The Pretty Corpses of Flowers

I was about to post a rant about some woman who wanted to sell posters of one of my blackouts… without paying me. But as I reread what I wrote, my blood began to boil… So, I deleted the whole thing, and opened my “Awesome Things My Love Says” folder.

My sexy Piano Man has a way with words that reach my heart and my funny bone. The other day, he texted me after a show, to say, “Warning! I’m bringing home some flower corpses.” He knows I don’t much care for flowers that have been cut just for decoration, and he also knows that if the poor things were already mutilated, I wouldn’t want their sacrifice to be for nothing. I do my best to find a way to show them some love.

It was a big bouquet. Some of the flowers are still drying. But the roses, carnations, and some greenery and fillers (whose name I don’t know), have dried quite prettily.

I used a rose petal on this stitched poem. Some of the outer petals I offered to the moon, now sit by my typewriter in view of the window. I put together a bouquet I can glimpse while I’m writing. The leaves and other greenery went in a jar until the muse thinks of something. The fillers are in a wee bowl, in front of a sculpture of Old Man Death (you know how much the grinning Reaper loves his flowers).

By the time I was done, I was grinning as toothily as… well, as toothily as me. Playing with nature (even mildly dead nature) is good therapy, picturing the bloody things my muse thinks should happen to those who want to steal our mind-babies… not so much.

Soft Parts Exposed

Sharp wiry fingers
reached under my Muse’s skirt.
They ripped and tore
bloody chunks of words;
left her screaming,
“Rape!”

I was rage-shocked.

The rage metamorphosed into hurt
that forced me onto my back;
limbs flailing,
my soft parts exposed…
violated.

 

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads’ weird platform

by SunshineShelle

“Tears of Blood”, by SunshineShelle

Writing with the Cyber Punches

Every now and then, a person or event hits us so hard in the virtual teeth, that we struggle on the ground, staring at our attacker, and wondering, Why? At that moment, deep in our assaulted heart, we’re certain that we’ll never get up again.

Then the heart remembers the first time her feelings were bloodied—we’ve all been there—and she thinks about how she was convinced that the pain would kill her. Right there, when she’s sure that death is eminent, her brain rolls her eyes, and says, “Hey you, nincompoop, can you hear me? Of course you can freaking hear me; neither you nor your ears die way back then. And guess what? You’ll not perish this time, either. Just put on your big girl panties. No! Not those useless silky things; the red cotton ones with the tiny black skulls and the lettering that says, ‘This knickers were made for butt-kickers.’ Good. You’re grinning. That’s the spirit. Now feed that grin some common sense and action until it bursts into cackles, then think of a tale or three, and write with the cyber punches.”

Yes, my brain is rather loquacious… and sagacious, too. I like her ways, and care to listen to her advice. So after a group of lowlifes stole my work from my about-to-become archive blog, I gave myself some quiet time to grief for the loss (and to rage in severely descriptive phrases), before I took action and continued to keep on keeping on.

This website is my first step towards moving forward. I’ve already created new short Fiction and Poetry pages; mostly, I transferred the links. I need to do something similar with the book pages, which remain at Pagan Culture. My about Me page, on the other hand, it’s quite the treat. Seriously, my Wicked Luvs; do read “i am Stories” and “i am Poetry”, if you have a minute or three. For my latest approach to a bio was a therapeutic blast to create. I suspect many of you might enjoy the living friskiness of the words.

All my new short fiction, poetry, bits of witchy living, writing, reading and publishing updates will be posted here… so do consider following by email *cough, cough, cough*. I plan to reread Pagan Culture from beginning to end, in order to create a categorized archive to keep here. I suspect the process might take me the rest of the year, perhaps longer—we’re speaking of almost 1,300 posts.

For as long as I’m conducting my Pagan Culture archival exploration, I shall publish a weekly notice (over at the other blog), informing anyone who is yet to visit/follow my new cyber-home that the Midnight Margaritas are now being brewed here.

Again, my Luvs: fly around, take a look at “i am Stories” and “i am Poetry”, follow via email, Bloglovin’… have a good time, and leave a comment or three to feed my wicked grin.

Rebirth, by Peace Simon

Rebirth, by Peace Simon