imperfect architecturedelicate templeimperfect architecture in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
your heart is a chandelier
your brain's a traitor
golden ingredientsminneapolis hadgolden ingredients in Free Verse More Like This
eyes so blue
I couldn't sleep
wanted to wander
lose myself in her
but memory's unmade
dreams depart with
I ate up pavement
like a twin city
and though I left
before you loved me
I couldn't ask
for a better way
to fill my hours
a brief visit extendedcalifornia returnsa brief visit extended in Free Verse More Like This
portraits of love
etched in endless steps
and slanted streets
stretching sunburnt limbs
its languid strides
like solemn hymns
in the grass
'round grace cathedral
it finds hope
but still potent
its thrift shop moments
of battered truths
than those intended
it makes belief
not makes believe
that nothing's ended
I don't have any rules so....from here on outI don't have any rules so.... in Free Verse More Like This
all poems are made
from there on in
I only write
who can't read
who like boys
who don't like boys
(and are okay with that)
each perfect little princess
parading foreign continents
with words that drip like honey
those with time to kill
(they always make the best of me)
the ever faithful stranger
and the skeletons in my throat
completely engageda dream, eyes open;completely engaged in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
everything again is new.
an echoed, "I do."
Candiesa trash-strewn strutCandies in Free Verse More Like This
slummed slow bus ride
is a nasty mind
your candy coated eyes
last night cried
sugar water clouds
to crown the ground
to turn young minds
your gift's an open
darksome mouth devouring
a whole other animalyou can steal a kissa whole other animal in Free Verse More Like This
from painted lion's
but commitment is
head of the classlife leaves you lessened, not learned.head of the class in Free Verse More Like This
all my time is spare timeI was sitting on a bench,all my time is spare time in Free Verse More Like This
avoiding the company of my own home, &
imagining the conversation we would have
when you sat down next to me.
Sure, I didn't know you would be you,
or any of the words we would actually speak,
but what I needed was someone to pay attention
& you fit the bill.
Or, at least, I think you did.
It's hard to gauge attention
when I can't meet anyone's eyes
than a few seconds at a time.
It's hard to really connect
when our very atoms are repelling
All I know is, you sat down and that's what matters.
At least, I'm pretty sure you sat down;
almost positive that I wasn't talking to myself.
About how I drive everyone away.
About how I hide because I hurt.
About how my tongue is faster than my brain.
About how my head is stronger than my heart.
About how I spend more time thinking
about the company of others
than actually enjoying it.
The important part is I got up and wrote this down:
You will never be lonely again.
what's yours is minesI imagine youwhat's yours is mines in Free Verse More Like This
unaware of the
in my gut
the piece of me
and another thing
what you're thinkin' 'bout
what you're thinkin' 'bout
and I guess
'cuz I'm all
filled up with
it takes the place
pressed up against
it fakes the shape
PaperchainsI recognise the core,Paperchains in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Floating beneath the everchanging surface,
The different dream dialects shifting into
Pseudo-nostalgic alphabet soups,
Spelling out anagrams that are moved by
Ouija magic plucked from light ether:
Oh these messages from ice-blue ghosts.
It's always there,
At the back of your mind,
The map of destiny,
We know how it will end up
But we pat it down,
Pat it down,
Pat the motherfucking daisies down,
Push them back into their seeds!
We let those wonderland dreams
Flitter on the backs of hummingbird wings,
Let the mysteries stay for a while
Until we can use more than 10% of our brains,
Until Darwin has resurrected,
Until religion kills our bodies and souls,
Until all the flowers are demoted from their duty
As gramophones or conduit-televisions for God's
Never againIt was the last day on Earth/ and I spent all that I was worth/ on analgesics and fireworks/ so I could conjure/ a vision of your face; via the consensus of embers and neon against the deep, blackbones of space -Never again in Free Verse More Like This
The only thing that can be taught/ here, on the last day of Earth/ is that Valentine teaches tautology/ and that all I am is but minus a million/ inside a shade of vermillion and always a hundred hearts too short.
You are the end of me, on this last day on Earth -
Don't fall in loveI'm sunkDon't fall in love in Free Verse More Like This
With poison darts;
The mercurial blood-sap.
ChessThe paramnesia isChess in Free Verse More Like This
Making a Victorian merry-go-round
Out of my head
So many jewel adorned horses,
Solid gold for their tongues,
Their ghosts hang in rich mirrors
Splayed on red velvet walls:
What is real?
An enchanting escape,
As slight as a cloud
And altering me slightly
Just as the night does
Lately it drains
The canaries in my body
And shakes the starry diamonds
Out of my tress:
I know it's my
Infatuation with lethian waters
That's mixing up my brain
Turn to pebble,
As I skip a mixed
I wish I could:Take you off like aI wish I could: in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Jacket: turn you inside out
And throw you away.
Clandestine mind cryptDreams come back in fractions,Clandestine mind crypt in Free Verse More Like This
They flitter on the backs
Of messenger doves,
Like pieces of sun
Hitting portions of wave.
A parallel sting
That travels close to the thanatology,
That runs through my breast,
Come dream or life -
It sends psychic impulses
Like kisses on an envelope
Sent off to a dead lover,
Like electrical devices
Plunged into a full
What mad fish
Dare to swim there
Alongside the impression
Of long expired stars
That blink on
The flat cauldronesque
My twin's face
In the temporary grave of ocean,
Like a disintegrating mermaid,
A terrible narcissist
As baby flowers
That never really
Reaching but never
Grasping the surface.
Is the tub
Really just a
ParagonBeneath ether-lofts;Paragon in Free Verse More Like This
Like a galaxy
Could you imagine
Womb to womb,
All spiral staircases
That dissolve into
In the bricabrac
Hung up on
In the middle of
Weak strainsI fall victim to those thingsWeak strains in Free Verse More Like This
That don't quite make sense:
The sky is assigned blue
And your irises the colour of tea,
Wholesome and warm,
With a glint of danger
That correspondes with your
They manage to
Slice me open
Stuffing some metaphysical aspect of me
With the weight of
Of wild flowers.
Evil thingsSo beautifulEvil things in Free Verse More Like This
Petals forced away from themselves,
I managed to look at the right moment
When those pink tear drops circled
Around in the wind.
The sky is a warm grey,
This storm is lovely.
Down comes the rain,
The smell of wet asphalt reaches me,
The smell of trees
Glistening with rain,
The sound of water and wind and
The dry soil
The people are running to their homes,
Annoyed and disgusted,
But I am watching
From the comfort of my bedroom window,
Cosy and dry,
Wearing an evil smile.
Back to black bonesCome on,Back to black bones in Free Verse More Like This
Let's dredge out the tar from my lungs,
Drop my pink and perfect babies into shark jaws
I wish I could learn better,
Even the hard way is not nearly hard enough,
I just had to buy a business in
Laundering old ghosts.
"Look how white they come out,
As white as summer cloud!"
I wish father taught me how to solve
syth and mymbolthe grand archetypes of myth;syth and mymbol in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the lexicon of symbols
builds a bridge across the rift
'tween the real and the dissembled.
the lexicon of symbols,
the rosetta stone of souls;
'tween the real and the dissembled
shows the separateness as whole.
the rosetta stone of souls
builds a bridge across the rift;
shows the separateness as whole,
the grand archetypes of myth.
herfstsesteenwegin cold wet streetsherfstsesteenweg in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
pasted with leaves,
the sun retreats;
sidewalk paved in gold
pasted with leaves
from borean gales,
the night prevails.
cold night coming
curl around their feet
from borean gales
the sun retreats;
the night prevails
in cold, wet streets.
meditation on 6meditation on 6 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
'the valley's spirit never gives out.
this is called "the fathomless female'.
the gate of the fathomless female:
this is called "the source of the cosmos".
silken! it's as if it exists.
in using it, relax.'
the tao te ching movement 6
my connection to creation, my conduit to All That Is;
the point from where my path begins, the source to which i shall return.
She is my foundation, my shelter, the breath within my lungs.
incarcerated in aquarium cellsI smoked seaweedincarcerated in aquarium cells in Free Verse More Like This
I rode waves on the
backs of seahorses;
I made enemies
I danced discos
but Ive yet to
explore all the
fathoms of the
deep blue ditch
known as SKY.
Ive swam through this castle
so many times, the starfish
assume Im their tour guide
Im an expert on kelp growth,
Im an expert on fish-flying
when really Im just stranded
in this marine museum with
fatal mermaid shanties,
and fin-eating piranhas.
Im drowning, drowning
in this underwater Hell;
overfed and underloved:
Curiosity. Choking. Gills.
The mysteries outside this tank,
land and oxygen and freedom,
all the myths of terra incognita
for the submarine wanderlust
they allure me like siren choirs,
tempting imprisoned mavericks
to shatter this glass penitentiary
and capsize dictator pet owners.
you rigged the obstacle courseour souls run marathons,you rigged the obstacle course in Free Verse More Like This
jumping over hurdles,
climbing rock walls,
swinging across lava
with a broken rope,
but the only sports in
your untitled triathlon
are the only ones
i've never played:
ROUND I) hide-and-seek
in other words,
Outcome: you win, naturally.
ROUND II) pin-the-heart-on-someone-else
Winner? You, of course.
Like you really need another
medal for your Wall-of-Betrayal
ROUND III) find the truth in the lie-stack (this one's a personal favorite)
Guess who takes gold?
(and silver and bronze)
Well, here's three hints:
1. WHY do i keep losing?
2. OH, don't blame me...
wait, that last one was a dead giveaway
(as if you gave me anything but trouble)
silly me for trying to answer
a question with an answer;
but i'm all wornout by now:
out of your league;
out of stamina,
out of energy,
out of patience,
since i'm out of breath,
can you lend me yours?
i know i am no athlete,
but how fun can it be
tearing pages from the rulebook
or carving paper
the alarm clock paradox -colabyou stripped your sweater tothe alarm clock paradox -colab in Free Verse More Like This
show me your freckles,
and oh how i'd love to peel them off,
because you're no swan, lovely--
not with those small brown accidents
kissing your every inch of
when they should be
kissing every inch of mine.
formed a coalition
to sign a petition
to ban you from
the sky, but i
what else could i wish on?
when you're alone, you'll always
lust for the bedroom door
to lock you in forevermore,
to lock me out forevermore;
that way you're safe to be the
sweet nothing that you see--
the ghostling in the mirror.
you're still just one
of those dirty little things,
and it scares you to tears.
i promised not to be a
liar, when you
promised to make me love you
(remember how i said
i could never love you?
well, i was lying)
you should know, darling,
a liar always lies.
you should know, darling,
this is not a lie.
and you should know, darling,
there's no difference between
dishonesty and disinterest.
so just forget to remember me
this is why dodos are extinct:i want to fly.this is why dodos are extinct: in Free Verse More Like This
everyone says dreams will always come true,
as long as you don't give up. as long as you
reach for the sky. as long as you keep doing
whatever it is you want to do, you'll succeed.
practice makes perfect,
but perfection makes a
fuckload of people hate
(love/want to fuck) you.
still, i want to fly.
and if there's a will,
there must be a way.
maybe i'll follow these hawks;
maybe that's the right way . . .
i will learn to fly,
even if it means hunters
will mistake me for a bird
and shoot at my wings,
shoot me down to Reality.
i will learn to fly,
even if it means migrating in the winter
to a place so cold nobody could live in--
a place so cold my heart would freeze--
in that case, i'll have to be a penguin.
i will learn to fly,
even if it means abandoning a full nest
of eggs, a pretty hen, or a loving igloo.
even if it means getting confused for a
falcon and scaring away the sparrows.
(but i don't mind; i don't like sparrows.
sparrows taste like hope a
forgetting how to swim -collabthis is collision.forgetting how to swim -collab in Free Verse More Like This
this is why crashing like the
titanic is bad.
this is sinking fast;
having sex with an iceberg,
and getting seasick.
this is getting caught
without lifeboats in the heart
of a hurricane.
this is freezing to
death, a mouth full of water,
crashed against the tide.
this is drowning the
shoreline in your empty hands
this is a shipwreck,
murdered by the atlantic,
this is seawater
curling in your lungs and your
newly stinging eyes.
this is poseidon
turning mermaids into sharks,
washing you away.
this is like finding
atlantis at the bottom
of your empty ribs.
this is riding the
loch ness monster, realising
she's only a myth.
this is reaching the
ocean floor and swallowing
the sand and coral.
this is feeling worse
than the coral, letting a
piranha eat you.
this is the seaweed
turning into a noose to
choke out all your air.
this is an anchor
trapping you--man overboard.
crushed to the seabed.
this is love.
What to do when the Queen DiesRun. Panic. Scream. Anything.What to do when the Queen Dies in Free Verse More Like This
this isn't about you, per se,
but nothing is anymore.
Crush a colony. Swat a hive.
Drink two gallons of nectar.
Or seven and a half litres,
for you English wood ants.
long live the corpse
of a plastic pismire,
a tyrant bumblebee.
this is why you should've studied entomology
Regicide. Matricide. Pesticide.
All hail the jealous Princess.
Treachery. Bugspray. Poison.
Envy. Shortcut to the throne.
Nobody expects the innocent ones.
i never expected you
Step on an anthill. Smash a honeycomb. Ruin a home.
Make love to the widower king. Tell him you love him.
Call his daughter a slut. Kill his daughter. That whore.
Make love to his brother. Kill his brother.
Pronouns and Punctuation Marksremember when you lectured me on semantics,Pronouns and Punctuation Marks in Free Verse More Like This
and I slept because your voice sounds like farmer-abused-sheep ?
you're a sleep walking simile, only without the "i",
a well-thought out, maybe even clever metaphor;
you're a cliche analogy--compared and contrasted
to the sun or the stars or the moon orotherbullshit
you're your own brandfuckingnew literary device,
an unknown term for me to analyze, to scrutinize,
like I haven't studied your rhetoric enough anyway,
examined your body language like a failing student
you're the grammar error; I'm the proofreader
you must not realize 'charm' is spelled with 'c',
or 'friend' is spelled with 'r',
and 'lust' is spelled with 'us'
your syntax is littered with hyphens
separating clauses like me and you,
putting pronouns in parentheses in
brackets eight-hundred miles apart;
your typewriter lessons don't teach
my heart how to click backspace on
the backslashes or to crl+alt+delete
the malicious virus in my heart-drive
these scattered ellipses and no
the little boy who cried deathi can't controlthe little boy who cried death in Free Verse More Like This
where i live,
who i sit by,
what i like,
who i love
you can't control
the countries your father trades you to,
how far away the moon is,
what your body looks like,
who you love
oh, you know this already.
let's blame it on biology
it's the fault of genetics,
let's blame our alleles
for playing favourites.
Let's cut to the chase:
your body on his bed.
Let's cut to the chase:
it all ends with a sigh.
Let's cut to the chase:
you're beautiful, girl,
we both know this,
we both know how
science plays favourites.
but you're mine
forgetting to shower a compassi've got bad thoughts,forgetting to shower a compass in Free Verse More Like This
bad, bad thoughts
oh, but you keep
dirtying my soap,
so guess who i'll
keep blaming for
i have what you want;
you want what i have.
we would be together
if these majorly minor
(&u) would cooperate
but alas, i can't control the space( bar ) time(signature)
continuum of this fuucked-uup excuse for a math problem
(i'm musically-challenged, after all;
yet you're too far for it to matter.)
i should be, too,
but we can't all
get what i want
i'll be your shepherd,
if you'll be my scapegoat
Wisdom XXXWhy is mankind more afraid of freedom than slavery?Wisdom XXX in Philosophical More Like This
We sure do love cages.
Wisdom XXVIIWe wear the mask so much we forget who we truly are.Wisdom XXVII in Philosophical More Like This
We become afraid of ourselves.
Wisdom XXVBetween Birth and Death,Wisdom XXV in Philosophical More Like This
This experience called Living (or should I say Dying),
It is the Pulse of Awakening.
Wisdom XXXIVThe True Self is only revealed when there is no Self.Wisdom XXXIV in Philosophical More Like This
Wisdom XXXIFreedom.. Justice.. Progress.. are just words.Wisdom XXXI in Philosophical More Like This
Wisdom XXXIIIIn Creativity, You are the Master. Other than that, you are probably slave.Wisdom XXXIII in Philosophical More Like This
Wisdom XXXIIOnly in Creativity, there is Freedom. And Vice Versa.Wisdom XXXII in Philosophical More Like This
ScriuScriu poezii pe foi albe ce se vor îngălbeni,Scriu in Free Verse More Like This
pe care vor curge lacrimi și cafea,
și cerneala se va întinde și se va șterge,
și unde au fost cuvinte ce au însemnat ceva
vor rămâne doar pete
și urme de mâini
dar eu tot scriu
și habar n-am de ce
EmptinessI stopped cleaning my roomEmptiness in Free Verse More Like This
dust lays everywhere
but I'm confident the void inside me
will suck it all in
and leave my room
"Mechanics""Mechanics" in Free Verse More Like This
Clouds think that their movement in the sky is a result of their will to move.
We are all oblivious to invisible winds.
"The Fall""The Fall" in Free Verse More Like This
We are falling from the top of a thousand storey building.
The girl to my left dreams of flying.
The guy in front can only feel the wind in his face.
I mostly contemplate the concrete below.
We get distracted by the occasional passage of birds.
On the horizon clouds gather in marvelous shapes. I smile and tell them about it. They look and smile back at me.
Abruptly the horizon disappears.
The concrete is soft and welcomes us.
And nature celebrates our Fall.
"Carne"întunericul se lasă"Carne" in Free Verse More Like This
și o ființă agilă
cu luciri pe pielea albă
și canini de lapte - sânii,
avansând ca o felină
se propagă-n încăpere
ca un val ce se va sparge
împroșcând în jur cu spumă
de faleza ce de veacuri
o așteaptă doar pe ea...
două turnuri mari, lucioase,
zgârie a mele coaste,
mâna îmi coboară-n cercuri
iară carnea se desface
ca o floare neștiută
și cuprinsă de o foame
mă înghite, mă sufocă,
umezită de sudoare
vrea să fie frământată
și călcată in picioare
Terminal frostI am contemplating stillness. A desolate and flat land breathing an unnatural silence.Terminal frost in Short Stories More Like This
The ploughed dirt has taken monstrous shapes as if the hand of a tormented sculptor wanted to impress his agony on this land.
The traces of my footsteps are long gone, probably blown away by the blizzard. And the snow... the snow is a dirty white. It doesn't even have that feel, the one I remember from childhood. It crumbles in my hands, like sand. The sky is also grey and if it weren't for distant trees you would not be able to place the horizon in the picture.
Everything is frozen. The trees have frozen, birds on branches frozen too, looking quiet and at peace.
I have to move now. I remember I was going somewhere... North... I think. I'm in no hurry, but I've seen all I can from this point. My hands are a bit cold, but it's bearable. Chest feels warm enough and the walk will get my heart pumping again.
It's going to be a hard winter. Hard for the land... hard for the trees... h
Locus SolusI sometimes recall a particular morning from childhood. I was in my grandparents' home - a big house, with large empty walls and high ceiling. It was a lazy winter morning. The sun was coming shyly through the shades. A heavy silence all around. I did not dare to move in my bed, afraid that I'd somehow ruin that order of the world. In all that stillness I suddenly noticed a small spider crawling on a wall. I thought it was cute for some time, until the immensity of that empty wall hit me like a hammer. The slowly advancing spider had walked alone up to that point and it still had a lot of empty ground to cover. I whispered "The world is a lonely place, little spider". And I cried for him. But the little spider didn't even notice me. And that, in turn, made me feel alone.Locus Solus in Emotional More Like This
"my Night""my Night" in Free Verse More Like This
I make constructs
draining the light
of an eccentric candle
but suddenly the night moves
into an impossible morning
and dreams dissolve in the wake
of an atomic sun
- Tiger -Tiger- Tiger - in Free Verse More Like This
an empty tiger
on a shore
its useless claws
and hollow dreams
the feeble image
of its roar
"Solitude""Solitude" in Free Verse More Like This
the familiar wailing of a saxophone on a side street on a rainy day.
the last building on the left, with a heavy wooden door... and no windows.
words... walls of concrete covered in concrete words
that mean absolutely nothing.
pedestrians walk up and down the street and partake
in the exchange of distant glances with approaching people.
among the myriad of cold raindrops.
OpheliaHe found you in the water,Ophelia in Free Verse More Like This
nonchalant and cool,
out of your pretty heart.
You were humming some old song
and weaving daisies in a chain
to tie around your throat
and pull you under.
ravens had stolen your eyes
and the tears you left
on his shirt
smelled suspiciously like rain;
but his coat felt warm
around your shoulders
and your wet skin
reminded him of swans
breaking the dark lake
their slender throats
snapping unearthly and white
like the pallor of those daisies
left unpetalled in his hands...
Girl as NudeYou are in your Picasso moodGirl as Nude in Free Verse More Like This
soft nude blues
and sharp grey
I like you better
as Van Gogh
daft as a brush
while you dance on tables;
or maybe Gauguin,
curving under a palm tree,
full and nut brown -
flirting against my shirt;
floating on lilies -
that kind of red
I want to devour
Bronze JohnBronze John in Free Verse More Like This
It's fever season
and the city shutters
its walls and streets,
closes up shops
and drops an awning
over the river.
Pontchartrain is clogged
with yellow flies again
and the soft warning
of women's skirts
disturbs the dust.
Breathing does no good here -
the lungs still sag
in the heat
and skin is soon pocked
by travelers in the dark.
Each brick shifts and protests,
wondering what is wrong
and why no one
is growing old.
Only the doctor moves,
stepping on cracks
like a criminal
in search of miracles
disturbingit's disturbing -disturbing in Free Verse More Like This
the words left
under your chin
or bad paint.
best left unsaid and
in our pockets
blue and forbidden
out of doors
where your smile
and catches my ankles
like wayward children
like bad ink
touching our night
ArchitectArchitect in Free Verse More Like This
He wanted to be an architect of time.
He wanted to arrange lives perfectly
and put god on a schedule.
He wanted to order the universe
so there were no surprises left,
and no one would over-sleep
or be late for birthday parties.
He wanted to orchestrate
The music of the planets
and have the trains all run on time.
But he didn't count on you,
with your nursery rhyme mouth
and the bandaids on your knees.
He didn't count on the riddles you ask,
or the way you hide pennies in shoes
and only eat vanilla ice-cream.
He never saw you coming or realized
you were the perfect piece of chaos
to bring order to his world.
Autumn WishShe built a house of willow woodAutumn Wish in Free Verse More Like This
under the hushed October sky
and scattered moonstones
in the reeds along the river banks
and prayed for Autumn's sighs,
to shake the west wind from her bones.
She still yearns for summer's brilliance
caught between the ocean's rocky shoals,
and gathers seashells
from the sand among the seaweed bed,
and prays for Autumn's soul
to haunt where once her bare feet tread.
Fear of FlyingThe minute he stepped off the planeFear of Flying in Free Verse More Like This
he thought of her and how she hated
flying - how the white metal protruded
and streamlined around her,
anxious to be friends;
how the engine gasped in awe
as it buckled the weight of 234
strangers and kept them from floating
She was afraid of crashing and of caring
what clothes she packed in matching
luggage that would not make it home.
She hated the folding trays,
how they all stood at attention
and the smell of mint souring the stewardess'
breath as she leaned in too far with a pack of
He reminded her that the wings were
sturdy girders, not made of balsa wood and floss
like the ones at the museum and that
the drone was some sort of science -
not some strange addiction
or a scheme of addled magic bumping against the
and that falling always took
the wrong kind of courage.
Snake CharmerShe dances with snakes,Snake Charmer in Free Verse More Like This
makes love like a heathen
back in the woods
where the river
sits on its haunches
and the old house
knows how to just be.
and a west wind
stir her skin
and she can feel
my electricity spark
where her skirts
swirl over her hips
like a beggar's feast.
And her sighs,
all willow green,
and whippoorwill voice
graze my cheek
while the slow July moon
goes crazy above us
and laughs its lazy path
across her eyes.
MERTON ON EXHALINGMERTON ON EXHALING in Letters More Like This
MERTON ON EXHALING
My friend Colornote has written another of her wonderful poems, this one entitled I am so self assured. ( http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d49qqqh ). It features a metaphorical notion of "exhaling." This is my response. As always, her poem moved me and made me think. She has an eloquent and poignant way of writing. I have, as I have done before, created a deviation/journal entry from my response. You may want to read the poem first. It is not long and will help you to understand my words below.
My dear poet friend,
You will exhale all your hidden doubt, disappointment, uncertainty, etc., in one black, overwhelming breath that no one should see?
Your poem reminds me of a conversation I just had with my father. He says he is always learning, refining, adding to his understanding. It builds and builds for him. I, unlike my fat
MERTON THE FRIENDLY GHOSTMERTON THE FRIENDLY GHOST in Letters More Like This
MERTON THE FRIENDLY GHOST
Merton, in his usual transparent way, posts a very honest and self-revelatory letter to a friend. During the course of this letter, he addresses some of her questions, thoughts, comments, etc., and discusses: life, society, person-hood, writing, artists, death, hermitude, etc., and puts forth a new, descriptive metaphor for himself. You have heard many times "Merton the Art Hermit." Now, we have "Merton the Friendly Ghost." (Don't worry, he's not going anywhere! Wink.)
Oh, and here is a great Tori Amos song, which sorta fits this deviation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNBXQF_5dso
Hi there, my dear friend
Thank you for your thoughtful and interesting note.
I get scared easily too, though I love paranormal, ghost-ish stuff! Gads. Silly me. I am such a tidal person... I cast myself into things, then pull back all the time. I will watch a bunch of ghostly, para
WHAT IVE LEARNED RE ASCENSIONWHAT IVE LEARNED RE ASCENSION in Philosophical More Like This
WHAT I'VE LEARNED RE ASCENSION 2012
What have I learned, what do I think, so far
I present to you what I have learned and what I think, so far, concerning Ascension 2012, an amazing and important topic perhaps the most important topic for humans at this moment in time/in our development.
Here, in a nutshell, is what I have learned (and what resonates with me) from the online movie at the top of Maya12-21-2012.com (which is very interesting, despite the theme music, wink), from much other research I have done on Ascension 2012 (Gosh there is a great deal out there!), from what I've already learned in my life, plus some of my own thoughts. I hope you enjoy this and that it gets you thinking and exploring.
Below that, I include some paraphrases and paragraphs, condensing what some visionaries, thinkers, and philosophers in the film said and imparted. I apologize in advance if I misunderstood or did not get quite right what they were trying to
MANIFEST MUSICAL INSTRUMENTSMANIFEST MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS in Letters More Like This
MANIFESTING MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS
... or any other love/joy based thing we want or need
A friend wants/needs a piano and a guitar. Here is some practical and spiritual advice I sent to him in an effort to be helpful. It details what I would do if I needed/wanted to manifest a piano, guitar, or any other such love/joy based want/desire/need.
Hope you enjoy this and find it helpful.
Well, I would suggest you manifest both a piano and guitar. Say your prayers, in your own way, with all your heart for each, each day... and watch them show up in your life!
If it were me, I would manifest the piano and guitar, with affirmations and/or a mandala going something like this:
"I now receive my perfect piano. It has the following qualities _________. It sounds like ____________. It looks like ____________. Thank you God."
"I now receive my perfect guitar.
TO A FRIEND SEEKING BACONTO A FRIEND SEEKING BACON in Letters More Like This
TO A FRIEND SEEKING BACON
... whilst nurturing and putting forth artistic vision!
Merton writes to an admired friend who is struggling with the juxtaposition of artist vision/muse-following vs. bringing home the bacon!
My dear friend...
I just expanded my comment to you into a deviation. ( http://mertonparrish.deviantart.com/#/d37rpeb ). I think that, should you desire to read it, it will give you my best answers to your questions about what you might do in order to eat and fulfill your vision of yourself as an artist.
I think I already have probably done all the university work I am going to do, though I still like to learn, study, try all sorts of things. And, I sorta think I have made my own monastic life on my own, really.
I am not always happy. I get fearful, have times when I am reactive, cast my net out a bit into the world (within the confines of my "hermit life"... wink) and then pull it back in.
THE GINGERBREAD MERTONTHE GINGERBREAD MERTON in Philosophical More Like This
THE GINGERBREAD MERTON
An introspective, philosophical reflection on personal change, choice, lifestyle, seen against the backdrop of today's world at a crossroads.
In this introspective yet universal essay, created in response to the comment of a dear DA friend, Merton reflects upon his unfolding journey towards modified, yet still increasing hermitude. It is, as many of my literary pieces are, sort of a letter to myself, in which I take stock of where I am, how I am evolving, and how this fits or does not fit with the world, its expectations, the human journey etc. It helps me to see where I am at, and hopefully has much to say to others.
With (though I swore them off) 2012 sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, I Merton, that (in)famous suburban hermit discuss further some of the (final?) pruning of my life. I am down to some tough final choices which will allow me to truly live my self-designed hermit life.
In so doing, there has been the
NOW THE ONLY REAL THINGNOW THE ONLY REAL THING in Philosophical More Like This
NOW: THE ONLY REAL THING
... or the closest thing to it
This piece began (as many of my literary works do) as a little note that I sent to a friend. As is often the case with such notes (and how wonderful that this is so) I have (at the bidding of my muse) expanded this communication and turned it into a deviation. Now, in its present form, though lacking the small size, charm and immediacy of a personal note, it captures well my latest feelings about life, existence and reality.
I find it a delight that my communications here on DA provide such a great catalyst for my thoughts and propel me along my journey. It is my hope that watchers and visitors might find this piece (and other such pieces) of use, thought provoking, etc.
"Now: the only Real Thing or the closest thing to it."
I hope that this title was intriguing for you, and gave you a good idea of the direction of this piece. This notio
WHO AM IWHO AM I in Philosophical More Like This
WHO AM I?
Merton attempts to answer this question, which is so important to us all. In so doing, he endeavors to clarify and provoke thought in himself and in his readers on related subjects, such as: the self, the self through the arts, God, being, connectedness, oneness, simplicity, evolution, the ascension... and lunch!
"Who am I?"
I believe this question to be of the utmost importance to me, to you, and to the Universe (which, I suspect, extends infinitely inward and outward from me and all of us). Further, it is my strong suspicion that (for me and probably for all humans) a consistent daily life of simplicity, containing moderation, perfect balance, flexibility of time, and just the simplest of things that nurture (rather than distract) is something that we each must have.
We must, I know from experience, guard this balance and simplicity like a lion. We must do this if we are to keep
WHAT WILL HEAVEN BE LIKEWHAT WILL HEAVEN BE LIKE in Philosophical More Like This
WHAT WILL HEAVEN BE LIKE?
Merton Muses on the Heavenly
I just left a comment on a friend's piece, and it spun me into musing about the nature of heaven. Will it be similar to our current life, or very different (as many assert)? Will it include the sensual?
We are in (if, of course our life, our existence is real and not a dream) the sensual now. I think, we all wonder about the meaning of life, and what "heaven" will be like. We have been told, in many ways, via our exposure to various scenarios, stories, religions, etc., that we are separate from God, live in linear time, will die, will go to spirit (which, it is asserted by many is non-sensual). We are told, too, that upon death we will inhabit a heavenly or hellish realm, which is separate from our current existence, but eternal.
And, true or not, I think we all, on some level, fear that those who assert that a non-sensual, heavenly or hellish place awaits each of us upon death, are correct.
SEEING OURSELVES THEN AND NOWSEEING OURSELVES THEN AND NOW in Philosophical More Like This
SEEING OURSELVES THEN AND NOW
Merton muses on his relation to past and present...
How do you see yourself in your past and present?
I commented on a friend's deviation, questioning his view of "past." He replied, clarifying. I then replied with some thoughts that I have (as I often do) expanded into an entry/essay. I found myself expressing my feelings about myself and the past and then (by natural extension) myself and the present. It is hard for me to remove myself and my inter-relatedness when considering such subjects. Maybe this is self-absorbed, artist-personality stuff... or just very human! Anyway, perhaps this little piece might make you think about yourself and your past/present. I will enjoy hearing your reactions.
I feel as though I have changed so much from when I was young... It has been a very full life, and I have done many things/created many things.
I know that I have had man
alien lightsWe had been crunched up inside your car for hours now, not an inch from where we had started. You disgusted me, with crocodile tears stickying your face, and I could practically feel the bacteria swarming to the saline, like I learned they did on Jimmy Neutron.alien lights in Short Stories More Like This
I waited for you to get to the point, or for the germs to eat a hole in your freckled face. Clips of useless words filtered through my ears (You know I never meant to hurt you, she meant nothing to me, I am prepared to apologize day and night, and day and night again until you forgive me )
Your face still in one piece, I realised that I would be in your too-small car for much longer still.
Plastic bags that were caught in tree branches and long scarf-like receipts rustled noisily from some length away of where I was (and I was anywhere but where I wanted to be) caught my attention.
Please, forgive me. I watched a bird got its head wrapped in a han
federal express EDITon wednesdays, anne would wake up at nine o'clock.federal express EDIT in General Fiction More Like This
she would take a shower at nine-thirty, after she made herself a small cup of coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and a drop of milk.
by ten o'clock, she was dressed. anne would spend the next hour and a half in the kitchen, baking cranberry scones and picking tea leaves from the small pot next to the coffee grinder.
at eleven-thirty, anne would be finished with the scones and fresh tea. she would take to pacing in front of the large picture windows at the front of her house- he would be here in thirty minutes.
anne's nervous tics showed when she was pacing. her fingers would wrap around her projecting wrists within the first few minutes; she would begin to wring them shortly after; then she would begin scratching along the veins with her always-painted-red fingernails, never drawing blood but leaving welts. her hands would move quicker the closer the minute hand crept toward twelve.
he would ring the doorbell. anne would stop d
summaryyou greeted me smiling.summary in Free Verse More Like This
it felt like thunder
i know you to be as gentle
as you are rough.
i need someone
who knows how to touch
so i can learn how to feel.
your name means strong.
you are shoulders
and a smile,
with snaking veins.
today, our palms are like
and you are polite
until your lips
you are a new man.
pierced in vain
i am your child.
i am the sweetest moon
under the breath of bedsheets,
our hands swimming
i, the ever-scared lioni am breathing for the urge to tell you something beautifuli, the ever-scared lion in Free Verse More Like This
i do not kiss with lips but
with sweet bones thrust sunward,
wondering what it is like to be embraced
by the arms of a skeleton
the king and queen and monarch (butterfly)
crowns of roses or holly,
winter brings cold and thoughts of you
i, the ever-scared lion,
shudder in my sheets
i can show you fear in a handbasket,
the girth of the sun snapping leather belts
until our faces fall to the earth
the bottle was broken,
message pecked by gulls-
i hope you know i said i loved you
and the world will fall at your feet
we are but lonely dolls
and your murmurs of eternity
pull my heart asunder-
we are neither together
the personal ad of a writerumpteen year old woman, married once to the false hope of literary promise, from themiddleof, nowhere.the personal ad of a writer in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i spend night by fire, with a wish to fall in to bear beautiful, melting scars. burn off all my hair. singe my eyelids. sleep in cinders. i spend time in bed alone, celibate, not-sleeping, not-dreaming, too-tired, just-thinking.
i am often seen wearing a coat of blue wool, holding a knock-off coffee-chain cup, carrying emotional baggage in a brown leather suitcase.
unemployed, undetermined, unattached, underwater, unimportant.
in search of a hand to hold, heart to spit out, lips to kiss the scars on my wrists, mouth to suck out my soul[ they are all more trouble than they are worth.
i write poems, but i am not a poet. poets are thieves of emotions and old words. my heart is something like a wild beast, rabid and fearsome and fearful, but i love with more than a love, just ask my annabel lee.
my bones show throughthe poison comes in waves.my bones show through in Free Verse More Like This
someday i'm going to be pretty
i won't be afraid of my shadow
with its black silken bulk,
or hide behind the shirttails
of thin penguin suits;
you will be worn
as my mask,
to my face; you will
from the heads that turn
at the curious
mystery of what is hidden,
burning for its who
the wanting comes in waves.
someday i will be beautiful
inside-out with my
glittery little organs
basking in empty swallows;
watching the birds on your fingers
flitting through twigs
under proud displays of
it is so easy
to lie and cover your lips
with a flutter of fingers,
spitting end over end;
oh yes, i am full, bursting to the brim
my stomach does not know
of those leonine roars any longer;
you'll read me, open pages
oh wondrous creature,
know my limbs.
i will hold you as you cry,
call you my paper tiger
for the aggressive way you boast
your chest but slip into
someday you will l
ill have you know im scaredi lied, i lied, a thousand times i lied.ill have you know im scared in General Fiction More Like This
i don't know who this story is about. i don't know if it's an 'i,' 'you,' 'he,' or 'she' story. i'll probably pick three and rotate them. because when you think about it, doesn't it happen to us all?
i was found dead on the road. i hear i was contorted and bloody, only the blood wasn't my own, and i died simply because i was afraid. i always thought that was so fucking ironic- i was fucking scared to death.
and every time she's walking down the street, the girl who might've been me, the girl whose blood i was found in though she's also dead, i cringe. because she hears people crowing about amusement parks and how the upside-down roller coaster scared them to death, and she thinks of me. she's dead, but she still thinks of me. somehow, i feel loved.
he said he was a policeman. really, he was a rapist. he, you, i. it doesn't matter, everyone is a rapist. everyone thinks they want sex, but nobody does. it's too personal. it's not forever
mila.you're not the beautymila. in Free Verse More Like This
i've always hoped for,
deceptive marigold yellow
sweeping from jawline
you promised to pay me
in bones; instead,
you leave me hungry, empty,
roaring in fullness with
the finger-twisting wish to
roil against the thunders
no limits or bounds
are placed on you.
you are a girl in your demeanor,
a woman in your experience;
the poise with which you wield yourself,
just how you
wrap your way around my torso
and knotted limbs,
i know you have done this before;
you have wreaked havoc on
tiny gorgeous veins and full cities
of hearts; pretty little mouth sucking hard
on sharp marrows, fragility a new
tattoo in the shape of butterflies; woven
carpets of hair in fine patterns
lining the floor;
oh, i know you've done this before,
i know i am not your first,
i know i am not your last;
and baby, don't you worry,
i won't let anyone tell
reasons not to ask me to leavethe way in which i want you is not quiet. it is the constant tug at the hem of my skirt,reasons not to ask me to leave in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the begging child gobbling a litany with hungry little teeth and spewing thickly over every please-please-please.
the words are littering the floor and i sigh as i sweep them up into the dustbin to empty with a thump outside my window.
it is a nervous little owl, anxious hoots biting its beak and eyes
the size of egypt swallowing every piece of you they can find;
lustful eyes, pale like the moon in its overbearing white-moth slumber, worn in the shape of
oversized glasses with a horned rim.
it is the trumpeter swan's call, the winter-ivory paint thrown over its feathers.
it is obtrusive in its noise,
it is the treaded water enveloping every bone's curvature in my body,
it is my fingers on your arm, asking you to please call me bluebird.
it is the sketchpad in which i draw,
the old, dust-smelling book so rich in every beautiful thing under the sun between whose pages i press auburn leaves
this is not my cardiganGod, he is smiling at the waitress with big eyes as she brings him his dinner. i can see the gnarls of his hands from a dozen feet away, his chair pulled close to the wooden table. i watch him reveal his little teeth, presumably polydented dentures. he is wearing a yellow sweater, a cardigan with elbow patches.this is not my cardigan in Biography & Memoir More Like This
the chair across from him is empty and in the same grain pattern as the table with his towering pile of supper. my brother asks if i know why he is alone and i tell him to keep silent. his wife died, he told me, with a smile. the old man turns his eyes to his meal and slowly begins to eat.
God, please forgive me for not sitting with him; forgive me for not telling him i am so sorry and i love him; please forgive me for not crying into his sweater or being enough
epiphany # 244: we will find this man again someday, and show him love still exists at the bottom of our hearts and a teacup.