Moon in A Box, or Life Story 4

He was enchanted

By her luminous glow

And sought at once

To possess her.

He reached up high

Pulled her down low

And put up a fence

Around her.

She was no longer worshipped

No one admired

Her grace, her magic,

Her splendor.

No songs were sung

No petitions, no prayers

Only darkness

Confusion, despair.

The moon had been plucked

From her beloved sky

Captured

And put in a box.

Never again would she

Call in the tides

Or cast ocean waves

Upon rocks.

But she was the moon!

A goddess, by right!

And she simply refused to

Give up the night.

So she kissed him goodbye,

Restoring herself

Among the stars

In the heavenly realms.

Now when a man is enchanted

With our goddess moon

And bids her

Please come down

She winks and she shines

And she sweetly declines

Possession,

Preferring her crown.

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contrarywise

Sometimes time runs backwards

And sometimes beggars do choose

Sometimes silence is deafening

And sometimes to win is to lose.

Rainbows aren’t always colorful

Stars don’t always shine

Sometimes lies are the only truth

The sourest grapes make the sweetest wine.

Sometimes the day feels like night time,

And sometimes we sow what we reap

Sometimes the hymn is not sung in church

Sometimes the wolf is a sheep.

Sometimes insanity grounds us

And sometimes darkness is light

Sometimes love doesn’t conquer all

Our blindness allows us clear sight.

 

 

 

karma is a yellow dress

she’s a karmic

not a twin

someone to drown you

from within

a lesser version

imitation of a star

even looks a little like

Gwen, from afar

such pretty words

paired with ugly deeds

one, two, twenty times

love has lied to me

heart is breaking

somehow still hoping, waiting

too much space

it’s suffocating

and so you’ve chosen

and so have i

dreams are nightmares

words are lies

i won’t be there

the beach, the town

i’m not a yoyo

yes and no, up and down

she’s a karmic

not a twin

she will kill you

from within

that yellow dress

i take it personally

she is not your muse

only claims to be

lie to yourself

i won’t hear anymore

i won’t be the anchor

that grounds you to shore

she is a karmic

not half of the star

she numbs reality

truth of who you are

she is a karmic

i am your twin

may your dreams be haunted

by what could have been.

Inspiration by the Numbers

I have written 198 posts on this blog.  (This will be 199.)

83 of them have been since January of this  year.

115 were from 2012-2018.

Averaging 19 posts per year for that time.

This year I have written nearly 12 posts per month.

That’s a 361% increase in production.

Not counting the things I don’t post.

It erupts out of me like lava, what can I do?

83 posts this year with 5 months to go.

I suppose I should collect them in an anthology.

A coffee table book.

One million notes on Springsteen… and counting.

 

 

hai u, haiku

You cannot ignore a thing

And call that healing

Avoidance does not bring strength.

 

No.

I have had my ass grabbed in meetings.

My breasts the subject of conference calls.

I have been shushed, interrupted, and disrespected.

Twice I have been assaulted.

Both were men I trusted.

And yes, my scars run deep and no, it’s no excuse.

It is, though, the truth.

So when a man I love tells me to trust him

I’m already a little bit wary

Stepping out on to the ledge, will you really carry

Me

Or will I fall again, break apart, hold my own heart?

What you can’t understand is how hard I’ve fought

Just to be treated as a person, an equal.

But we are not colleagues, roomies, friends.

There is no equal, that’s all just pretend.

We are simply beguiling predator and his hapless prey.

So please, stay away.

I can assemble my life without this kind of help.

Kindly walk yourself to the door and out

Keep your hands off my ass and

My name out of your mouth

And just

Leave.

 

 

 

In Response to a Letter I Shouldn’t Have Read

The Popliteal Fossa

Some guys say knee pit

What the back of the knee’s called.

[Also, I hate you.]

Which is to say, I don’t hate you at all.

(m)USED

Three people this month.

Three people took my ideas.  Plagiarized. Pilfered. Stole.

Three people who consider themselves upstanding citizens

Who use words like “Never” and “Always”.

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,

I am sincerely, offensively, flattered.

What can I do?  Is it my fault?

I am continuously moving forward,

Working on boundaries and my own dreams,

Not talking to anyone or sharing anything

Can’t risk it. Everything I give gets taken.

I don’t want to be your muse.

I don’t want to be used anymore.

siren [poem draft]

My hips move like ocean waves

Pulsing, crashing, gyrating

To some ancient rhythm only I can hear

Smooth, inviting, life-giving and

Life-sustaining

I could kill you if I wanted to.

 

My song calls you out into the depths

Curious, enchanted, beguiled.

Wading in my waters and forgetting yourself

Fluid, calming, immense and

Passionate

Abandon hope, all who enter.

 

Cling to me, swim away from shore

Dance with me on the ocean floor

 

I want to drown you

I want to drown you

I want to drown you.

 

thank you note

Thank you for being the one,

For illuminating the dark places

Inside me

And for showing me

I deserve more.

Thank you for being the one,

For opening my eyes to truth

About myself

And for pushing me

To grow.

Thank you for being the one

Who shone brighter than the north star

In my nights

And for showing me

What love is.