Truth Speaks Louder
There are some things you can’t unsee. And some things you just can’t undo. You ask me to forgive those things but I can’t unknow the truth of you.
Magical Chaos
Together we tangle
in a lovers knot
your mouth hungry for my sun kissed skin
my body can’t get enough of yours
skin on skin
sparks flying
speaking in tongues
as chemicals release
exploding
into magical chaos
Awakening
sleeping weightless our
backs to the light
eternal aphelion
vision in darkness
we are blind
floating together alone
powerless without ballast
despairing in silence
until a quiet stirring
here, take my hand
Magic!
Swirling in my head, a floating sensation.
A phrase that usually condemns you to eternal damnation.
From Salem to a faraway land with a hard-to-pronounce-name.
“Magic is not real” is screamed in the face of me, a person who won’t tame.
Crystal balls tell the truth while plumes of smoke shoot out at random.
Explaining the intuition you have and keeping your secret in tandem.
Magic!
Think of Roald Dahl and the way his books make you feel.
Kick yourself for thinking that his stories aren’t real.
Bottles of potions and drinks whose bubbles fall down.
Witches that steal children, creating chaos that reaches the whole town.
Seeing Matilda in yourself and yourself in her.
Knowing that you’re different from the other kids, the lines you do blur.
Magic!
We aren’t taught how to believe because our minds are too powerful.
Shoving our magic into more useful planter boxes that are anything but flowerful.
Witches who become artists, wizards who become singers.
Writing, painting, sewing, the shimmery glow that lingers.
Life is mysterious, unknown and full of danger.
An entirely different perception in the mind of a stranger.
Magic!
My poems are spells, though I don’t intend them to be.
I can clear through the fog, open my eyes and see.
Magic is real, it’s in me and you.
Question everything, especially the things you believe to be true.
I end this spell with a quick little note.
Go back and find the magic in everything you’ve painted, sang, and wrote.
Mahou
No tricks
No illusions
No miracles
No deception
No sleight of hand
No Houdini or Henning
No mystical mumbo-jumbo
No elaborate attempts at misdirection
No sparkly filters or rose-coloured spectacles
None of that
When eyes meet, the connection is made—
feelings sensed, warmth felt
sometimes intoxication
A moment, real or imagined
(what a day for a daydream…)
That’s where the magic is
(22 June 2019, Hour 2)
Purpose (Hour 2)
Somewhere–
between the breadth of the stars
and the breath I draw between my lips–
there is an ancient connection,
a deep magic that sets the cadence
of the pulsing drum within my living corpse.
Calling to my blood, taunting my spirit to hunger,
beckoning my entire being to come forth, to march,
to ascend, that I may find out what lies
beyond the shimmering veil, yet ever eluding me,
so that in my efforts I may come to know
the full potential of my existence.
This is Me
Poem 1
This is me:
I am
A purple haired artist
Struggling to find
A sense of self.
This is me:
I am
A daughter,
A sister,
A friend.
This is me:
I am
An adventurer,
A worrier,
A wandering soul.
This is me:
Despite all I have lost
I am
Whole.
from your Grandmother (a free form haiku)
You and he alone, a loaded gun between you. We all died that day.
two
why bother
trying to sleep
when your neighbor
decides
to mow his lawn
on Saturday morning
be patient
wait for the sound of silence
to return
a quiet only interrupted
by the longing
of the birds
prompt #2 ~ magic
Prompt #2 ~ Magic
The red-bellied woodpecker flies over the windshield
We almost collide.
In another world, we do, but there is only wings
now stretching from my shoulders
as my silver hair reddens and the air lifts it like feathers
Only wings, a hunger for so many decades
for so many earthbound
The wheels continue down the road
You do not notice I am gone
a tethered bird left behind
while I climb the wind into the clouds
Beside you, the bird that wears my face
is still, only her head turning from side to side
as she wonders like I have like I do still
at these flightless creatures
set free only in the wake of wreckage