Wordle #229 and Magpie Tales #298

playground getty

My voice has the power to disembowel

and I have used her, at times, as a weapon

though she has never served to avenge me.

The mass of your web impinges

upon my meager thread and we grow together,

spinning until our seams match.

The vertigo of my youth fills me with weeping

and I can think of nothing that would

account for this shrill blue sky and my terrible feelings.

Being blind for the people, by the people

I agree to adhere to the madness we have collectively chosen

though I do not know why I have chosen it

when I fought so long and hard against it.

My heart insists that there has been a betrayal,

that I am not fit to govern her though she is forever

in my keeping. She collides with me like a drum,

membranes drooling, I have denied her everything.

She wants space but I cannot give it to her.

Sometimes I remember myself as a child

and I wonder if perhaps we liked each other more

but in reality we liked each other less.

Until I am safe I imagine it is better not to feel.

We are never safe and I continue to feel

with fanatical precision all that is on offer.

229

 

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Wordle #117

117

My conscience mills away the seconds

The frail, incomprehensible notes

Of loneliness occupying my mistakes.

I am sick, undetectable, on the precipice

Of translating your meaning in chasm.

Friends do not leave fetters

Where hearts are fated to rest.

They do not peel back tears

Only to inscribe fresh ones

At the first show of togetherness.

They do not offer you piecemeal

In order to garnish something false

And festering within themselves.

No, no it is not I that you betray

But yourself and all that was ever

Worth the validation sought.

There are no labs within which we may

Reconstruct our former selves,

There is perhaps forgiveness

But even that cannot justify reunion.

Wordle #122

122

I am a thousand needles

Persuaded by degrees.

Dishonesty is my tribute

To years nestled naked

Between the floorboards.

My visions stem

From intrusions

Of the heart.

I have come

To expect violence,

Periods of fear

In which not but dreams

Can survive.

If I stay “I” will perish

And “We” will rise

Hundreds of unfinished faces

There can be no space

For forgiveness,

No allowances

For your perversions

If I am to live

And I will live.

Wordle#64 and Writing Prompt #110 “Meraki”

Week 64

The sky wells up with mizzle

Or is it only my eyes misting over?

The sun lapses, languishes behind

A column of atomizing clouds

Like spun cartilage and I,

A precursor to the wreckage.

The thunder is in me

A lone door confiscated

By my paramensia,

By my denouement,

By my untenable greed.

I don’t have the right

Attitude for beauty,

The smile, a cue,

A handle for the iris,

For your fascist foot

To silence the recitation

Of my grievances

My sessions sound

Albeit underutilized.

I would recognize

The Devil anywhere

He is my father

My blood, the fecal paint

On my noxious cell.

Had I realized that I would

Meet him again and again

Wearing the faces of others

Posturing as a friend,

A sweetheart, an auxiliary

I would have given up.

Wherever there is hope

There is innocence

And I know despite

What I have known

That good men exist

For I have found

The impossible, the unicorn,

The life-giving cocktail

Love of the highest grade

Love that encourages

Love that instills poetry

In places where the muse

Was not suspected to exist.

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/writing-prompt-110-meraki/

and

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/wordle-64-june-8-2015/

Wordle #59

Week 59

I fold the mortar

Into every crevice

Variables flush and immobile

Tear ducts threaded and sewn

Choking on existentials,

On salubrious dialogues

That never escape

The crux of my ribs.

My lips whisper

As a seashell

Of gathering seas

And dreams that are

More instinct than possibility,

More extremity than proximity.

Remember how we used to pass

Oranges out to strangers

From the back of an incapacitated truck?

Youth rarely accommodates taste

And you scarcely resemble

The subject of my infatuation.

I pinch my eyes closed

Phosphenes swimming

Beside your singed portraits.

A tantalizing oblivion,

A garden glimpsed

On the ceiling

And I am only happy when supine,

The weight of monarchs

Caramalizing in my unmade bed.

The fragrance of your culpability.

A fistful of splinters

In the place of my heart

And still no sign of the ground.

I want to remove your skin,

The mute invitation

Of a bedraggled dance.

My toes melt into the hemline

Were the water to take me now

It wouldn’t meet with resistance.

I plug the holes in my chest

With tufts of cotton

And inflamed tobacco leaves.

You are every addiction ever tapped

But amnesia would deprive me

Of the forgiveness that suffering seeks.

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/04/wordle-59-may-4-2015%E2%80%B3/

Inconsistent Monsters

Hell ignites first in the genius,

A fire feed on untouchables.

Dreamscapes dismantle themselves

Dropping like ravenous gulls

Into the palms of pilfered strangers,

Capricious and untraceable.

The snuffling balloons of meat,

That conduct our most

Primitive exercises,

Plump with steam and cinder.

Their casings cooked to rubber

Form uncompromising bulwarks.

Lungs that do not inflate

However, clear the external sky.

Intolerant kidneys,

And a bladder always heavy

That pitches widely like an alarm.

Death begins on the inside,

A grievance emptying

Its toxins into a frog-mouthed tumor.

Darkness bleaches the skin white

Fear of inconsistent monsters

Of self and the losses incurred

Gradually, whatever the age.

We suffocate slowly,

A molecule at a time

With only the heart to filter

The sediment thick and yellow

Like pus or snot

Fusing the plumbing

And the terrible backwash

When all that pain

Works its way out again.

*

I haven’t much time and I haven’t been sleeping 2 nights worth of terrible nightmares. This is about the way a single thought can spiral out of control and how Depression can wreak havoc on us physically. I am so exhausted and emotionally drained that I do not know if it makes sense outside of my own mind.

Incensed

3 Words

The first incision was effortless,

The second like stirring

Ash within fossilized amber.

Compatibility is only as deep

As the intentions by which

The union is first conceived.

I will never remove you,

Those diligent cells may

Just as well be my own.

Malignancy feels beautiful

Before it starts

The intensity, the enormity

Like some grand irrevocable truth.

 

My incensed heart skids

Under your watch it constructs

Its meager triumphs, its weedy castles

Cut from the shadows of carnations

Your damp eyes echo piteously

Knuckles cast as stones

Into my sly silhouette

As it slithers over paper thin walls

Everyone knows that we hate

Each other, that we eat

From the same plates

And wipe our hands

On each other’s clothes.

 

You who are, as volatile

And unnecessary as tonsils

Have taken now my voice

I sit in silence, seething

Wondering where the pain enters

Is it the vertical smile

Thrust into my back?

Is it that smile that doubts

Your sincerity?

I know that you will stay

Because tombstones remain

Wherever they are placed.

*

For those of you who have ventured into my archives you might recognize a line in this poem but aside from that line I have rewritten this poem completely. The topic isn’t even the same exactly but I did keep the 3 Wordle words contained in the original: incensed, skid, damp. Speaking of Wordles though this challenge expired years ago you are welcome to use my graphic and link up entries to my blog if you are feeling inspired.

 

When I was young and just starting with poetry I was very much influenced by Rimbaud’s style. When I gave up writing for several years and resumed it with this blog I didn’t really have my own voice. I had no idea who I was as a writer or even as a person. A lot of my early blog poems, seem very generic to me now (the original of this poem for example). Some poems I keep largely intact when editing. Sometimes I like the subject of a poem but feel the writing itself is too cliche, ornate or whatever. Sometimes I like certain lines but feel that the message wasn’t clear or that I didn’t venture deep enough. Some day I hope to create a very beautiful blog, right now I still cringe when I think of people reading my earlier stuff. It’s not all bad of course there are some poems that did turn out to have a lot of feeling in them but I think you can understand where I am coming from just the same 😛 This poem is fictional I really wanted to capture those words.

 

Wordle #19 “Perish”

Wordle18

Reciprocation is an art
And I haven’t the presence
To proselytize favor.
I have always assumed myself
Insignificant though it is love
That I crave above everything
Even my own life which
Is perishable in comparison

I wanted to live in you
An unbroken vitellus,
A dandelion crown,
A clinging placenta
Possessing the scars
That you, in isolation,
Should not bare them
We were imperfect,
As only lovers
Can be

For my heart alone I hoped
That you would remain
Of this sky, dulcet and chiffon
Those halcyon days
When your cobalt eyes
Aligned to the curvature
Of my smile and held
Accordingly

The asphalt stretches
Beneath your sullied shadow
Bereft of weeds
My fingertips recall
The length of your bones
A fence surrounding all
That was so precious within

Was it the sleuth in me
Or the traitor in you
That abolished our union?
I could forgive anything
If I stood next to you
We were perfect, if only

No Avail

 

6

Pier Toffoletti

1

Your tongue fits me like a muzzle

Navel to the stars I wait for your hands

To dismiss me as if I were sterile

And incapable of transmission

I don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone

And I wonder if I ever could again

I may well have given everything

And you’ve crushed each piece

Fed it into your heart as if a hearse

And buried it miles down

That I should never rise again

2

Your wooden smile, a silent sentry,

Admits so little and favors no one

I circle your head as a vulture

Tracking your dead sinister eyes

Thinking how much better

You’d look without them

How much kinder

For they stand between us now

A barbed-wire fence

I tuck my shredded soul

Into a diary that reeks

Violently of human flesh

Ashamed of the madness

That summons you

Again and again to no avail

 

 

Netherland

snow-globe-4-danielle-bedard

Danielle Bedard

My back is soft and boneless

Your shiv wrestles my flesh,

My furiously fluttering limbs

My mewling roseate lungs

Why won’t you do as I say?

Why can’t I do as I think?

Why do these stubby fingers

Betray so oft my confidence?

 

It was I who ate all the cookies!

It was I who cried the hardest

And I, who laughed the freest

I like xylophones and paper airplanes

Toy horses and rambling monologues

So long as I have composed them

I do not like to be cuddled

Or looked at too intently

I am self-contained like the miniatures

Harvested inside snow globes

I am a hermit, a soft freckled Buddha

Waiting for Mara’s veiled dance to cease

Waiting for my lotus-woven cape

To catch a harmonizing mistral

That I may return to the nether

*

This is another of my autobiographical poems this one is aged 3

 

If you’ve wondered why it’s taking me longer to get back to you it’s because I have been reorganizing and cleaning my apartment. Though my apartment is tiny we have enough for a house (we’d lived in a larger place before) and Sam has A LOT of hobbies so organizing is tantamount and also a major challenge since I have no idea what most of his stuff is. He has a lot of mysterious widgets lol I have 2 large drawers filled with seaweed?! I love seaweed but 2 drawers worth? Madness. It’s just madness. I have only the kitchen left provided Isadora doesn’t tear the rest of the apartment down in the meantime. I also went clothes shopping with Isadora today.