My Whimsical Words
Category: chaos
When the dark winds come trees whip wildly with possessed arms.
Leaves fly and swirl just as bones and gizzards swirl in ebony caldrons.
The wind howls like a banshee in the night.
The dark people come.
They come infiltrating, flitting as shadows around innocent men.
They come for souls.
Darker than dark they feed on the night vices of the innocent.
With shiny, black-marble eyes, they wait.
They wait to spread ichor across the earth…
one soul at a time.
Napowrimo day 11 : origin poem
I came from a place of wailing
And crying behind ones’ eyes.
A place of violence for the littlest of a child’s innocent sins.
A place of broken treasures left in shards upon the floor.
A place of ridicule and shattered dreams.
A place of kindness nullified.
I came from a place where surprise and magic never lived.
Where skin puffed from welts and imagined infractions.
Where survival meant being perfect and even that wasn’t enough.
Where things were given and in the next breath taken away, by a most skilled Indian giver.
I came from a place where privacy was very null and void.
Letters, words and notes from friends…no thought was ever safe.
A place where only the birthdays of others are remembered .
A place where Christmas did not mean gifts.
Sitting and watching others open gifts on birthdays and Christmas.
Trying hard to keep back tears and imagine that inexperienced joy.
I came from a place where I had no self.
Where I was only an extension of you.
It almost worked.
It almost did.
I came from a place where my eyes opened to the treatment of others.
They weren’t like me.
They were wanted and loved.
I COME from a tiny girl who vowed to find love one day.
Who nourished her own free spirit.
Who eventually found her way.
Away!
Away from the evil she grew up with.
Away from the people who tried to steal her spirit and her life.
Today I have my own origin.
I found the things I love and filled my life with them.
I live for experiences.
I live for the moment.
I live in the joy of simple things.
I am in the sky.
I am in the sun.
I am in the moon with blue cheese shining bright.
I am the blue notes of jazz and the high, white notes of Bach.
I am in tea and I float high in pink champagne bubbles.
Today I am from my own origin.
Today I do what I want.
Raining Cats and Dogs
Napowrimo 10
The sun hides behind clouds.
Brightness suddenly grows dim.
Cool air moves quickly in.
Suddenly, there is a drip drop.
Drip drop turns into ta-ta-tickety tock.
Newspapers raise, shielding hair.
Walkers mentality kick themselves.
They forgot umbrellas.
Street people shuffle to find shelter.
Ta-ta-tickety tock turns to white noise.
A constant rush of water falls from the sky.
Water pools and puddles form.
Small furry things splash down around me.
Chihuahuas, poodles, corgis and papillons!
Calicos, Manx, hairless and Siamese!
Good lord!
It’s raining cats and dogs!
Circling the Drain #napowrimo 8
The sun rises. The sun sets.
In between the usual happens.
The alarm startles us at five.
Time to do the shower shuck and jive.
Assorted wheels whirl us toward our mundane jobs.
Buses, subways, bikes and cars;
The wheels of all go round and round.
For eight hours we sit in a carpeted square box working for the man. He wants us to think outside the box, as worker drones buzzing around the corporate hive.
Five comes and we’re homeward bound.
Home to family. Home to old pizza.
Home to our friends, our cell phones.
We repeat this daily grind day after day.
Month after month.
Year after year.
We go this until a disruption of the flow.
Violence takes our safety.
Illness takes our wellness.
Death takes our lives.
As we lay cold and silent,
Soon to be under the shroud of white,
The doctor calls it.
The time is 9:15.
We have been circling the drain of death all this time.
Chaotic Cohesiveness ~Matrixity
The clock ticked.
The clock tocked.
Time traversed as the sun
Tangoed on it’s daily dance
Across the heavens.
I ran after the disjointed
Fragments of my life,
Trying to gather them
Into some sort of
Chaotic cohesiveness.
The glue held in some places
And failed in others.
Dreams and expectations
Spilled in a tumbling stream
To sunken places.
I dove in.
Deep.
I’m trying to find me.
I’m still swimming.
——
Life throws curves at us all the time. Never give up! #life #chaos #poem
If Only
~Matrixity
If only I was conceived in love and not in the hot, backseat of a car in adultish excitement and desperation to leave home.
If only god had chosen a mother who wanted me and put me in the womb of that woman.
If only my painful crowning at birth had somehow made me adorable and wanted and cute. And loved.
If only the thoughts of mother had not been, “what is that thing? What is that alien child? Did that come out of me?”
If only I knew a mothers’ love, her gentle touch, her caring looks. Remembrances and wonderfully special gifts on special days and holidays.
If only I had a mother who actually knew ME and not just the definition of me. Daughter. What does that mean?
If only I could somehow be a favorite and not the outcast child. Just once. Just for five minutes. Could she possibly hug me? Tragically, it will. never. be.
If only I could catch your eye just once before you die. Maybe. Just maybe I could be your little girl. If only I could catch your eye, maybe you could love me.
If only…
When the sky cries,
Emotional floodgates release a torrent
Of bitter, sour tears.
Cheyenne pepper tears flow
Red from violent words.
Celery seeds leak from
Pale green, envious eyes.
Turmeric yellow tears run down
Cheeks hollow from
Soul depleting pain.
Star anise burst violently
Forth from eyes swollen
From a broken heart.
Black licorice color
The irises of the soulless.
Black-eyed people walk
among us baiting life to bare
It’s bitter flavors.
Pungent spices of life
Reside within us all.
Coriander and garlic,
Paprika and onions.
All flow together in
Fragrant streams
Under the torrent of the
Crying skies.
I stay too long.
I always do.
I want to make
It work.
I think…
If I do everything—
Absolutely everything
Exactly right,
It will work.
I’ll will it to!
I’m not at fault.
I never am.
Yet,
It never works.
I stay too long.
I always do.
Love cuts deep.
~Matrixity
In youth we think We have it all.
We think we have the recipe.
We think we master it all.
In our mixing bowl We place what we have gathered.
One life, invincible
Full of ‘hold my beers.’
An education, spearheaded by mom.
An education, learned with peers.
One heart, tender and whole
Full of love and expectations.
We mix and we mix.
We mix and we mix.
We bake.
We bake our early years,
At 350 degrees.
We’re happy with the results.
A life of culinary perfection.
Joy may be short lived.
The real baker of our lives Stepped in.
He added secret ingredients,
Ingredients do secret
It makes your head spin.
To life he added pain and fear.
To beers he added loss and tears.
To education he added disappointment, glass ceilings,
Backstabbing and discernment.
To love he added deceit and lies,
Heartbreak, death and
Deep soul cries.
He mixed and he mixed.
He mixed and he mixed.
He shook up our perfect
350 degree bake.
What was sure is unsure.
What was happy is Now bittersweet.
What was perfection is
Now a culinary maybe.
There is no perfect recipe.
No culinary perfection for life.
It will always be a mystery,
This awesome thing called life.
Verbality 