Out of Nature’s Bones

I was rambling about my hate-hate relationship with winter, when a lady said, “I know what you mean. These damn months always remind me of getting ugly and dying.” The comment caught me by surprise. Not only because the lady had no idea what I meant (I just hate cold weather), but because I have never equated getting old with ugliness. Beauty changes with time, that’s true… but time doesn’t kill beauty. Only people do that.

Anyhoo, here is a haiku trio that embraces beauty that comes with time:

after the first spring,
new miracles do flourish
out of Nature’s bones

the sun shines
in the fallen leaves
of New York

time-caressed blossoms
evolve under winter’s kiss,
showing new beauty

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for Poets United.

Welcome to the Pain Circus

I crashed into the Pain Circus when a rock cracked my skin and flashed a shinbone the color of blood-shrouded teeth in a ragged mouth crimsoned by rouge pumped out of my heart. I screamed for the audience, believing my pain to be unique in its wrath.

Innocence and ignorance are kissing cousins. Reality’s an unwanted child that shits all over your best suit while giggling at you. But you accept the little bastard because you (and the rest of us) can’t thrive without its crap.

I live in my Pain Circus, collecting screams, ripping art out of agony’s gut, spelling hurts, using rage and will to feed the fire fueling my ink.

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the wee notes…
– inspired by my first memory of excruciating physical pain. Before that, I had suffered a burn or 3, and had lived with a skin disease that could’ve probably won me a shambling role in The Walking Dead, but… the shock of seeing my tibia exposed has made this incident one of my most vivid memories of physical pain. I’ve suffered more serious injuries since, but for some reason this one always bleeds brighter than the rest. No idea why…
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

these deliciously creepy postcards, by Mizna Wada,
are a gift from my sweetest and dearest, Mistress Emma,
of Groovy Gothic. Thanks a bunch, Emma love.