doesn't have a nameShe takes more than she can stand
in a town full of broken plans.
All that's lost is all she had
and her tears crash onto the sand.
She's burned out.
She stayed with an empty man,
Who took everything she had
and watched it burn.
He burned out. He burned her out.
I used to perform surgery
on girls in the infirmary.
I wonder how it would be
if someone could fix me too.
It's not like the real thing
because there is no such thing.
Just something you read about.
But no one reads anymore.
I don't believe in love.
So I can't get enough.
And I get burned out just trying.
But I see her with more than she can stand
from her empty man with empty plans.
And I wonder how it would feel to take her hand
and try to make her happy.
But I doI want to lie and say she's crazyBut I do4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a way I do not understand.
But I do.
Pregnant with hope that lies
Studying arts that crush her
Married to normal that dies
Doing the hormone shuffle
I want to lie and say she's happy
in a way I will never understand.
But I do.
PathsI rarely followed the tame path.Paths7 years ago in Open More Like This
I saw it. At times I envied it.
I stepped on it occasionally.
It always burned my feet.
Then I wanted something so big
I believed a sacrifice was needed.
I traded my dancing slippers
For lead lined asbestos boots
My entire body rebelled.
I twisted and spasmed.
Out of the corner of my eye
I could see the other paths.
I could see herb flowers
Along my crooked paths.
How I missed the warm air
Stream of being my Self.
My entire mind rebelled.
I dreamt while awake
I dreamt while asleep.
My life was a nightmare.
I looked for the Child.
I hid from the Mother
I found the Crone and
She told me what was true.
My Child needed a wild Mother.
I collected up my dancing shoes
And jumped back on My path.
And my Crone was born.
Feisean: Aed agus SolusFèisean: Áed agus SolusFeisean: Aed agus Solus5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In Summer warmth of solstice sun
when red mare Áine freely runs
and shadows play on forest floor
thence healing harvest has begun
Calendula and Maidenhair
by light of Wisp, cut and prepared
into a curing draft prized dear
beneath still trees and calming air
At season's end, the gift of seed
brings harvest feast, and kin to feed
the first fruits, sweet, and ripening
make goblets filled with berried mead
Then lovelings handfast for the year
though evening tempests carry fear
Lúnasa's bounty overflows
and storms diminish not the cheer
With second reaping's wine and wheat,
a maiden cuts the final sheaf,
and acorns from the ancient oaks
spill with the leaves at Autumn's feet
The dying god, his gift of blood,
pours to the land in crimson flood
that winter's night be not an end
and cost for life be understood
Though light gives way to Samhain's shroud,
and thinning veil shows spirits roused,
in every hearth burns common flame
that Otherworld be disa