“Un-lyrical 15”
All is silent at midnight,
And dim is the light,
In the absence of inspiration,
Can there be any resolution,
And an end in sight?
(xxiii)
…and the story in her eyes.
recondite as eternity, ineluctable as fate;
a congeries of the unsaid –
then there is her smile….
3am Pancakes.
I woke to the smell of burning. The scent wafting through my hazy sleep riddled mind, pulling me from the land of dreams into the cold reality of the early morning.
I woke to the smell of burning. Escaping from the nest of sheets my hand reached for yours and found nothing but the cold side of an empty bed.
I woke to the smell of burning. The hallway light stung my eyes, stumbling and blind I lurched towards the lingering smoke.
I woke to the smell of burning. And there within the kitchen with an apron and a smile, you held up those blackened pancakes like they were the finest thing you had ever created.
Sacrilege
I spoke to him of gentle ways,
how one can treat it
almost like an illness.
The frenzy turmoil and hollow
insides,
as a joke between gods and humans.
They Call Me Po
Coworkers, relatives, perfect strangers; they say I remind them of Po, the Kung fu panda.
If it were because I was asian then I probably would think that these people were just a hair on the racist side.
Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the reason most people relate me to the dragon warrior.
Most have their own image of the famed bear and for some reason I fit most people’s archetypes.
Here are the top reasons I’ve heard.
I fit the bill because I’m a bit goofy and more than a little clumsy but can spring out with grace.
Others because I’m cute and cuddly like Po and the asian part seals the deal.
And still others think it’s because I try and fail so many times but seem to come through in the clinch.
I think it’s because even in the most imperfect forms, heroes can emerge from the darkness to bless us with light.
The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics
Part XXIII
January 1, 1999,
I moved from my home,
left with only my clothes and books,
slept on a futon mattress on a cold, drafty floor,
choked on tears and phlegm, coughed and
wished myself dead every single waking moment;
I swallowed just enough pills to sleep,
and sleep,
and sleep,
and sleep,
until that day I woke up –
paralyzed and strangers had to carry me from blackness,
to something I was told is called daylight.
Damn near blinded me…
– Michellia D. Wilson 8/24/14 6 AM
On a winter’s afternoon- when the magic happened
One wishes deep down inside for the
Magic to happen
On the surface an air of detachment
Disbelief that such a thing can
Happen in the physical
From a soul level the outcry to
Find the magic and the oneness
With another soul is all too consuming
Head and heart in disconnection
The mind convincing the heart
That it’s acceptable to deny these
Feeling deep within our hearts
For when the magic happened
When the connection of two souls
Heart to heart took place
Lifted the roof and at alast
The synchronisation of heart and soul
So what happened to the fear? Where did it go? Never mind
Enjoy the moment
The aching coming from the heart space
The emergence of unconditional love
The over whelming emotion felt by
To two souls in the oneness in that moment
Freedom sort from many different avenues
All external
Yet freedom comes from within
At that very moment when you surrender yourself
To another soul
No doubts, no fears
trusting in the unconditional love
overflowing from within
A childlike abandonment at the headiness
Of the feeling consuming
Every part of your being
And it to think it all took place on a
Sunny Winter’s Afternoon
Tyranny: just go to bed
Ask yourself
If the tyranny
Be in your place
In your home
Your city
Your land
Your country
Your sea
Ask yourself
Then go to bed
See how you feel
when you look
In the mirror
In the morning
We will talk more then