Making Bright Out of Shadows

In darkness, away from leaf-song and rain-scented soil, hearts wilt and die. In the light, where words speak halved thoughts and poetry kisses riddles, stories will die. I hear it. I think it… Then, that something that binds us (do you know what it is?), that thing made of mud, daydreams and wild bits of you and me, fills my bones with chants of Maybe… and I know better—stories only die if you let them and hearts always live if we read.

Making bright
out of the shadows,
the soul smiles…
while I remember
the power of ink.

the (not so) wee notes…
– Last Sunday, I wasn’t having the best of days. I was feeling a bit gloomy, out of sorts… So, I put on my super-power skirt (everybody should have something—in their closet, bookcase, wallet…—that instantly fills them with good memories. I wore the skirt in question, for the first time, during a dance while I was a junior in high school, the same night I figured out that life was freaking weird, but since I was weird, too, then life was yummy). Anyhoo, I put on brown combat boots and my super-power skirt and a dear friend and I went thrifting. The thrift shop was closed when we got there, so we laughed a tad madly, went to the grocery store and bought two pies (I got peach!), and life was yummy. When I saw this rather dark picture (below), taken on the bus on our way back from pie shopping, I noticed how my smile shines through the gloom (I have super-power teeth, too), and I thought, Yep, life is yummy and then some.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Of Pigeons and Perverts and Other Complexities

Most of you know of my love—I’m-going-to-pull-every-single-one-of-your-freaking-feathers-you-thieving-bastard relationship with certain blue jay. Well, I guess, this is truer for those of you who follow me on Facebook, where I do much of my ranting.

My blue jay fiend hasn’t been around lately. I’m sort of worried about him. I wonder if he has been finally put in his place by a mad pigeon who has already claimed some of his head feathers. To think of it, the pigeon has also been MIA. The bees, too…

I wouldn’t mind it too much, if the blue jay finds another urban garden to terrorize. But I would miss the cooing of the pigeons. And if they leave, I would miss out on some gifts—the bloom below was dropped into one of my pots by one of them.

Lately, I’ve had issues with certain people (a few men and a couple of women) who felt it necessary to share some of their rather inappropriate and somewhat disgusting romantic feelings towards me, which they say were inspired by my words. Since none can control how art affects others, I’ve done my best to ignore these things. Some of the reactions are quite humorous (goodness knows Emma has a blast comforting me).

But the more disturbing ones were starting to get to me. So much so, that I almost considered rethinking some of the topics that feed my poetry and prose… Then, an Instagram friend said, “Your words have been getting me through a TOUGH week, lady. My grandma passed away last week and my family on that side can be cold. It’s been tough but your words and posts have really helped THANK YOU.”

I know grief. I’ve felt it crack my rib cage open, leaving my heart exposed. Hearing that I’ve helped soothe some of that pain for another, convinced me not to change a thing about the writing I post online. For I, who has kissed loss on the mouth, have also danced with hope… and hope is a delightful thing to spread, to feed into poems.
from “Loving You through the Veil

The bean, which I accidently on purpose planted in my Montauk daisy pot, is about to offer a harvest. Go on, laugh. You are allowed. I giggle wildly every time I look at the pods… mostly because I completely plan to cook the three beans growing in it.

One of my friends and I have been discussing the nature of relationships—that wild dance of give and take, which would never work if those involved don’t respect and understand each other’s wants and needs. Remnants of those conversations were in my mind, while I crafted the blackout below. I believe in those words. When passion is mixed with thinking and loving and compromise, the horrors that tend to destroy relationships become conquered monsters to laugh at, topics of which to say, “Look at what we can do together, baby. Let’s do more.”

the heights of passion
will destroy ego, Honey.
there’s nothing sexier.

The gift from the pigeon (or from some other bird) has just bloomed. I used to think that it was a sunflower. But it’s very tiny (the size of a silver dollar) so I’m no longer sure. But it doesn’t matter much… You see, my Wicked Luvs, I believe that when it comes to feathered thieves and to art and to relationships and to life’s little (and big) surprises, the nature of the thing isn’t as important as what the thing makes us feel.

I’m feeling good, good, great…

…and you?

13 (totally) Random Things On and Off a New York Train

You didn’t think that I was going to let the 13th go by without birthing some dancing words, did you? I’ve been busy, but the magic of the 13th shan’t be denied. So, here is a bit of 13th-wildness-infused-poetry:

Thirteen is magic, my darling,
let’s bloom deliciously wicked
things (out of eyes made of moon),
dancing the bad until it’s good,
kissing the worst until it’s you.

And the first 13 (sort of random) things that popped into my head:

The bad…
1. Scum – someone very special to me was attacked by a prison inmate. The whole thing is horrible. Not just because we’ve learned that the individual who attacked him tested positive for Hepatitis C, but because the bastard tried to bite him. My friend knows his job and understands the population he works with, so he disabled the inmate quickly enough. But every time I think about what could’ve happened, I shake with anxiety and rage. He could’ve been hurt… by a person he was trying to help. You see, my friend was there on a volunteer capacity. This inmate could only see his family at the hospital if an armed guard was present, so my friend volunteered a couple of hours at the end of his shift… just to have someone call him nasty names and try to get him sick. I know the risk of getting Hep C from a bite is rather low. But it’s the intend that pisses me off. Some people are scum under scum’s shitty shoes.

2. Bigot – while riding the train home, a self-righteous piece of dung, who happens to be from my birthland, showed me a video of a group of Dominicans savaging a Haitian man. The piece of poisonous muck in question laughed, as she showed me the video, saying, “If more people stand up to those monkeys we will drive them out.” I wanted to spit on her nasty face, but I didn’t—my spit is meant for better things. So, I just looked her in the eye, and told her, “I’m half Haitian.” Which is a complete lie, but the horrified expression on the bigot’s face made the deception worth my while. Before I left the train, I also said, “I hope you haven’t reproduced. I would hate to think that any child has to suffer the shame of having to confess that they are related to you.” I said it really, really, really… loudly.

…the hysterical…
3. Lesbian Love Lotion – you’ve probably noticed that my online interaction has been spotty these last few days. Well, a good friend of mine has been in the hospital and I’ve been spending as much time as I can with her. By the time I get home, I only have time to complete my hospital stuff. Anyway, one time I visited my friend wearing a t-shirt that says, “Love Is Love”. A nurse, who seemed not to have noticed that I could hear everything she said, made a face that suggested something nearby was rotting, and told a coworker, “They are lovers.” So, of course, since I’m always so good at giving people just what they need, I waited until the nurse came into the room, grabbed a bottle of oil, adopted a sensual expression that could’ve set quality fabric on fire, and told the nurse (in my sultriest voice), “Can we have some privacy? I need to rub her back.” I thought the nurse was going to burst through the wall. But she didn’t. Now, every time we think about it, my friend and I giggle hysterically.

…the good.
4. Pain can be fooled by love – since my friend has been in the hospital, I have been able to store my own physical pain on the back of my mind, and not truly let it out until I’m home. I’m hurting. But helping her, when she needs it so much, works like a tonic. I know I will need a lot of rest later, but for now, pain’s fooled. Life is good.

5. Old nightmares and new dreams – some time back, I had a nightmare about me choking on my pentacle. Before we go all witchy Freudian, let me say that I know exactly what the dream means. The person who made it was the fiancé of a friend at the time. He used to be nice. But after they married, he turned into an abusive pile of asshole. My subconscious couldn’t stand the idea of wearing something made by that waste of human flesh. I’ve been looking for something to replace it. I found a thumb ring with 13 tiny pentacles, which is promising. But I still wanted something for my neck. Then, the other day, out of the blue, a friend said that he was thinking about making me some sort of amulet—I don’t know what it looks like yet, but there has been talk of hammers and axes and such… I know, right? *super dreamy giggles*

6. Pineapple – deliciousness that does things to the tongue.

7. Mango – perfection made fruit, just for me… Fine, you can have some.

8. Rain – cloud kisses that cleanse flesh and soul.

9. Hammer – builder and destroyer in one… pure magic.

10. Summer-kissed mud covering dancing feet – this needs no explaining, does it?

11. Coffee Nips – glorious at dulling out the nauseating side effects of medications.

12. Listen to Your Spirit, It’s Talking to You – my Crow Goddess sent me a piece that couldn’t be more perfect, if I had dream-painted it myself. I’m listening, Stacy… and I’m dancing with Fate’s chant drumming in my bones. Thanks a bunch, my Luv!

The top of the painting…

…the middle spiral…

…the reaching words on the back…

…the complete yum.
this photo is by Stacy

13. Green, how I want you green. – This line, by Federico García Lorca, came to mind when I first saw the lovely plant below. It looks like a sunflower. Nope, it’s not one I planted accidentally on purpose. In fact, I suspect the gift came out of a bird’s giving bottom. But it’s adorably green, and I can’t wait to see what blooms out of it.

So, my Wicked Luvs, was the 13th good to you? Were you good to it… to yourself?