Turning

I saw silver and gold and I was told I could have it all,
So I answered the call … I turned;
I saw fame and fortune and was told I could lay my claim,
So I did so with no self-blame … I turned;
I heard the blackbird promise power and my own great tower,
So I laid my bricks and did not cower … I turned;
I heard an old bard sing that peace was all mine to lease,
So I began to buy and did not cease … I turned;
I smelled all of the myriad roses in their beautiful poses,
So I started to buck and pluck … I turned;
I saw adulation and was told to clench it without hesitation,
So I made this my vocation … I turned…
Always turning, and always churning and burning with a hole
In my soul, and now I’m tired of being mired in such insane
And senseless pursuits that really suit no person, even me;
It’s like chasing the wind, running round every single bend,
Breaking my fragile heart, which not one of these could mend
Or even all of them taken together like one solitary feather;
But I hear the Voice that calls from the halls of my spirit,
And I realize that I’ve been unwise, creating my own demise;
Yet the Voice still beckons ‘n means to reckon with this man;
Ah! And so I turn one more time to hear this still, soft chime,
And will I need turn again or, perhaps, I’m done with turning
Even as I feel the smile and hear, ‘Come and welcome home.’


Note: Originally published in April 2016, now republished due to some renewed interest as well as for the consideration and enjoyment of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!

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Thy Kingdom Come . . .

I lay me down in rolling green meadows with gentle streams flowing nearby. Tall, strong trees tower in the distance where birds sing their day song, and flowers are in full bloom. Azure sky canopies above me while soft clouds float in the sea of blue. Mountains lay silently on the far horizon, and I hear your voice whisper in the warm, soothing breeze.

Deer prance through the wood while squirrels scamper on the forest floor. Barely audible, angels sing as the tall, lush grass sways back and forth in rhythm. There is peace here. Complete serenity in place of the cacophony of the world left behind. Here your sovereignty is felt in absolute tranquility, where there is no room for fear.

The fresh scent of new life fills the air, wild and free, inviting, intoxicating. Majestic stallions gallop across the hillocks as luminescent spits frolic and play, and your joyful laughter rings in my ears. I smile. There is contentment here. There is rest, and my soul is refreshed. Here in this place I am the child once more, and this would be a dream except that it is so real.

Fear

A wind swept down the hall, along the walls,
Around the corner, where I lay bound in bed
My nightly prayers being said after eating
My last parcel of bread, and the spirit came
Once again to claim my mind and bind me
In chains of fear under cover of dark
In stark reality of being alone
With no phone to call for help;
Only the yelp of a dog nearby
Broke the silence before the voice spoke,
‘You are alone again and prone to fear, my dear,
So in sheer terror you lie as in a coffin
Prepared to die, and so perhaps you shall…’
Strange illumination filled my room with gloom
As tumescent tissue tendrils extended round
My room with effervescent smoke floating
In iridescent glow for shadowy show while
Willows danced outside my window, and I buried
My face in tear-stained pillow for some shallow
Comfort without sweet slumber…
‘Ah, no, this night you might be mine, so fine
And delicate,’ she softly whispered in my ear;
‘Fear’
‘Fear’

In the Corner with Maftet in Bubastis

Here it begins: my long series of mytho-poetica inspired by two very talented writer-poet-bloggers ~ see below ~ one interwoven, multifaceted tale that would consume me for months. For those of my readers who have not read: Enjoy! (But you may want to begin with the two pieces that inspired me… Again, see below.)

qadesh2[1]What am I doing here in this drear room in Bubastis in doom of shadow corner, so many sadistic strange faces? And who’s the witch that paces back and forth like she’s the frackin’ dream queen?

“Yeah! That witch is the bitch of war, my dear,” voice at my shoulder, and I shuddered. “She’ll dance and prance, but blood lust is a must for Bast; she just likes to drown her victims in fine wine first before lunging for the kill.” Light laughter. “Yeah, it’s her thrill.”

And the cats; I like cats, but their purring was alluring. Slap! “Bitch! Wake up unless you wanna be her boy-toy! She’ll suck you dry and leave you to rot in graveyard lot! Stupid man! I knew you needed me here; your haven is craven fear, right? Right! No might, no sight, no fight… Pathetic! Come here… No! Near, my love. Why the hell do you have an ear if you can’t hear?”

“But who are you?”

“Maftet, wife of Ma’at, but why in God’s name do you want to know? Just shut the hell up and stand behind me, kind of like you’re scarred, because you are ~ like an infant ~ far from home.” Wide shoulders, strong as boulders, silken hair, back bare and luscious. “Look! Her next victim, so unaware! Listen to her dictum, and the man is so blind! Men have always been, and there’s the purr of her cat to allure! Gods! I’ll rip apart the cats and make hats of hell ere I tear into her and chime Shai’s death bell!”

Bast like feline and soothed among cast and crew of old tale spun, told anew, unheard by little bird, “ah! but his mistress sees now how he’s ready to bow! Good so far; maybe she’ll steal him for her own meal, if she’ll stop drinking Bastian wine so finely laced, not benignly … Is she stupid, too; so putrid! She still doesn’t see!”

“See what?” Trembling. Assembling courage, but so damn pitiful in mystical presence of pleasance of Maftet, my savage protectress so ready to ravage … who? One and all to maul? Maybe I should crawl…

“The stich, my love-dove, so weak and bleak! The stitch on the rich bitch-witch!”

“Where? I see no tear…”

Living_Ma__at_by_sphinxmuse[1]“Ha! No wonder! You blunder through life anyway; yeah! you need to stay with me, even after this day! You’re too damn blind to find your way; that’s how you stumbled into the gloom of this room in the first place, and with no trace beyond Ma’at … and she ought to have pity on you!” I moved closer to her back for lack of strength. Laughter, demeaning but preening, too. “Look! The stich covers more than a niche! At the bottom of her neck.” More laughter, this time cruel with some bloody drool. “You should’ve seen her before, just after… Star-knife slice and I made her a wreck!”

The man moved closer. His mistress pricked, gave an unseen kick. Ah! But Bast and Maftet noticed ~ it was really obvious ~ but the man was oblivious. And then the woman began to weave as something began to leave with spirit heave… And cat’s eyes turned green, so serene … hypnotic, exotic, erotic. It wouldn’t be long now…

Instinctively I grabbed Maftet for fear… “It’s alright, my dear, just stay near… We’ve played this play many times before, and it’ll not be you who hits the floor!”

.

Note: This was all very gratefully inspired by the creative work of unbolt and Tony Single, specifically their collaborative work, the second part of which is entitled, Sekhmet. Thank you both for this fascinating, exciting new venture … not, mind you, an addition to their creative work. One might consider this an inspired ‘spin-off?’ Whatever the case may be, hope you (my readers) enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed imagining and writing it!

Write

From your crying and weeping and all your silent keeping,
From your joy and laughter and thereafter miles of smiles,
From your lashing and thrashing and still-soul crashing,
From your trials, stockpiles of pain, and bile in your throat,
From your hopes and dreams and all your sky-high dreams,
From your strength and weakness, your pride and meekness…
Write.

If you are a writer … then write!

The Duchess and Lord of Lyricism Dialogue on Love

I have never before collaborated with anyone, but today I have had the privilege and honor of working with the very talented Nandita (Manan Unleashed) on this poetic dialogue between the Duchess and Lord of Lyricism,  the final installment in both of our respective series (due to reasons we deem unfit to divulge.) I (we) truly hope you, the readers, enjoy this collaboration! 

As Sol reigned high in the sky, the duchess did spy the Lord of Lyricism,
And she decided to fly to where he was perched on his literary birch;
“Ah! So it is the star-gazed lover who hovers in ethereal art covers!
Welcome, my dear, and what will you say that I should now hear?”

The Duchess sat herself near the Lord of Lyricism
Who looked at her with such tender affection in his wise eyes;
She could not help but spill her secrets,
Harboured within the deep cavern of her heart.
“What do I say my Lord? I had a mortal fight last night
With the Lun who refused to shine on the dark side of my duke.

“Light and dark; night and day, are they not both at play?”
Answered the Lord of Lyricism. “But dear one so near
My heart, no one need tell you when the sun does rise,
For it is no surprise; no one need tell you there is a
Dark side to every glorious lark. Every song is bound
To have one wrong key, you see, so what it is you have
Sought and at what price have you bought your love?”

“Shed some light my lord; what causes me to worry so?
All I have ever seen since love was conceived
Are seeds of stars in those magical eyes;
Alas! Last night, as we were gallivanting in the garden of
Love, a storm came and the Lun hid behind dark clouds;
It seemed to steal the stars that lit up my heart
And I was left with a disdainful black night.”

“Ah, dear Duchess, love is always planted in seeds
And needs to grow to show its worth of timely birth;
But the storms must come to transform love as it
Forms, and sometimes then the bright stars of night
Are hidden from view to the two in love; fear not!
Stars above are still shining, and pay no mind to
Luns and their unkind ways; the rays of love may
Still shine in your heart and that of the Duke, and
Then ne’er shall you part ways for the days to come!”

“My heart knows my Lord the pearls of wisdom you implant
For I was born after all from that seed
From whence my love has sprung
And so although burnt clouds may at times overcast my clear skies
And those stars that light up my world get stolen from those eyes I now call home
I must chide myself every time I doubt my heart
That I cannot appreciate the beauty of the calm
Unless I go through the storm.”