I
tasted the storm
feeding
your tongue and my ink
(pure
tinder and flint),
screaming,
“Let’s spark words of love
so
hot, they curl hatred’s toes.”
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #94: Storm, Ink, Love.
I
tasted the storm
feeding
your tongue and my ink
(pure
tinder and flint),
screaming,
“Let’s spark words of love
so
hot, they curl hatred’s toes.”
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #94: Storm, Ink, Love.
not-quite Journaling, 58
Delightful
from every angle,
my passion
flowers can enchant
in sunlight and rain.
8/15/2023: My
passiflora has finally bloomed. I got to enjoy her striking curls for about 5
minutes, before rain showered them closed. Now she’s impersonating a fairy
skirt--yep, she’s gifted like that.
8/22/2023: A 19-year-old (who might or might not be related to me) told me that “a healthy relationship isn’t supposed to be hard”. I didn’t think laughing hysterically would be constructive, so I didn’t laugh. I felt like yelling in their face, “Are you 5?” wouldn’t help either, so sent them this poem.
I dreamed of a life without pain,
and reality laughed.
8/26/2023: Well, maybe I haven’t truly had this dream in a while. Not that I
can remember. But I still enjoyed stitching the thought. 😁
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Wrings #91: Muscle Memory.
I
refuse to fear might-be horrors. Fretting over what’s yet to kick me in the
jaw, in the gut, in the breast… is losing half the battle (perhaps the war).
Yes, I care. No, I’m not pretending or hoping it will go away--my monsters and I
sip honesty from the same clear cup. We slow dance brow-to-brow,
mouth-to-mouth, our hearts bleeding into each other’s ribs. When misery threatens
to kiss me, I show teeth, mount my muse, and devour those cruel lips (ink
at the ready).
holding
my passion
by
horn and halo, I ride
cackling
into the storm
-
for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #89: You Laughed, You Cried, Now You Write.
not-quite Journaling, 57
In a
New York garden, she roars (or yawns) her feelings into the world.
7/17/2023: My red amaryllis is blooming rather expressively. This is the first year this one flowers in summer. I think that after weeks of coughing, crappy sleep, headaches, and back pain, Nature decided to brighten my day with a bit of unseasonal magic.
a
glimmer:
bees
and ladybugs
kissing
blooms
7/21/2023: According to my dearest and sweetest, Rommy, “a glimmer is the exact opposite of a trigger—it is some kind of cue, either internal or external, that brings one back to a sense of joy or safety.” Pollinators soothe my soul, naturally. Care to share one (or 2, or 3…) of your glimmers?
Be
you; regret be damned.
7/25/2023: If it makes me happy and hurts none, I do it--no guilt. My relationship with that particular emotion doesn’t go beyond this thought, by Voltaire: “Every (wo)man is guilty of all the good (s)he did not do.” Especially the good which might’ve improved her life.
pure
delight:
tomatoes
I’ve grown
to
snack on
7/28/2023: Every time I walk out to my balcony to pick (and taste)
a tomato (or 15), my tummy grins. Of course, my tummy can grin! Can’t
yours?
-
for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #87: What Pleases You? I am pleased by growth, by reciprocal love, by small magics, by
hope that spreads, by words that uplift, by determination, by self-reliance, by
things I’ve grown from seed to yum…