Do as You Will, but…

You can put her in your own perfect box,
call her pretty, label her
protected.

You can crack her chest, shroud her eyes
with socially approved visions,
burn your own Revelations into her skull.

Do as you will with a worm, but if there’s a spine... “Run!”

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #25: Let’s Rewrite, where an intelligent, sexy, and unbelievably modest host invites us to take a poem or story we wrote many years ago (preferably, one that wasn’t exactly awesome), and rewrite it. I rewrote a piece first crafted in 2013, and posted it below.

Put her in a manmade box.
Call her pretty,
special, protected,
free of the filth that cloaks the unthinking.
Once her faith follows your fib,
wound a porthole into her wooden chest.
Let stagnation ooze into her eyeball
burn revelations into her skull.
Help her brain boil in the molasses of rotten hopes
of forever heavenly white clouds.
Always whisper of salvation, of the truth
that lies eternal,
or until a sheep cares not to be mouthless. 

photo by hannah grace, on Unsplash

The Good, The Bad, and The Spring(y)

not-quite Journaling, 32

3/20/2022: I noticed the crocus while walking back from the hospital, a couple of days ago. My shoulder was aching, my oral surgeon had just implied that the probability of saving my tooth wasn’t all that great, and my stomach was not-so-quietly questioning the wisdom of exercising 3+ miles away from a clean toilet. But the weather was magnificent, crocuses and daffodils were opening their petals for all to see, and I could finally run 131 minutes on my trampoline without my lungs wanting to explode or my joints wanting to crack. Life isn’t perfect--heck, life is pretty crappy at the moment—but my amaryllis started to bloom on the first day of Spring, and we’re breathing… which means that we still have the chance to make things a bit less suckish. And that is rather great (for now).

 

(3/22/2022)

 

 Home is writing,
peculiar poetry,
and you.

3/25/2022: It’s true, home is words (reading them, writing them, sharing them); home is plants (that look and feel loved); home is moments with the ones I love (and love me back) face-to-face and from afar

 

3/28/2022: The bad: the Crohn’s disease monster visited for some painful days and exhausting nights; the oral surgeon couldn’t save my tooth; around the world, so many people are physically and emotionally hurting for no justifiable reason. The good: the unwanted visitor left without leaving too much damage behind; my jawbone and immune system seem to be strong enough for dental implants; a friend, who had been MIA in a dangerous area for some time, made it home in one piece; all sorts of things are blooming outside; inside, my seedlings are popping out of the soil. 🌱🥰

 

(3/31/2022)

 

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings: #20: A Piece of Cake (where Rommy invites us to write poetry or prose that includes the word “Cake”, and yours truly finds herself thinking about birthdays and wishes and such…).

The Wheel of the Year

Autumn takes
buzzing bees, butterflies on blooms,
and so many birds.

October brings
festive gourds, grinning skulls,
and grows tiny gardens in my hearth.  

Winter is coming… spring and summer too.

One of my favorite bits about the cold months is that my living room becomes a wee jungle. I enjoy seeing Halloween decorations and making pumpkin chili, too. But the terrace-garden-to-living-room-jungle conversion is by far the best.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Weekly Scribblings #92: Forward Movement (where we are asked to “write something on the theme of ‘Forward Movement’, in whatever way [we] choose to interpret that.” My muse and I focused on the constant movement of the seasons, on what is lost… on what is gain… and on what moving with The Wheel of the Year offers.

Because Easy Isn’t Always Right

For your ease, never speak
of gender, politics, or religion
that isn’t socially accepted.

Our good neighbors hate
conflict, diversity, and ideas
that challenge their own.

Hi, I’m the liberal, LGBTQ+ ally, witchy woman who just moved next door.

via

 - for Poets and Storytellers United--Weekly Scribblings #75: Between What Is Right and What Seems Easy (write new poetry or prose inspired by the idea of choosing between what is right and what seems easy). Also linked to Writers’ Pantry #76: Whatever the Weather.

Wholly

I reserve the right to be unusual,
differently shaped, and my own
limited edition of weird.

I will not apologize for your lack
of imagination, sense,
or vision.

I’m wholly me.

 

The inspiration behind this sevenling:

to read my not-so-wild rambles about this stitched blackout, go HERE

My scabiosa was feeling extra creative, so she bloomed herself a mutant baby.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Weekly Scribblings #72: Unusual, Uncommon, Uncanny.

 

Reality Is Heart and Mind

My heart is a surreal lover
of eerie constellations, of promising soil,
of dancing birthed in ink.

My mind is a sun-bathed garden
full of mirror-loving monsters,
of darkness exposed, of darkness beloved.

Reality is the dark-bright we nurture.

 

- created for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #57: Let Us Write (together)). Inspired by the photos shared above and the phrases, “Be an uncrushed flower”, “Burst into constellations of dance”, and “Love can be a monster, or not.”

Deep Down in the Bones

They sneer in her direction,
call her frigid, detached,
so sinfully unlike them.

She watches the social zombies—
their eyes hard, their lips twisted by poison,
their rage unmasked—and she thinks, Deep

down in the bones, everyone feels.

photo by Vladimir Palyanov, on Unsplash

- for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #50: Down in My Bones, “think about how we might finish this sentence, ‘Down in my bones, I feel _____________’. If you’d rather tackle this from a different angle, you also have the option to write about bones in general. It also isn’t necessary to use the exact phrasing.”), and for Twiglet #207 (“an emotional ape”).

When All Else Fails, I Garden

Soothing magic grows

in the blush of strawberries,

the gift of rain, a pretty mushroom.

Aggravation spreads

when souls forget what matters—

fresh soil, random smiles, happiness shared.

Plant some good.

for Poets and Storytellers United 

Post-apocalyptic Fiction Wasn’t Always Current Events

In the old days, customers were becoming
store scum, leaving a thin thread of thick hatred,
virtually dueling for toilet paper.

In the old days, random kindness
spread like a needed plague, infecting
friends and strangers, reclaiming humanity.

Post-apocalyptic fiction is now current events.

Yesterday’s News, by Shelle Kennedy

- the title and the last line of this Sevenling (thank you, Ron.! And you were right about the addictive properties of the form) came from a meme the NYC Public Library sent at the beginning of the pandemic—I guess if was sort of funny… way back then.

- for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #21: Anagrams. Where a stunning [and rather modest] hostess invites everyone to write new poetry or prose using anagrams—a word, phrase, or sentence formed from another by rearranging its letters. I chose customers/store scum and hatred/thread.