is National Poetry Month. I am going to be posting one poem a day, *crosses fingers*, alongside my posts on Great Expectations. If it gets confusing, just follow the menu at the top of the page; it should help you find you way. I’m just imagining a Homeward Bound scene where my beloved animals search for me, against peril and the sadness of losing their human. Poor poopehs. My pup is currently snoozing on my bed. (P.S she fell off my bed last night, whilst rearranging her blankets. I don’t even know what woke me up, the fall or her crying to be let back up. Apparently, my decorating skills are flawed. Misha will educate me from here on out).

In honour of the little baby-face, I will write a limerick about her.

The Mishanator

There once was a shitzu called Misha,
She won’t fetch, but she gives paw,
She loves to sleep in my, or is it her, bed,
From top to bottom is her tiny form spread,
For possession is 9/10ths property law.

IMG_7748

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Symptomatic

Why do we choose to see things as emblematic
Instead of symptomatic
Of a much bigger whole?
A whole lot of pain
Could be
Would be
Should be
Avoided.
Why do we find fault with those suffering
Rather than offer the help
You say you would
give?
Lend me your ears?
But hide your hearts
B’neathe callousness and anger.
I’ve thrown away my anger.
I buried it deep.
It won’t fester
It can’t mature.
For, I mature.
I’ve tossed aside the broken pieces
of my heart
The shards of glass that
pierce my organs.
Like a balloon,
I deflated.
I am now
elated.
Soon.
My silence is not emblematic
My silence is symptomatic
Of a world that chastises women
Of a world that silences
Of a world that won’t hear about
the oppressions we all commit
Every day.
Every second.
On the wisp of every breath.
I am not holding myself hostage,
I do not demand a ransom.
I just ask for kindness
Peacefulness
Gratitude in us all
Openness
Selflessness
In myself.
I cannot ask from you
What I, myself, will not give.
If I am silent.
I thought I was giving the world
The perfection it asked of me.
Shh, the men are speaking.
Shh, they have jobs to do.
Shh, creativity is meaningless,
Only economy and efficiency is
meaning-full.
People can’t communicate
With how you phrase your verbs,
Its convoluted shenanigans
Send shivers through our minds.
Commit to business ethics,
Models of corruption and dreams.
Picket only your house with whiteness
And wood.
My silence is emblematic.
Of how
the system
quietens.

Heaps of Love,
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Secret Garden

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In seeded gardens, where rise the rose,
One rests to ponder the posy’s pose,
For enchanted petals do sing our praise,
Sent from the cosmos on sunshine’s rays,

Sipping poisons from beguiling fairies,
Sweetest wine, decorated with berries,
Grass folds around us as we sit to eat,
Butterfly wings echo syncopated heartbeats,

Fingers entwine as sun kisses lashes,
Fiery spirits cremate our form to ashes,
Spritely water nymphs send mist our way,
Singing to us about the games they play,

From petals, sweet nectar drops like dew,
I’d happily spend eternity here with you,
Golden droplets trickle and delight,
Rumpled clothing await God’s smite,

Dreams are made of finer things than these,
Aphrodite’s raiments drifting in a summer’s breeze,
Cupid’s bow did pierce our steadfast hearts,
Love’s sweet arrow obliging love’s sweet arts,

Visions entwine as lust sets chimeric love afire,
Embraced as we sigh; our last breaths expire,
Sweet lips such as these, golden and honeyed,
Enchanted, we sip sweet petal’s hallowed mead,
Incense burns, smoke of heightened scents,
We journey as one, up towards ascent,
Where, in seeded gardens, rise the rose,
One rests to ponder the posy’s pose.

-fin
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A Vengeful Tangle of Thread

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The page sat empty; full of its property to be,
An equation appeared, solve it to be free,
Discuss. Solve. Explain. Understand. Know.
For full marks, all your work you must show,

A pencil scribbles symbols, meanings, and truths,
An alphabet of day-dreams abandoned in youth,
Cognisance amongst those who comprehend,
The simple, diligent task of making amends.

As memory eats our heart-ridden sleeves,
One paces, lusting for a last-minute reprieve,
Words unsung, songs unsaid–a silence to hear,
Rethink our days, nights, dreams–tremble with fear,

Is it God’s revelations that we search for in skies?
For I’ve seen God’s truth in the glint of your eyes–
Of death and of life, I sigh and moan their beauty,
Caged together, wrought by love and by duty,

Slumber’s cold breath rattles my spine,
Restless thoughts abate as we entwine,
Like swimming deep in an endless sea,
At first we fear our path to timeless serenity.

When words become chess pieces across a board,
Prudently spent, a censored life is flat and unexplored,
Shades protect our eyes from too much light,
Withal, be wary, lest ye forget sight,

Look at the page with the equation on it,
Not one step in its solving do you omit,
Logic and training bring forth its solution,
Annihilating binary affinity in favour of one,

The formula untangles anatomy,
You become You and I become me,
The result conceals, rather than illuminates,
A vengeful tangle of thread littered by the Fates.

–fin
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All Around

beatrix
Sun, sun all around.
Swallowing sand,
Mouth drenched with thirst.
A chill in my heart,
Bones shattered,
Flesh defrosted.

Space, space all around.
So small in size,
I can’t see that far,
anyway.
Confined in vast infinity,
Doors break down.

Dreams, dreams all around.
Broken hearts.
Lost souls.
Charon’s fee usurped,
The earth is for the lost,
Have we been found–
out?

Love, love all around.
Never inside.
Never between.
Never here.
Only in dreams.

fin.
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Bright Young Thing

shalott6

Bright young thing with tired feet,
Bright young thing with tired mind,
Rest your feet and suckle sweet
Dreams aligned for you to find–
Truth and beauty singing soft praise,
At youth’s fountain imbibed with agéd wine,
Bacchus in a blaze, whilst his gifts laze,
Freshly picked vines, erasure of time’s line,
Strings pluck’d by unceasing hands,
Perfum’d air, intoxicatingly rich,
Cascading sands to fill many lands,
Placed in glasses which awe and bewitch.
Time expands and collapses, sleepy child,
Old wounds ache and new wounds smite,
In one age we are wild, another, notoriously mild,
Offerings to god as contrite, surrendering souls to delight,
Bright young thing with many tears,
Bright young thing with many masks,
Let not your fears rewrite your years,
Dread not the ask; it belabours the task,
Promise me, sweetly dreaming soul,
That when god asks you who and how,
You’ll point to mine heart’s toll and cupid’s bow,
Relax your furrowed brow, we were nothing ’til now,
One last sip, suck’d dry from eden’s dew-dropped rose,
Glimpse the sun’s triumphant ascension of shared prayer,
Drink in the lover’s throes, eased by soft-kiss’d snow,
Devoted desire this rare suspends daydreams in the air.
Awaken babe, to muted chirruping birds,
Banished, heavenly visions dissipate ere long,
Bright young thing with oft lost words,
Bright young thing intoxicated by love’s song.

–fin
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