You, Bastard!

I watch you twitch in your dying bed and wonder if the sole of my left boot, pressed hard, hard… against the folds of your neck, would help the world (and me) breathe a little easier. But strangulation would take you from your children much too quickly. I will free you not from the scorn oozing out of their eyes, from the sight of the burdens you’ve filled their hearts with.

January weeps snow salt on Alan Rickman’s frozen smile. “Always”, she says, and clutches Snape tighter, his blood tattooing your greedy deed to her chest. February doesn’t cry; not with Leonard Nimoy no longer breathing in her arms. “I shan’t show any emotion, Mr. Spock”, she tells him, turning her rage into indifference that stinks of your hand. November kneels in a corner, face to the wall and back to you. His eyes are shut, and his right foot is in his mouth. Shame shrouds him, the thought of post-truth weights bigly on his spirit. He mumbles, “Yes, we can” and “I feel the Bern”, but doesn’t know what any of it means.

The rest of your brood sits with Death, Misery and Loss, all their hurting quiet, quiet, quiet… except, December’s—she has been possessed by the rebel fury of Princess Leia. Yes, she is the one kicking your skull, and shouting, “You, bastard!” No, she is not the one flipping you off, that’s The Force in Carrie Fisher… and in most of the feeling world.

die, old thief.
do some good, for once—
die alone

.
a wee note…
– Yes, my Wicked Luvs, I’m relieved to see 2016 go and hoping that 2017 will bring better things.
– Linked to Poets United (Poetry Pantry, 334)

I borrowed this inspiring (and rather telling) cartoon from Lalo Alcaraz

 

On the Wheel of Living and Dying

Another year’s swallowing its own tail,
riding helter-skelter on the Wheel
of living and dying and living again…

getting me from dizzy to sozzled
on the juices of Chaos’ other brother—
you know him,
he’s the calm-camouflaged Catastrophe
fed by society to all its accepting
self-blinded souls.

.
In spring, I lived content
between happiness and heartache,
soaring over a precipice of brilliance,
thinking, Not my drama.

.
Then came July’s heat
to sweat a lioness’ dying tears
over a world that screamed,
“Murder-death-kill!”

I waited for the ebb and flow of the status quo
to trip into an endless downward spiral,
where it would choke in stark, tumultuous grief.

But nothing ever changes—Chaos reigns
when we fight the fog while stuck in place.

.
So I sat through the fall…
existing
on naps, snacks and blogs…
muttering
of sweet blood denied,
of poverty-driven chaos,
of fuckin’ hard goings…

.
Winter slapped me like a sickness—
a pandemic of empowerment and changes
shouting into my skull, “Take control ruthlessly.
Misery doesn’t need more friends. Escape
clouds of barely submerged apprehension.
Tongue kiss enlightenment. Reclaim your belief
in dirt, in Faerie, in the resurgence of love, in Self!
Devour this creative boost.”

.
I am reclaiming my all.

I kissed Gaia with spirit, flesh and bone,
felt my old doors opening,
welcomed the rebirth of inspiration;

I met the eyes of the infant Wheel,
watched them open… open again,
glimpsing the spring of a new me.

.
Process Note: yesterday, I asked friends on Facebook to share 3-word phrases that described their 2015. This is the word-baby conceived by their descriptive trios and birthed by my Muse. Many of the phrases made it into the poem intact, a few were tweaked a bit, some became one with threesomes that held similar meanings. Writing “On the Wheel of Living and Dying” was a gift to me. I hope reading it feels the same to you. Fly towards happy. Kiss daring on the mouth. Be true to flesh, spirit and bone. Be your very best self, my Luvs.

linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 284

Rebirth, by Delawer-OmarRebirth”, by Delawer-Omar