Category: Uncategorized

Fashion

I am blinded by aristocratic glamor

one among the many lost in the
golden streaks of light bleeding across Parisian skies/Mademoiselles flitting across chiseled
walkways in swishing tulle/Spirited colors scintillating across freshly adorned silk

Tonight I am swept away by a prismatic trance
longing to be adorned in jewels and glimmering heels/and my tender locks sprinkled with fairy
dust/ I dream of emanating grace and beauty/
Instead of hoarding it like a voleuse

Yet I am sentenced to the role of a peasant
Defaced by cold mockery from the golden ones/The elite who were crowed and blessed by the
cherished goddess of beauty

They who are dazzling and eloquent in cotton, crepe, organza and muslin/Draped in scarves,
sunhats, and a plethora of baroque garments
I am at the mercy of dames and divas/Caressed by diminished glory/A wilting wallflower that
shall not glisten or glimmer/until the day ugly means beautiful/and poor means privileged

A collection of time
rests upon
forgotten things

Thickening with the years
Dust is the reminder
of things forgotten
and lost

To pick up an old dusty item
and blow the dust off
and choke as it swirls in the air
is to choke on memories

A cloud of grey and brown,
catching the light and becoming ever more visible,
swirls into pictures of the past

Though,
the cloud may make vision go fuzzy
and get into one’s lungs;
My head is sideways
dust and lint hanging and falling into my mouth and eyes
looking under the bed for—

Something.
I cannot remember
until;
The attic

a circle made of people:
a ring in the dust,
and dusty playing cards
dimly lit with the warmth of

flashlights
capturing the bits of brown turned gold
swirling and flowing
through the air

And how wonderful it is
to remember

The dust that covers everything
old,
lost,
and forgotten,
is the passage of time
presented in a tangible way,
one we can comprehend

The running of one’s finger over a dusty object
to see the line it makes
or how dirty one’s finger may get
measures the passage of life in units undiscovered;

The dust on my window screen reminds me
I have not washed it since we moved in,
usually it is invisible
but not during the golden hour as the sun sets

only bits of green shapes are visible through the sheet of dust.
Bits of hair being pushed
through the screen, less dusty then

Looking through the screen,
before dust had painted it with memories,
to see the stars
and the way the moon made plumerias glow a light blue.

To clean dust
is to travel through time,
The dust collected
allows one to live through life again.

And
after everything has been wiped off
and rid of dust,
every memory relived, every moment
savored again,
a mouth, dust smeared across the side of it,
smiles.

Things had felt strange,
I had felt unsure,
I could see things I hadn’t before,
The emotions that came with all of those thoughts,
The perspectives,
I had never seen before,
I have found the beauty in this gift,
The connection of life through belief and accepting the truth in myth,
I remember and grow into who I am,
Let go of fear and it disappears in in sinking sand,
The image changes to a beautiful beach an oasis of love that does not know defeat,
I grow stronger with love, hope and kindness,
Fulfilling and happy now my life is,
This story I write,
I will continue,
Life so magical in day and night,
Diving into the depths I enter a new phase,
The light shines through my gaze,
I see, I feel, I experience, I am,
Creating and enjoying all I can,
Which comes so easily now I know,
The journey has lead me here and I grow,
I shine and dance in the stars of the night,
The world is full of divine connection and love,
Yesterday passes and Today starts,
Tomorrow is coming and it’s all connected for us,
I reaffirm my positive thoughts,
Each night when the suns has set it’s that time I do this,
So when I rise like the light in the sky,
‘The warmth of the day and flow of gentle waves,
This is when those thoughts go into motion from yesterday,
Then tomorrow becomes better in every way,
It’s not about retraining my brain,
Survival isn’t a part we need to play,
Because in our era and new age,
It is thriving and the knowing the best is on its way,
I have set those intentions and created my path,
The divine universe dances and joyously laughs,
Connected with the highest version of me,
Of you and nature and everybody,
This life is aligned for us to experience and grow,
Create our world to become better than I had known,
Now I am thriving in the experience of this flow,
Yesterday is not tomorrow it is all a divine stream,
Life is a gift for you and for me!

She had never cared much for
the smell of the rain.
But one day a boy she loved
taught her a new word:
petrichor.

And she decided that
the gloom had grace,
and the fog could laugh,
and the petals cried,
and their tears were sweet.

And drinking in the melancholic
rays of sun,
she thought:
maybe the chasm in her chest
was not a hole but a window.

I used to think I was a fortune teller
I used to think I could control the future
I would imagine catastrophe
I would imagine your anger

I walked on one ply paper
I walked ever so softly
As to not disturb you
As to protect my tender heart

Then I learned I suck at fortune telling
Then I decided to experiment
I shared my mind’s whispers
I let out all my containment

You loved me for it
You praised my bravery
I had the widest smile
I savored every moment

Now I relinquish control
Now I let my feelings flutter
I imagine pleasant harmony
I predict our unity

The words I cannot find
Are remnants
Lost to
Stopwatches and pocket pieces
They echo the sound of you’s and I’s
Their timber—
Tinnitus that lingers
On drums
Beating unpredictable beats per
Moment
Momentarily
Eternal

What is forever
When people are so fickle?
Or when tears tickle
Chins
Falling onto cotton blends
Only to disappear—
Hidden near the place it all started
The words were never there
Or were they?
Or are they?
— On days where candles facilitate
Wishes
A breath and a sigh
An “I love you”
To an empty sky
And a dust-covered passenger seat
— Hope
Was one of the words
I couldn’t remember

Remember Remember
Fondly, that day in September
When you returned to me.

The golden light kissed our face
As your hair gently brushed mine
When I whispered in your ear

Your beauty in pangs of grief
Of loss and turmoil seeking root
Always with a gentle smile

Your face with radiance shone
Rained on with uncertainty and loss
And looming distance ahead

Uncertain. Unknown.
The space between us.
Closed for one pure day.

There’s an Orchard
It’s not big rather small honestly
There’s this tree, not the first one, not the newest one
but here all the same
I call it the Lilith tree
It has beautiful red leaves come autumn
Bareing sweet apples come harvest
But lately, the Lilith tree has gained rot on the branches
The beautiful tree no longer provides delicious honey crisps like the rest
But it’s my tree
So I’ll take the time and tend to the tree
The Lilith Tree is getting worse
But it’s my tree
And it’s not the tree’s fault it got rot
It’s not the tree’s fault it can no longer bear apples
So I tend to the Lilith Tree giving it all I can
Pulling weeds and dead bramble giving it the space it needs to heal
I trim the dead branches
Test soil and fertilize the ground
The work I’ve done is not small
The sun dances away as I tend the tree
I know this time could be spent planting new trees
The tree no longer has leaves, come autumn there will be no beauty
But it’s my tree I can’t let it waste away
Others would have cut the tree down
chopped it up and used it for firewood
I won’t it’s my tree after all
It could be loyalty, bravery, or some unyielding will to make the tree better
It’s probably stupidity but it’s still my tree
And while I don’t know why
I’ll do everything I can to stop this rot
It’s not the tree’s fault after all
And it’s still my tree

There’s a rosette under this golden flesh,
the core of this palm-sized planet,
rippling edges, ruffled coral.
Skin-thin surface holding weight,
juices locked in tight, firm cells

My colleague, she prefers her peaches crunchy–
I like mine swimming, sweetness flowing.
How lovely then,
that they are loved at all stages of being,

not resented for youth or age,

admired at each moment,

for qualities available, not longed for

How can I keep resentment,
when I see new worlds in your eyes?