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A Pile of Poetry

Posted by soulconstance , in Multiple Poems 18 October 2010 · 85 views


In the light
hindsight explodes
or implodes or dances or screams
the reality of
logic.
I forgot to relive
memories that spin
'like the exorcist on speed'.

Through the sour waves
to the sandy shore
of believing
that smiles mean everything
to everyone.
I forgot to speak
and to listen
that cobras disbelieve.


--------------------------

The transcendent lavender light of the moon
penetrates us as the cherry blossoms bloom.

Looking down on us, she knows the tune
that catches us, our salsa dance in bloom.

My love for you and also for her intertwine
breathing sparks into me that only bloom.

In time, my story from here will transcribe
a bursting heart, inside radiance will bloom.

The blessing will show luminescence, deep
slow-motion time as the fire does bloom.

---

I wrote this one for class. It's a Terra Riza, I believe (the style of poetry). I wrote it on a bit of a dual subject, my love for my Goddess and my love for my partner. I feel completely blessed by them both.

--------------------------

My eyes corkscrew at the window,
streams of air splash my face
like little turtle doves
beating like humming birds -
their wings calling me to the bitter noise,
taking me to a realm
I'd rather not
know.

Jingles for my toes
as I walk through the much,
blood for the sorrowful memories.
Life is calling me,

from somewhere
where rains are mistletoe
for the weary.


--------------------------

I wanted to say you were bashful,
through ribbons, scattered string,
and tan monk's cloth
that they never knew
you were
not something else.


--------------------------

From the mountains,
a voice echoes out.
Near the coast they
sing fabulous songs.
Still, the words grow louder
into a monsoon rolling over the day and night.
"So what if I don't know -"
the answers to life
or why heaven calls,
or even why
the
rain
falls.


----------------------------

Winter can hide my world,
in hooded jackets
and hats that hide my face.

I can breach my confidentiality
now with the world,
that I do exist

under my blankets
and black-out curtains.


---

Winter's coming and I'm actually looking forwards to it. I feel safer when I go out and I have my hood up. Besides, I'm running around downtown anyways, I may as well feel safe and comfortable.

--------------------------

The First Was a Bed

It was a glorious day
for hearts bursting
with butterflies
and shy lips
gasping.
I leapt to grasp
any sort of commitment.
After that day
in September
2007,
when I thought
that seven would make
a defined difference.

Now I stay home some days
and whisper to the faeries
about you.

It makes them smile.


---

This poem's kinda weird, I guess, because it's about buying a bed - literally. It was the first thing I spent a lot of money on when I started school - and it was also the first thing I've ever bought that I couldn't take with me. It was, somehow, like concreting my position on if I wanted to stay here with my partner or if I wanted to leave. It was my way of trying to tell him that I was committed to him.
I think it's funny how I end up in a bad marriage, finally get divorced and I am so ready to commit to someone. I think it's amazing and wonderful that my x-husband will never have me again. I sit around and feel so wonderful that I am truly loved and that I am in so love, and happy with that... and somehow, it feels like this is how it was meant to be - love, I mean, and commitment.
It feels good.

--------------------------

Perhaps smoking
is secretly anti-social.
Sit or stand
pulling in smoke
where words would leap from,
and seclude
in the blissful silence.

Goldenrod grows here.


---

I wrote this while I was outside, smoking a cigarette. I thought, isn't it anti-social to smoke? I'm outside smoking by myself to get out of the house and away from everyone - as my roommates just started smoking again and don't smoke much, and my partner doesn't smoke at all. And I think, even when you're smoking with other people, you're filling your mouth and lungs with smoke so you can't always be chatting.

--------------------------

Capture crystallized teardrops
in the months of January.
Run through the fields with childish glee.
The reindeer are bringing light
to see into their secret world

where snow isn't rightfully cold
and children never cry!


---

I think it sounds like a perfect world. I love snow but so many people have problems with it being so cold, so make it not cold -- where children never cry... especially not for the reasons that many of us have cried.

--------------------------

I was sitting here, having an inner monologue.
I smoked cannabis and Mary Jane made me think.
It was full of run-on sentences and illy dotted Ts.
'Where would I be, what would I have done -
if life were so simple, wouldn't I know it before it's done?'

Life spills into a wave of memories that touch your eye softly.
They fall from your skin like dandelion seeds.
Cloudy, soft, light wafts with pure accuracy, into your soul
without remorse of wondering where it came from.
It wraps it's gentle arms around and promises dimly,
'You know the truth as long as the third eye is open.'

Tingles charge down your spine without a second glance,
and somehow the world seems to warm like the blanket
from Saturday morning.


---

True story.

--------------------------

I know I can say anything
in music with shallow words
and people will listen.
But who hears the poet,
full of passion and tears,
passing out his soul
in spastic rhythm
under the hot lights
or the coffee place
no one stays in?


---

That's my general opinion of the popular music these days, and how it compares to poetry. Sometimes the music just can't compare - except maybe the 70s.

--------------------------

Copywrite Soulconstance aka Quin aka Me.



Trigger Warning

Warning: Some of my poetry and prose may be triggering. I write just about as much about survivor issues as I do about love.
Please keep yourself safe.

July 2016

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