Shadows and Rainbows

The season frolics through my words, and my soul shudders under sun-teased pleasures. I smile, delighting in the way my dark and my bright dance (free and bare) for all to read. Old Man Winter died screaming, but I don’t fret—Primavera kisses everything better.

limbs naked and spread,
awaiting spring’s blooming kiss,
dreaming of summer

Darkness and blood and thunder rip into my calm. Chaos cackles through walls of bone, chanting, “I slaughtered Tender and Quiet and fed their carcasses to Hel’s shadows. I’ve broken all your rainbows, my pet—no more brightness to brew thought.”

wild hearts are open
to pandemonium’s peace—
bring on the madness

In the beginning and before the end, I think (equally fine) in shadows and rainbows.

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the wee notes…
Primavera is the Spanish word for spring.
– Hel (Norse Mythology) presides over a realm of the dead that shares her name.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Penultimatums: Voyages’ End (Almost), and to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 351.

The inspiration for the first haiku…

…and the heart of the last stanza.

Ugly Is Manmade

Society takes her tea with a pinch of blood, tears and unnecessary hurt. She sits in my kitchen expecting libations squeezed from flesh and spirit her goons label unworthy—too fat, too different, not tall enough, too old, too woke, too human, too unlike her hand-twisted puppets.

ugly is manmade,
the filthiest of constructs,
a poison that rots

Society’s tea cup is overflowing with teeth and broken expectations. My kicking boot is scuffed.
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the wee notes…
– This is not the first poem I wrote for this year’s Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month. When I first thought of the topic, I intended to Protest and be Outraged about healthcare and similar issues. I even wrote the poems (I’ll share them, eventually). But yesterday, someone close to my heart told me that she felt fat, and uncomfortable with her looks. She is a beautiful woman and a brilliant soul… Her pain leaves me wanting to kick society’s ideas of beauty in the freaking jaw.
– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry, 350.


This is a closeup of a painting by Shelle Kennedy;

to see the original piece, in full color, visit Shelle’s blog.

A Senryū for My Paramour

“Let’s go back to the edge of [the] forest and name the paramours who led us to write… Write about sex, sexualized experience, sexless burning, the kiss of strange winds, the sexiness of death. Write about the arrow’s sheer barb. Or whatever else the paramour might mean to you—say, the strange wood we enter starting the next poem.” These are the words of Brendan MacOdrum, on this week’s Sunday Mini-Challenge: The Paramour, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. I can say nothing but “Yes!” to such a call. So here is my bit:

“A Senryū for My Paramour”

He kisses secret places in the inside of my bones… and adds teeth. His caresses come with nail. When his touch arches my back and his wild thrusts make me gasp, he digs deeper… deeper… I stop him—before his chronic lust can scratch unhealable marks on my soul.

I no longer tell him to stop, just write him hard on foot and back, feeding him tales and poesy… until we both get what we want… or, what we can.

stroking flesh and bone,
my Poesy Paramour
writes off constant hurts

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a wee note: I’m sure you noticed that the poem is actually a haibun. However, my Poesy Paramour and I are not in such good terms at the moment. So his bastard self can only have the senryū. Yes, the prose is mine, you greedy pain in the neck… and back… and hip… and gut…

Escape, by Yvonne Palermo
“Escape”, by Yvonne Palermo
(I’ve shared this piece before, but every time I read the artist’s words about the painting, I feel the need to re-share: “Escape is a portrayal of my inner person. The figure depicted represents my ability to let go and accept my constant state of pain in order to continue existing.”)
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