Rekindling

She never sleeps, my Muse. But sometimes, through the frost and rough of winter, she pretends to volcano—keeping her fieriness deep and bubbling. When she is pretending, my Muse, poems and stories rise to the surface to show tips of dreamed icebergs made of magma (in-waiting).

ink is fire
forever ready
to spring worlds

 


borrowed from Jungian Genealogy, by Iona Miller

linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Poets United

 

What Lingers…

My soul licks your words and swallows. The heart of your ink cloaks my tongue, bleeds into my bones, spreads through me, and I feel osmosis be-coming teleportation’s kissing cousin.

Your storm spells trails through my eyeballs and makes home of my skull. I see my teeth dance in mirrors made of your moon-shards howling stories about how darkness is raw energy just waiting to be turned into stars.

Your poetry lingers… and grows.

 

bits on writing and living

This week, I spent quite a bit of time talking with individuals who wish to turn their journey into a book. When someone asked me, “What’s the best way to start writing?”, I considered parachuting out of the closest window. But I was lacking on the parachute department… and my swollen feet and I were standing on the 9th floor, and all the windows were sealed… so, my brain, Muse, and I surrendered our truth: “Write, read, write some more.”

Nope, I shan’t defile your eyeballs with descriptions of some of the looks my answer sprouted. But I will say that I started hoping for the parachute again—just so I could whip the lookers with a braided length of 550 cord until their brain-housing group understood that writing something (other people want to read) involves work, commitment, belief, and an uncanny love for words that it’s almost impossible to explain to people who don’t already love words. And yes, in order to write one must also read… a lot.

I’m not suggesting that a writer must read 131+ books a year, like certain psychos I know. I’m just saying that delighting in words birthed by other writers can be a real education (in writing and living and more).

 

– linked to Poets United Midweek Motif: Darkness Is…, to Blogging around with Rommy, and to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (where Kerry asks us “to share a quote from a contemporary poet’s work and write a poem as a tribute to his/her style, voice, themes, wisdom.”)

These are the quotes that inspired the prose poem (I hope the poets don’t sue me… since I’m broke… unless they want ellipses… or parentheses):

I carved a hole in my chest
[…]

I saw the cavity was filled with seeds
tiny as distant stars –
and multiple universes
~ Kerry O’Connor

You always come
with summer
[…]
on the frayed brown velvet
wilderness
of your eyes.
~ Hedgewitch

there is no point in crawling
into pre-dug graves
when there are signs on our skins
telling us we can survive.
~ Rommy Driks

 

… (.) /…
*cough*