Gobble Spiders

I wish there was a ghost
who would walk beside me,
gobbling up spiders
into the ether, quietly.

I don’t wish the spiders to be dead,
Okay, it’s complicated,
but maybe
I do.

I know they eat the other things
that are too small for
us to see.
I also know that centipedes

hunt them, rather–
rather gleefully.
I don’t want the ghost
of a centipede to walk

with me.
Maybe just an arachnologist
who isn’t finished her
work quite yet.

It would be harmony
and synchronicity,
and there would be less
spider corpses

hiding under
the spines of
the brave books
that protected me.

Yes, I wish there was a ghost
who would walk beside me,
Then my cold hands,
Would simply mean

our hands were interlaced,
and the shivers of my spine
would signify a spectre
of warmth hereafter.

 

 

 

 


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Waves ⎟ Poem

unnamed-2

Audio of poem:

I don’t remember the day I
fell into the water.
Some legends say the sky was gray,
I’ve heard elders whisper
that is was the bluest of days,
My story begins as I was
birthed to the sea.

From the strong urn of Mother Earth,
Ejected in a cocoon, bobbing
at the water’s top,
An Albatros freed my limbs
from their silken cage.
I did not scream,
I did not cry,
I did not look for warmth.

For the waves are the uneven beats
of my mother’s hearts,
My own heart’s beat is slow
but quite strong.
An eddy forms as my being
sends opposing waves unto
the sea.

Occasionally, I am berthed and ported,
Men have sought to
tell my story,
‘For she is a mermaid, fair, no darker than
the night, richer than the moon,
sweeter than nectar, more enticing
than drink.’
They say they know me,
but it is I, who have known them.

I swallow their boats,
I drink their lives,
I rain upon their masts,
I embrace their crafts.

Men sit at their fires,
hearth to hearth,
as they tell stories of my
vengeance and vitriol,
Their lust and my desire,
My wild hair enrages their
very being.

Men sit at fires and laugh,
For in the heat of safety,
Fear evokes laughter from
the weakest man.

I bob in the water,
I am incarnate
But I am intangible
Untouchable
Unknowable
Unbelievable
Unbelieved.

I exist,
as the sound of my breath
is the loudest sound known
to mankind–
It raises his hairs,
It tears up the earth,
I cry out, ne’er to be
vanquished.

Legends say I am a cruel nymph,
That I ensnare my prey,
But I am merely
A Malthusian force
of female
existence.

Into the sea,
Like sweet succour,
A song reveals all truths
As you drink
the fount of youth
at the base of my
feet.

–fin

Accompanying song to audio version is Keaton Henson, Elevator Song.

¶ Paradiso, Commedia III ⎟ PEA

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As we sat drinking coffees,
We laughed and sighed over dreams:
The ones we shared,
and our waking hours of delight.
Your hand on my leg,
Clouds in my coffee,
Nirvana, a vision of ecstasy.

Walking through parted clouds,
You said I had celestial beauty,
As we metamorphosed into abstract phenomena,
unreservedly cerebral,
We moved bounded by each other–
As One.

We swam through the skies,
Weightless and without form,
Like birds drifting, slowed in time,
Like smoke wafting through the atmosphere,
Higher and higher into astral planes.
Where solemnity paints the
sky blue
And stars burn cold
In our souls.

From lilac petals to apple blossoms,
The sun nestles life into spirited roots,
Reaching higher into the skies,
A deeper longing, into rich soils,
The world seems so far away now,
Tangibility, a construct that ebbs
as we find new meanings,
favourably.

Earth breathes, deeply,
As she asks her sojourners to
remember her before they leave
for nether or other realms,
Mars seems lovely, she supposes,
But is that where you’ll find roses?
To pin in your lover’s hair or upon
their lapel?

I gulp the ocean blue,
As we metaphysically entwine,
Locked in free-spirited desire,
Like the smoke of hell,
Our souls wrap around each other
twisting helically
into new data
from the stuff of which we are made.

 

 

 

–fin

Heaps of love,
Wordplay Xx

 

 

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¶ Purgatorio, Commedia II ⎟ PEA

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There was a time, dear, when
I was led by poets of yore
Through mountainous terrains,
penitent mourners, and the
sins they had cast.
I ascended the Spanish Steps
Heaving sonnets and verse,
trying to find my way to
Love.

On candlelit nights, sweet
with the scent of burning pipes,
You filled my belly with stories,
Rich fruit plucked from fearsome trees;
I seized hold of your words,
Clutching at them, catching at them,
like swirling smoke in my hands.

Seeds grew in my belly,
Ripe apples, plums, pomegranates, and
Intoxicating lyrics that inebriate
reason.
I swooned to your hymn,
And danced in the shadows cast
by the crackling, luminescent fire.

Captive and captivated by your presence,
I lapsed, malnourished,
on a diet of life and knowledge,
Our Hellenic silhouettes dancing upon the wall:
the only truth to comprehend
the only truth of love
the only truth
the only truth
that I may see.

The poets led me past my sins,
and I saw the pain and suffering
that we endure for the pleasure
of proving our devotion,
hoping our wickednesses
will be understood
and forgiven on the alter of
passion,
by one who loves us
completely.

Here I stand, alone,
atop the Spanish Steps,
chilled with
the fire of earthly desires,
I hold handfuls of water
and sand,
fathoming the
steadfast nature of
your fickle love.
–fin

giphy3

Wordplay Xx

 

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Inferno, Commedia I ⎟ PEA

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People don’t expect my fire,
They presume one should sit pretty,
but I’m like a wrathful dragon,
Waiting to defend the city,
From knights and kings,
Steeds and jesters,
because they seek to mock
the personhood I possess.

People don’t expect my fire,
As they pass around marshmallows,
chocolate, and graham crackers
to melt into heavenly
bites.
But I refuse horror stories
where women are victims,
sensationalized tragedies.
There is enough of that
in our lives.

People don’t expect my fire,
But I am soaring through the
atmosphere.
Dreaming of the cool, sizzling
landing into a vast ocean,
They look into the sky
and say I am portentous.

People don’t expect my fire,
As you inhale my fumes,
You suck all of me up,
but I poison your lungs.
I drip through all of your organs,
toxic waste that
weighs your thoughts
like noxious
molasses.

People don’t expect my fire,
against the cold darkness of time,
You see me in your today,
but I reflect only my past,
A history ill-recorded for it is
filled, instead, with men
rediscovering me, through
the
ages.

People don’t expect my fire,
But I am a woman who refuses
to sit pretty.
The pages of the etiquette book curls
under lapping flames
as I laugh too much, talk too loudly,
and dream in abstract shapes,
where words are the fantasy
and reality is burning
into subconscious recoil.

People don’t expect my fire,
As I am smothered
in a world of carbon dioxide,
As trees die
As polar bears drown
As bees fail to fertilize
As snow falls in May
As oil sludges
Until there is oxygen
And then
I ignite.

–fin

giphy1

Disney // giphy

And:

giphy2

Pixar // giphy

Heaps of Love,
Wordplay. Xx

 

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¶ plane of existence ⎟ PEA

Screen Shot 2016-04-03 at 9.50.25 PM

It’s not ‘self-pity’;
It’s self-doubt
on an existential level.

***

 

(watch their video on empathy here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsWs6bf7tvI)

–fin

wordplay xx

 

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¶ empathy and pears ⎟ PEA

Screen Shot 2016-04-03 at 9.50.25 PM

I’d like to feel indulgent today,
I’d like to just sit down and say,
‘Hey, it’s been really hard to
hold in these tears, blue,

‘I’ve been holding this in for so long,
And I’m always feeling all wrong.
Is there a way I can feel okay?
Because I’d like to smile today.’

But you just tease and bully,
Because adults, too, are unruly,
Mostly, they’ve lost their softness,
And use their privilege to oppress.

When you’re holding onto lives,
You’re thinking how to make things thrive,
More sunshine, water, and love,
And everything that I think of

Bites to the quick and tastes blood,
Scratching the life-giving mud,
And when the things you love ease,
You feel a deep sense of relief,

There is peace in other people’s happiness,
So let’s not be indulgent in largesse,
Indulge in sharing stories and tea,
Suspend your self and listen to the sea,

For she has stories to share,
That would raise your hair,
Past heaven, way up above,
Beyond imagery of peace-seeking doves

And big boats with floods,
Two-by-two from bugs to slugs,
Listen deeply to others’ words,
For you’ll find you’ve not really heard

The struggles that they’ve faced today,
Because you’ve not heard as they say,
‘I’ve been holding this in for so long,
And I’m always feeling all wrong…’

–fin

wordplay xx

giphy

 

links:

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¶ freshly painted walls ⎟ PEA

Screen Shot 2016-04-03 at 9.50.25 PM

There is a feeling that catches breaths,
Each one brings us close to death,
These moments when you feel you could
Be the person you know you should.

It haunts your dreams, your nights, your days,
It is the thing you know everyone says,
In song, in rhyme, in two-beat time,
It coats your soul like heavy slime.

You look through yourself to see what’s seen,
And wonder how else life could have been,
If only, when you were ever so little,
You wouldn’t have been quite so brittle,

To feel the pain that made you feel
As though your worth was unreal,
You clung to words that made you fly,
But how long until you feel them lie?

Because words twist, and they distort,
From you, your life, they will extort,
Minute by minute, pound by pound,
They will catch your breath until you’re drowned,

Ne’er be fooled by idle chatter,
For you’ll not find the words that flatter
All the people in all the world;
Such dizzy thoughts will have you whirled,

Learn to be the dreams you’ve dreamt,
Tell the stories that you invent,
Let words escape, as you enthral;
Paint the floors and paint the walls.

For freedom spent, is freedom kept,
And all of life should feel windswept,
Dwell not where the soul is lost,
For it is cold and iced with frost,

In Charon’s boat, it bids farewell,
Ere again Orpheus will fail,
Sing in notes that please the gods,
And you might win, against the odds.

Catch those breaths once stunted, yet;
Hold them long in a butterfly net,
Youth wishes to last forever,
It spends its pennies howsoever,

Flitter-flutter–heart does beats,
It’s time that love really cheats,
Drink the tides of setting suns,
Sweet libations of what’s been done.

–fin

 

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


Heaps of love,

wordplay xx

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Want to leave a tip in the hat?

Please consider donating to my Patreon page.

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