Disappearing Girl
Everyone looked all around for the girl
they thought that they should see.
But had they asked I would’ve said,
“I’m right here! It’s really me. “
The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics
Part XVI
Einstein said,
space and time are malleable;
they conform to us –
conform,
I really hate that word –
I was taught to conform because
through such,
I will be set free…
is freedom for real?
my inner self wants to go back to age 19
and drink myself insane and love someone forever;
freedom is a law,
and a word that is confusing,
it is not red like poppies,
it is black as unsaved death.
– Michellia D. Wilson 8/23/14 11 PM
Prompt for Hour Sixteen
Architecture figures into a lot of poets work. Stephen Dunn and a number of poets work comes to mind. For this prompt I want you to write a poem about a specific building. It can be in purely visual terms or it can use metaphorical language, or it can be part of a larger narrative.
Below I included two photos of the Brain for inspiration.The Brain is a studio in Seattle, Wa.
tranquil[izers]
swallow it quick
and keep the peace
Multitasking
Switching between one passion to the next.
One pays the bills, the other feeds the soul.
Going back from turning a chicken breast to pulling bread from the oven, then back to writing a line or two.
If you would have asked me before, I’d say it was impossible.
Yet, with the knowledge I have of cooking times and cleaning in between, it makes it possible to handle so many tasks.
Yet, there’s one problem; my brain hurts now!
As well as sweating like a dog in heat and trying not to burn my hands and other extremities.
But how lucky am I?
I get to devote part of my time to living both my passions at the same time.
This is my life and I’m glad to say, I can still fulfill both needs. To feed people and feed souls.
Sacred path
Winding road, seldom walked upon.
Enveloped by quiet darkness.
Tracing fingers along the inside of her arm.
The world is holding her breath in anticipation;
crunching leaves falling from the sky,
greeted by a floor of emerald green.
Her Path
She walks the path
It is her own,
No-one can follow there.
The gate is wide
To enter in
The truth is waiting there.
And once inside
The music changes,
All instruments tuned
To play a new melody.
A glorious sound
Rising up
For all to hear.
Sway.
Tall and strong and graceful,
Whispering gently in the breeze,
Nothing to be scared of,
Not a person you should please,
Tall and strong and grateful,
Teach me your most inspiring ways,
Send my roots down through the earth,
And teach me how to sway.
Freedom
We spread them wide
Nothing to hide
Aim it high
Ready to fly
Sky seems near
We don’t fear
When rains will come
We wont run
This freedom we earned
Its time we learn…
A small bundle of mess
Life in the outskirts; looking in through foggy windows.
Warmth and laughter seeping out.
Numb fingers, shallow breath.
Stiff body creating silent tears.
Playing a tune to quiet the mind.
Senseless feelings.
Emotional drain without conviction for her sins.
A ruckus of screaming laughter.
The mind takes over-
Total relapse of bodily functions.
Internally screaming,
dancing with the shadow
as a way of nurturing the ego.