Wordle #361

361
I am bound to certain spaces
to the cracks, to the red tinged
and unadorned pages that cry out
when I am otherwise nameless.
I am in love with the notion of rebellion,
with the bitter taste of disappointment.
Can words undue eons of conditioning?

The darkness is strapping
like a valiant, young lover.
I take him into me as if I were
a cup waiting to be filled.
He is all calligraphy
and forbidden knowledge.
He taps into me
with his great piercing root
and suddenly nothing is certain.

for
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Wordle #47 “Swan Song”

Wordle 47 Feb. 9

 

Voice 1: How long do you intend to leave your baggage sealed and unattended?

Conscious: If my existence is indeed the oubilette of a seldom-petitioned deity perhaps I will remain here, at this terminal, until my very bones pollinate the earth on which I stand.

Voice 2: There is an elegance in scripture but that does not excuse its improvisations.

Conscious: What excuse can I employ then? Every crutch I have ever leaned on has proven unsteady. I am to blame and yet I do not know how to assume responsibility, only guilt.

Voice 1: Blood or syrup? Which is sweeter? Man is indebted to failure. How else can one measure success?

Conscious: There are dents in my heart and evacuations in my shawl. I am imperfect and yet even still I deny the excitement of those seams and ripples. Better that I should paddle myself than accept the monstrosity that is love and sexuality. Isolation is unnatural and yet it is my prerogative to bare.

Voice 2: There are canals for which the destination cannot be known until arrival, an aorta is such a passage. The heart cannot rationalize its impulses. The mind is clouded by preference. The Devil is always articulate but would you stake your soul on his counsel?

*

I went in a very unusual direction. There are so many voices inside my head (inside any head I imagine), often competing and contradictory points of view. The older I get the more time I spend exploring the grey zones of morality, of existence, the more time I spend searching, desperate for clarity, for an answer, for a solution, for a cause only to find that all we have our choices and those choices can lead us in directions we can’t even begin to fathom!

Cosmogonic Waltz

Flying

Diana El-Hadid

The trees are cavernous here

With veins as sparing as fortune

A dearth of affinity

Misconstrues potential

And I am not exactly holding out

For what might have been

Given that what is

Has perpetual motion

 

I drink wine from the chink

In your armor as the blood

Of an enemy I wish to translate

And we are enemies of a sort

The kind in whom tension

Forms adhesions of incomparable mirth

I think I’ll marry you

Living on the momentum

Of your antagonistic wiles

The same way stars ricochet

When cast into open water

 

I’ve discovered the source of your births

Which occur intermittently

Every few months with great fanfare

And little profit

Somewhere the universe smiles

Having recognized the tides

In some distant galaxy

As your laughter spilling over

Your contributions may not effect

This planet especially but the vibration

Of your heart is the only

Music I can sleep too

Photo Challenge #24 “Sleeping with Skulls”

Sleeping with Skulls 24

Lauren Treece

Within me you falter, a silent vertex

In a room no longer fit for domestication

And I wait savage in my absention

Wondering if sleep will clarify

Any of my misgivings about life

*

I ran out of time completely. Today was busy and did not go at all to plan! Very hectic/stressful. Tomorrow at 6 pm Sam and I go to sign the contract for the house!!! I am in shock really there is not other word for it.

Doubt

Hermin Abramovitch - Tutt'Art@

Hermin+Abramovitch

Whatever the gradient

Of my surplus I never

Manage to assuage my doubts

Even a breath is malignant

If clutched too long.

I carry several threads

Each a familiar of sorts

A miracle baited

But never cast for worry

That a violent entry

Might dislodge a link

Essential to my captivity.

 

I expect that the masks

Most worn are as real

As the faces beneath them

Fear being the confessor of all.

I hold up sheets of transparencies

To the heavens and view

The blue as a barrier to reason

What do I want?

And why can’t I ask for it?

 

Why do wishes seem to me

Guns without safety?

Cocked like a sneeze

I cover my mouth

Again and again afraid

Of the words that might

Confront invitation

 

Aim determines everything

And yet so little adheres

To our monochrome forecasts

Love never does and life

Is happier for astonishment.

*

I have been feeling emotionally blocked and tentative to write

 

Echo

Peter MurphyThomas Bak

Your smile remains pinned behind

My sternum like a shamanic headdress

Even in desertion I cannot exclude

The possibility of your presence

Infesting a surrogate flame

Venus vs. Mars

Room_II_by_the_surreal_artsArt By: the-surreal-arts

Her pitiless eyes

Hang from the ceiling

Like exposed light bulbs

Pendulous and accusatory

I plead simplicity

Scarifying palatable alibis

With my inconsonant grin

*

She poses in silence

Features tarnished and angular

I wrap my knuckles

Metaphorically against her chest

The wind howls contemptuously

From betwixt iron-plated ribs

*

Her ellipse is vulturine

Folded arms poetizing assault

If only her fists fell instead

Then I could wrap my arms

Around her tremulous form

And restore this wicked flame

To its rightful red

*

Some days I have trouble finding my muse and today was one of those days!

Adolescence

Surreal_Art5

The angle of a hip

Never meant to bare

Bends to the pressure

Of a coarse proposal

*

Youth is fire

And accusation

Indignant tongues

That evade apology

Innominate egos that

Borrow diversion

At the expense

Of their freedom

*

I claim insomnia and stress. My brain has taken a detour and we’ve not met up in a while now. Ugh I am so unhappy with this one

Egoism Snippets

original-sin-carmela-brennan

1

Who exists

That does not euphemize

With metaphor?

Who exists

That speaks of their faults

With neither pride

Nor placebo?

2

I have lied

To spare myself

I do not

Know how to face

Your pain

Without my ego

Assuming

A comparative

Misfortune

I do not

Know how to court

Your brilliance

Without

Turning on

Artificial lights

That I might not

In proximity

Darken

3

I was not born a poet

I neither command

Nor navigate the stars

Sometimes

Paranoia drives me

Underground

Into cellars

Pungent with decay

That I might

Entertain my vices

Unobstructed

4

Emancipated

By confession

I compose

These words

In the residue

Of an instinctive

Retreat

Shamelessly

Esoteric

I speak

Only that

I might be

Relieved

*

I was just contemplating certain aspects of human nature, I used the pronoun “I” broadly though I am guilty of being egocentric at times as well

Synaptic Fugue

dead_bird_adp

The darkness is always right-handed, my pupil drinking

In a quixotic iris. Admonishing the light I see in shadow

Puppets, in murders, in fiendish feathers spinning, to an

Entropic earth. I walk amongst the clouds, winged ankles

Scorning the root. I am deviant, asymmetrical, a telephone cable

Unsheathed and dancing in rain. Abused by a demonic parasite if

Superstition holds. My mind growls, reality menaces a sea of

Confusion, of broken hands and fang-baring smiles. I am not

Myself, if I ever I was, I am not myself, it takes too much to

Love me, too much patience, too much repetition. The world

Will teach me uncertainty, how to drown, how to fall, but not

How to land. I will never know what is mine, this reptilian soul

Keeps shedding my hopes and dreams, this reptilian soul that

Never grows old, never wiser, and I am always new, always

Maladjusted. My language excised from the veins, from the

Bones, from the leaks, from the residue wept in hollows deep

=

The clouds drift by me

Winged ankles scorning the root

Courting anarchy

=

My language excised

From laconic residue

Wept in hollows deep

=

This is isn’t quite a Haibun but it is something lol I am in my seizure cycle again, which means the seizure frequency is way up and I am not recovering between them sufficiently to be even remotely functional. I am beyond exhausted and in a dense mental fog. After a seizure my right pupil tends to enlarge without the left so I look kind of like a psychotic cartoon. I want to apologize if I am slow or if I am not making sense when I post and/or comment or if I like without comment. If I don’t seem like myself well it is because I am not right in the head lol. I am extremely forgetful now so I may forget names or even my favorite blog’s addresses the blog roll helps me but I haven’t added everyone so please send me links if there is something you want me to read. Anyways, I want to share a weird story, a very old woman came up to me yesterday and gave me a white zucchini, she explained to me carefully that is wasn’t a cucumber and that is was delicious. She didn’t want money and since she gave me the zucchini my husband has found about $95 in random places! I wasn’t hallucinating because I have the zucchini (which others can see) and Isadora remembers the woman lol So yeah a stranger came up to me in the street and gave me a zucchini (not from a produce stand mind you, not at the grocery just randomly)