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,

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…
on naps, snacks and blogs…
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

Flesh Wounds

“The calendar lies,
saying that only years have gone by;
my heart,
my flesh wounds
have ached for centuries.
Centuries-long winters
of nightly cold sweats
looking at your ageless face
behind clotting scarlet
~ Magaly Guerrero

This is a stanza from “Out of the Shadows”, a poem I wrote some years ago, in memory of a friend who was killed in action… The death of the four Marines who were gunned down in Chattanooga, Tennessee, brought back the same kind of sorrow. I didn’t know those men, but when lives are wasted… anyone with a blood-pumping heart ends up feeling the pain. May their souls, and the hearts of those they left behind, find some peace… soon.

Otriesse (Pop Surrealism), by Kristof CorvinusOtriesse (Pop Surrealism), by Kristof Corvinus; in his description, the artist calls her a “Spring goddess”. I think the detail makes Otriesse the perfect companion for this remembrance post… for in times of loss and darkness, symbols of rebirth might bloom hope.

Wet Dragonfly Wings

I had lived long enough to have forgotten what my kind did to its old. “I dreamed of flying,” I said to my younger brother, holding on to his hand as we walked through the dragonfly garden. When his eyes moistened, I added, “Don’t fret. They are just dreams, not madness.” Dragonflies flew high over our heads… the largest of dragonflies.

“You won’t make it across without a snack.” My brother detached an egg the size of a grape from the back of an enormous leaf. “Don’t be like that.” He said when I twisted my face and stepped away from him. “Just pop it in your mouth and swallow. You won’t have to eat another for as long as the trip lasts. I promise.”

Reluctantly, I put the egg in my mouth. It was warm. I let it nest on my tongue for a few seconds. Closing my eyes, I raised my head to elongate my neck, hoping it would ease the swallowing process… The egg wouldn’t go down. I tried reaching for my throat, but my brother was holding my arms behind my back. I opened my eyes to beg him to stop, and watched as a swarm of dragonflies rushed down towards my face.

Panic bent my neck forward with a crunch. I dropped on hands and knees coughing out shell pieces, unable to breathe. Before darkening, my old eyes saw a wee woman crouching by my left thumb, wet dragonfly wings protruding out of her back. After an old man-giant blew my wings dry with his breath, I flew with mine for the first time.

To fly in the sky,
swallow a dragonfly egg
and forget humans.

for Magpie Tales 270 and the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform)
Ulrike Bolenz“Kleine Libelle” by Ulrike Bolenz