Another series of Steve’s I’m loving. His creativity appears to be infinite š
Before the new days, ancient currawongs
hammering bells awoke me.
The new birds want my moto perpetuo,
my clockwork drive to nonexistence,
to eternal giving up before beginning.
~/~
I was seated at a table in bibliographic
co-ordinates, aligning ping-pong balls
in rows, to start and finish with the first.
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This kills me.
I want to know you
in each of the seasons
Cool in the chaotic charisma
and way you have with worlds,
conversing in ruins,
tasting skin and naked poetry
swallowing you whole and deeply
The metronome of mourning
is our heartbeat, pitch and rhyme
and the missing
is our purgatory placement in time
through her mindās thesaurus
she searched for other words for her wrists, singed
her edges smouldering, smoke fringed
internal edges, that is.
Scrambling through the messages in his eyes
he finds the one he wants to send her,Ā hopefully
sheāll read it without doubt, earnestly
not doubting him, that is.
The other he, she should be doubting
he holds that glass, sunās rays re routing
to warm her, that is
what heās always told herā¦
Haha wow. Where has the year gone?
āI forgot how you take your coffee,
mouth
or enema?ā Ā
Hazel on ā30 Rockā
So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end š )
My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.
This is something Iāve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.
If youāve a favourite piece youād like read Iām always looking to expand my āAlchemists of wordā section. Donāt be shy or humble for Iām not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.
VIKTORIA AT Ā Ā MY BLEEDING WORDS
Ashes Ashes ā by Viktoria
The dimming cinders of my spirit
Lay glowing feebly in the night
The smoke escaped my every merit
The arsonist: lifeās pain andā¦
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Steve truly makes me laugh, and cry, and come to the edge of many things. Or something. I’m not sure. But it’s amazing.
Microscopic particles of time
rain upon our lives.
Paper promises grow brittle,
mapped forgiveness folds, unfolds,
frays and tears along the creases.
Our memories refract through prisms
until the brightest day is lost
in anesthetic runes.
~/~
I heard a motor revving in the carport,
and from my gate,
I watched my Kia Starfish drive away,
with the spindly legged carport
galloping behind.
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Amaya’s writing is so beautiful. I adore this.
I am
in bloom.
Full of blood,
bubbling, full of life.
Face aglow, I am awed
by the blood vessels
flowing into womb,
thickened veins and
umbilical pulse. I can
feel their swollen contours
as they inflect upwards beneath
the skin. Bulbous breasts plump with
sweet amber, ~~ dripping like blackstrap
molasses. ~~ Soon the ambrosia will pour
forth as the new baby feeds, feeding the
flowering plants, tuberose and jasmine,
clematis and columbine, blossoming
blackberry brambles; ~~ this milky
blancmange enriching the fertile
soil of spring. ~~ Efflorescence
all around; a flurry of blood
cell activity flourishing in
living to fullest potential.
Warm mountain spring
water placates all of the
pressure and submerged
I float like slumbering
baby in womb. Resting in
this nine-month umbra,
cloistered from worldās
abrasive ways, ~~~~ I am
imbued with an afflatus
shine; mother and baby,
together an emblem for
Holy Spiritās ripest fruit.
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Egads, this needs to be shared. Hilarious.
Today we are going to learn some useful, everyday phrases in German. Repeat after me auf Deutsch and then in English.
*
Hallo. Wie geht es dir?
Hello. How are you?
*
Mir geht es gut. Danke fĆ¼r die Nachfrage.
I am doing well. Thank you for asking.
*
Ist das nicht der Tag wunderbar deprimierend?
Isnāt the day wonderfully depressing?
*
Meine Seele ist schwer mit Bedauern.
My soul is heavy with regret.
*
Die Liebe ist verwirrend zu dem kleinen Kind aber klar, der Mann auf dem Totenbett.
Love is perplexing to the little child, but clear to the man on his deathbed.
*
FrĆ¼her haben wir in den Keller gehen und ziehen Trapeze in der Kohlenstaub.
We used to go down to the basement and draw trapezoids in the coal dust.
*
Der Supermarkt abgebrannt. Wir verhungern.
The supermarket burned down. We starve.
*
Bis morgen. Aufā¦
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So after FFP and I figured out how to share this, because I am a bit share illiterate, and we are staring at our screens wondering where the ‘reblog’ button went…I am giving this a go…
If you are so inclined, click on this. I thought it was a gorgeous piece. And by piece, I mean the poem, as lovely as the artwork is.
LOVE it FFP!(Also, I love that it’s not on Valentine’s Day).
Enigmas like this Donāt come āround every bend: How best he be told, (In language aptly bold) Of the love, The constant LOVE I have for the storm of him? My impassions brimmed, I aim at words to tell it all, Make other love-claimers ashamed, Inadequateā Though even my claim is not Commensurate To theĀ [ā¦]
such a brilliant, thought provoking, and beautiful piece of writing!
Iām the man in the iron cage, the pilgrim with an unrepentant, unyielding heart, the prophet who has regressed into a poet with anguish breaking through bone, and then skin, the tendrils tying my tongue, muting my real howl and creating a soft shriek which they consider beautiful. Iām the Kierkegaardian stereotype, a freak tortured and tormented by his panoramic paranoia, a twisted, fucked up birds eye view of skulls and enemies, of corpses punching keys and hate, and I canāt see a horizon. Iām the label of everyoneās disgust, an animal in an asylum which sensibly speaks, but in alliterationāthe zookeeperās delight. āLook now, hereās Mr. Bipolar. Hysterically jump or flat line, itās your prerogative, but make sure you entertain, because theyāve paid with their time and energy. Be Quick!ā But the more I rattle, the more they rile. The more I lie, the more they cry, until Iā¦
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š
I remember everything, a curse in
center of night,
when cat stares through me, and
clock tick-tocks
witching hour is nigh
I wait cos I remember every scene
unseen with eyes mine, a curse in
center of night
I miss you most
(image: Pinterest)
If you’re not reading this series Steve’s started, well, you should. Imho, of course. He’s brilliant. And hilarious. ā¤
A detective, his client, the mystery of what lies beyond the quotidian sea, and a marginally relevant precedent.
The sunlight hurts my eyes,
Iām unaccustomed to the lack of walls,
and I miss the certainties
my office prison offered me.
My client gives me glasses, dark,
and thoughtfully plasters zinc cream
on my nose,
but the world is not as I expected.
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One of my favourite parts of this time of year! Thanks for this Raili!
Itās that time of the year when many of the streets in Adelaide are coloured purple.
As the flowers fall the streets below are carpeted in purple. Simply stunning, the flowering jacaranda is known by students to be the harbinger for end of year exams.
Jacaranda mimosifolia, if grown from seed, can take anywhere from seven to fourteen years before it flowers. For a jacaranda tree to be considered āmatureā it is probably twenty years old. They can live up to 75 years and grow as tall as 50 feet.
Interestingly, the jacaranda is not native to Australia. They found their way here from Brazil. However, our climate seems to suit them very well as they thrive here.
Ā©Ā Raili Tanska
And for something a little different…if you’re interested in some dry commentary along a particular bus route in London, (of course you are), as well as not bus route related material, check this out. (Er this post is not bus related, but this series of events will truly grip you. š)
I thought I would share an interesting email recently received. I really think that my luck may have eventually changed.
Sir/Madam,
Goodday for today,bearing in mind the nature of the content of this letter coming from a person without any referral, I apologize for any inconvenience, but please read and objectively consider if we can work this together.
I am Razali Nizam, an attorney at law. A deceased client of mine who died as a result of high blood pressure (H.B.P) on the 30th November 2006, because he lost his wife and the only daughter in the 2004 tsunamis natural disaster while on Ā holiday in Aceh, Indonesia.
I have contacted you to assist in distributing the money left behind by my client before it is confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank when this deposit valued at $15.5million dollars is lodged. This bank has issued me a notice to contactā¦
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If your soul’s a little tired with the world burning, this was such a lovely thing to read!
Let me bring you love from a meadowās velvet floor; where the grass ripples from a summerās breath and the bright flowers of purple and gold dance on its gentle wave. Their perfume glides through your childhood memories and heals your wounds.
Let me bring you love from a winterās night; where the pale moon hangs suspended in a frosted glass sky and the twitching skeletons of lifeless Maples cast bewitching images onto the frozen white canvas.
Let me bring you love from a low fire at midnight; with you safely tucked beneath my blanket and the soft light of the last dying embers dancing smoothly in your eyes, removing all resistance.
Let me bring you love from my last heartbeatā¦my last breathā¦my last kiss.
Let me bring you love until my last heartbeatā¦my last breathā¦my last kiss.
I just can’t not share this. Adore.
The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)
Breathe deep, dear love;
Be still with me
Listen to my heartstrings
A song meant just for you (KMA)
Each tear
An eloquent elegy
To tortured truths (AP)
Each note played
On a hand carved lute
Strung with strips
Of my soul (JWL)
Your breathless aura
Beats in time
Undulating ululation
With my exhaled psyche (AP)
Intertwined, tangled,
Unified: whole
Healed. (JWL)
Yet with hearts torn open
Bleeding out the notes of our song
You turned from me (ME)
I am fire
Drowning
In desire
Weep
I beg
Save me (1W-W)
Fetch me an instrument,
For the untrained ear
Is soothed by that
Which it cannot comprehend. (LEL)
Not everything is black and white.
For even the eclipsed moon
Is not without a little light. (SD)
Whispers through the distance
I remember
As you reach for myā¦
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What a poetry master is Max ā¤
she stepped from the amaranth sky
of eclipsed moon
roseate wreath
wrapped in petaline plight
wandering winds
of familiar requiem
wafting bouquets
bearing dreams deliquescent
long has her linger
allayed my heartās anguish
surrendered to waves
of an unwitting ardor
peridot drips
into amethyst druse
in these subtle striations
of our intertwining
without her i fold
into prisms of chaos
within her
transpires the depths
of my soul
[image credit: Frantisek Kobliha]
I love Gina’s writing. This so moved me.
I had shared all my favourite songs with him
He trashed them as he walked out the door
You picked up the broken vinyl titles and made me a mix CD
Then sat on my room floor and listened with me
did you see me among those shards?
did you cut yourself on me?
I looked at your bruised fingers
kissed each one and thanked you
you said those broken pieces of me
were now part of you too
Yasmin never ceases to amaze and inspire!
I lose myself ...among wildflowers.. I mind-cut through the rust of mundane thoughts... resuscitating words and laying them out in the radiance of the sun. the sun seeps gold through my hair....awakening slumberous reflections.. words shape themselves...cutting through the miasma.. my gut goes candid..I retreat into where I bleed alone.. holding on tightly to the unwavering companionship of my fervor.. an organic wind carries syllables to me.. I play my pen a quill haloed by mentors of destiny..destiny slams its door..like a zealot with the devil in his eyes. words course through the virgin of my sternere.. I have come home... #haibun
I have been trying to catch up on some reading and came across a blog post by Raili Tanska atĀ soul gifts.Ā It’s an absolutely fascinating read about Ancient Music.
I have been going to alternative health practitioners for years, and am a fan of colour and music therapy, well, all therapies, quite frankly, based on the fact that everything has its own frequency. I find it fascinating, being a practising Christian, that the story of creation emphasises sound as the means by which God created. And now in our times of electromagnetic pollution and overload, how powerful these therapies can be.
Last year when I visited my naturopath, he played some music based on the musical principles explained in this article. The person who produced the music had come to the conclusion in his research that the Biblical story of young David, playing music for King Saul to relieve his suffering when tormented by an evil spirit, was most likely based on this as well. Regardless of what you believe, I think it is very interesting the wisdom and learning that has been lost over the centuries. (I even read something years ago that the ancient Egyptians practised the art of levitation using sound waves. Wish it would improve my memory. I have no idea now where I read that.)
