Elemental, She

Yesterday, I woke up with the classic elements on my mind. They followed me home from a dream. It wasn’t a very rational dream… Then again, any dream worth having possesses a bit of surreality and a whole lot of magical realism. In my dream, I sat on a cloud delighting in ginger tea and Dominican cake, my feet dangling from the edge.

I stayed there from dawn to dusk and again… watching a wild-haired woman go about her day. When the sun was out, she mostly gardened. When the sun slept for the night, she was all woman, sometimes rather loudly *cough*… other times, quietly dancing under the rain of my home cloud. The following poem was born from the thoughts that lingered… after I woke up:

“Elemental, She”

Her night is made of fire and teeth,
of wild thrusting of the hips,
of warm nibbles on her lover’s bits.

For finger-kissing the dirt,
she saves the whole of her day—
planting seeds, cuttings, and roots…
reaping fruits for thought
and guts.

On rainy days
(and dark moon nights),
she dresses in cooling cloud kisses
and the warmest of the wind’s

linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform)

Das Leben Ist Kurz (Life is Brief), by Patricia Ariel“Das Leben Ist Kurz (Life is Brief)”, by Patricia Ariel

I Am Tired…

…but still pushing for blooms.

My alarm woke me up at 5:00am. I took my medications and went back to bed—weeks of trying not to puke my guts out after taking my meds have helped me realize that sleeping an hour or two, after the morning doses, lowers their nauseating side effects. I got back up at 7 or so… my flesh and bones felt like a frozen lump of lead… I passed out again, and didn’t get up until noon…

I’m starting to feel rather sympathetic towards Spring. I’ve seen her trying her best to push Old Man Winter away—we’ve had a few days that kissed 70 degrees Fahrenheit, crocuses and tulips are starting to sprout, dogwoods are blooming, and the blue jay that steals my peppers has been making rounds… Spring is moving forward, even when she has to paddle through Winter’s ice.

True Spring will get here soon… then Summer’s heated kiss… But until Nature, my will (and manmade remedies) melt the ice out of my flesh and bones, I shall keep writing my-Self awake.

What have you been up to, my Wicked Luvs? How’s spring behaving in your bit of the world?

Tulip Sprout