Falling Earth

Falling Earth

Who will save you,

little creatures?

Who will build the wall

to protect you, gracious trees?

Who will weave the net to catch

your falling earth?

Last night, in dreams,

I made contact with an off-earth race.

“I’m so sorry for what we’ve done,” I said.

So, we worked out a solution

to save the planet, in their interstellar boardroom.

Take away the humans, I said.

Do what you want with us.

Only remember, I pleaded,

we leave behind pets and plants

behind closed doors

with no way out.

Can you save them, too?

I woke with their dream promise in my mind

to wait in foolish hope

for their arrival.

All because I feel helpless

to change the human race.

The Invitation

The Invitation

You

are keeper of bees

and rainbow dimensions

and just as playful upon my heart.

Yet, I fear

I have kept a secret,

dear spirit of Spring.

I am chaos

and destruction

and can only keep lost souls

and nightmares

underneath

my indigo-charred skin.

My love, I have given you false promise.

I lack the divine power

to keep you safe in my world

or hold myself in yours;

we are trapped in a circadian spell.

Still, hope springs eternal, even in hell,

and my faithful winter wolf watches

the gateway between worlds

for you.

Carousel

Carousel

Hallucinogenic lights

burn us into being.

Parched, we buy sarsaparillas

and play at being human.

The Tilt-a-Whirl spins us into the fun house

and we kiss on the Ferris wheel.

We leave, again and again,

but the carnival music sucks us into cotton-candy giddiness.

A slipstream on repeat and your hand slides away from mine

on the carousel, and

we lose to this game of madness.

Where do we go from here, my upside-down, inside-out

shadow love?

Don’t look back…

 

Don’t look back…

When the clock not only

winds down but runs backwards

is where I meet you again

for the first time.

Getting off the bus

seeking a hazelnut coffee

the instant recognition of our thousand lives

together.

All for the price of a silver figurine on a chain.

My friend made me listen to the song you wrote.

“It’s all about you,” she said, but I chose not to listen.

I should have believed.

In fate.

In our midnight time at the cottage.

In dreams that were real.

Yet, old age grants me a second chance.

My memories come back,

bigger and brighter.

This time, I take your hand,

walk down the beach with you,

and never look back.

–A Chaos Fairy

 

(Just a little background music from my favourite band to set the mood 🙂 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyCqW_r-McI )

 

 

 

Lonely ghosts and an almost-full moon…

 

A very sensory, yet very surreal, week. Or mindset.

Things are both ambiguous and very clear. In mental limbo and yet absolutely certain about…well, see the secrets part below.

A inevitability from which there is no escape, and yet, a promise of a new beginning.

It’s a little maddening and frightening, but also soothing and comforting.

I’m frustrated and resigned at the same time. I’m believing in my instincts and dreams and signs but also practical about their impossibility in this dimension.

The moon is blue-bright and has been keeping me awake, but it’s not even full yet.

There’s lots of secrets, which are also revelations.

Some songs from the 90s are (uncharacteristically!?!?) the current soundtrack to my inner world. Out of nowhere I had this urge to listen to them.

I’m both running away and towards something, simultaneously. Distance, and closeness, all at once.

Nothing much seems to have a point right now, including this blog, yet I’m compelled to put words out there, even if they are trivial, unrelated, or don’t make any sense.

Watched a movie tonight titled “I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore”.

Been wanting to give “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” a re-watch, and re-read Griffin and Sabine, but hesitated to take that literary/cinematic journey.

“Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened. You do not dismiss a muse at whim.” – Sabine Strohem
Nick Bantock, Griffin and Sabine

 

 

Reprising a Nocturne

 

Reprising a Nocturne

How would I play it this time?

As you hint at a second chance

At least, in my imagination,

or composed in last night’s dream.

Again, the wolf howls for the raven

to return.

Again, we dream each other close,

sleeping safe in amber.

Again, I awake with your echo in my heart

and on my skin.

Again, I promise you something real.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, Ordinary Sunday…

Sunday is my least favourite day. It just seems worse than Mondays, because Mondays, at least, are a fresh start. A do-over. Poor Sunday. It just seems to epitomize that droning-meeting-white-noise bored feeling.

But the real issue is that I’m sick. Allergy sick. I got allergy tested (Thank you, Medicaid), and discovered that not only am I allergic to the grasses that make up those dumb turf lawns that are so popular back in my home state, but also a fair bit of trees, certain  kinds of mold, hay, dust, and feathers, of all things. Guess I won’t be going out and hugging any more trees anytime soon. *laugh*

So, when I was cleaning out the art supply closet at work, I got sick. Like almost instantly sick. Within in a few hours, I started to get a sore throat. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out there was mold growing on some stuff in the closet. By then I was really sick. Lost my voice and everything, but at least it supported the results of the allergy test. But, do you know how BLOODY hard it is to supervise a whole passel of overly excited little munchkins when you can’t even talk? Luckily, the kids are some of the most amazingly sweet kids I’ve ever met, so I was spared a Lord of the Flies reenactment. *laugh*

This morning, I even dreamed I was cleaning out and organizing an artist’s studio. Which would have been really annoying in that I was dreaming about something I’d been doing all week. Except that the studio was an open air one, surrounded by a low stone wall, and real green grass growing everywhere. And it was warm,  but not too hot, the sky was a soft blue with clouds, and there was that wonderful kind of breeze that comes off the ocean–playful and mysterious and reminding you that nature is a conscious, vibrant entity.

And then I got a sense of my muse being present. Not really in person, just a feeling they were watching me (from afar) enjoy the wind blowing all my bad feelings away and tangling my hair. It was too poignant, and too simple to even exploit for a poem, but I just wanted to acknowledge them in some way, in case they are out there reading this blog from an alternate dimension. Even though I know perfectly well they are just my creative mind speaking to me, I haven’t been able to make that connection to the part of my brain/soul that’s epitomized by said muse. But, still, I’ve been missing you, my Muse/figment of my imagination.

And now I have to go clean my own house on this prosaic, ordinary Sunday. While dreaming of an ideal day that was shared over at a blog called “Scotland with the Wee White Dug”. Rain, a quirky museum, and scotch? Honestly, what could be more fabulous?

https://theweewhitedug.com/2017/02/18/hooray-for-rainy-days-in-edinburgh/