Battling to Birth Wild Balance

“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it [to tell the tale].” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

 

My bit of the North revealed its skull hollow on a mad Tuesday. Mandibles dropped for cover, tongues lashed out in outrage, and no less than 1,001 fists (per nanosecond) pumped towards the heavens in despair—dark clouds and powerful men with darker souls gave exactly zero fucks. But… worry not, my Ink Warrior, today’s babies sharpen their teeth on the neckbone of injustice.

I art my words strange,
fill my tales with blood and feels.
My poetry howls
of love and other demons
battling to birth wild balance.

 

the wee notes…
– If Death had not felt the need for the best of storytellers, my dearest Gabo would’ve turned 91 today. He has been gone for almost 4 years. To celebrate his amazing life, I chose 4 of his quotes, crafted them into a blackout poem, expanded the poem into a tanka, and grew it into the tanka prose you’ve just read. Also, the fourth line of the tanka is the title of one of Márquez’s novels. Feliz cumpleaños, mi Gabo, your words will always live in needed tales.
– I apologize to those of you who were expecting the next bit of “In a Normal (probably-pre-apocalyptic) Reality”. I’ll post it next Tuesday. I just couldn’t skip my Gabo on the anniversary of his birth.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Tempted into Wanting

“What matters in life is not what happens to you, but what you remember and how you remember it to tell the tale.” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

.
You hid behind Sweet Dreams
and a smuggled Desire, waiting
for hearts to tempt into wanting.

My eyes often noticed your face,
but my mind couldn’t see you—
I was too young (for the world)
and you were all wrong for me.

But…

…once upon a summery night,
while exhausted and not thinking
right, I touched your Solitude…
The length of it startled all I was.
One Hundred Years all alone?
I thought, took, read you mine.

I’ve kept you close ever since,
always loving you
in word and ink, learning wild
desires and real sweet dreams.

You’ll never be lonely, my love,
words of you dance on my tongue,
feeding old blood into new ink.

You are loved.

.
the wee notes…
– I read One Hundred Years of Solitude before I was a teenager. The book and I met at a beauty salon my mother frequented. The beautician had a rack full of serialized romance novels (Sweet Dreams, Silhouette, Desire) and enough out-of-date magazines to paper the Great Wall of China and thirteen midsize castles with very small windows.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, and to Poets United.


detail from the cover of
Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude
(Ilustraciones de Fabelo edition)
via