Monthly Archives: October 2014

To Honor Kali

The Goddess Kali-ma

The Goddess Kali-ma

I hear her voice as twinkling smooth as wine

Her lips sparkling words like silver sweet

Precious in their divine

Guiding hands to keep me warm with a caresses gentle bliss

Heated breath of her lover’s mouth emblazoned with her kiss

I walk with her on star-lit roads

I hear her sigh the night

I hear a tiny cricket’s call

The wisp of an owl in flight

I smell the scent of impending rain

The trickle of a nearby stream

The blush of moon blessed breezes

Floating through my dreams

Intimate imaginings spring forth in passions song

Spooned soft against my lover’s thigh

Eternal night prolonged

Pressed tight with lust to feed at her breast

I feel the release of my birth

I respond to her smoldering touch

I’m embraced within her earth

That was that

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This and many other really funny shirts can be found at: http://amorphia-apparel.com/

When I was little, I just wanted to be something.

I wanted to be a firefighter like my Grandfather.

I wanted to be a doctor like my cousin.

I wanted to be successful with money in my pocket

and a home to return to at the end of the day.

But then the abuse happened.

I couldn’t see myself anymore doing anything

because the pain was just too much.

I found I could get temporary relief,

very temporary,

if I just took one more hit from the pipe.

The only thing I wanted to do was run.

I wanted to run as far away as I could

from myself.

But then I ran too far and I couldn’t come back.

When I was little, I only wanted to be loved.

I can’t even be that any more.

It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.

But it happened and I can’t come back any more.

If I could tell you one thing,

I’d tell you to love yourself before it’s too late.

I couldn’t. You can.

The picture used belongs to http://amorphia-apparel.com/

Alchemy of Death

Solemnity spoke

Solemnity spoke

I mailed a package off to the Spirits,

after staring at death with mournful eyes.

Gravely I dug into the hard earth

Return to Sender stamped in neat letters

on the cardboard coffin holding,

protectively, its morbid contents.

I checked to see if perhaps,

maybe,

I was mistaken.

Suppose that the heart still beat,

the breath still attended life,

the soft mewls of a hungry stomach.

I wasn’t wrong.

I wasn’t anything but lost

in the harsh tears following death’s

cool touch.

Dirt reset to conceal my pain,

I wondered how much postage

it would take to have the tiny package

returned to life once again.

Brushed Out

Clumps of dirt, dust, and debris rotted my brains

whenever I tried to speak to passers by

I’d hold my beggar’s cup earnestly pushing

for loose change to fall chiming into the depths

speaking foul breathed words of backwards intent

Clumps of zombie flesh fell from my body

repulsing potential friends, disgusting possible employers

until

I blinked my eyes to dream and you coalesced

pristine

extraordinary

You made strange sense of my chaos, spoke to me

with careful brush strokes through my tangled words

Ever so gently you tugged at my self-loathing,

conditioned my confidence,

curled my toes with affection,

showered me with the truth through your actions

as you loved my pieces back together.

With frightened squalling wails of labor,

forsaking all others

I was born into redemption with your hand embracing mine

the day I agreed with you that I am worthy of love

These Are My People: Jamie Lopez and JuJu

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke.

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline
Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke. THIS ONE IS SOLD!

She lives in self-inflicted padded walls

Created with cotton balls,

Elmer’s glue, squished on fun

By her autistic son

She schools him on the finer points of life while

She’s splashing in the shallow end

Of the dating pool

Yelling,

“MARCO!” in the language of JuJu.

The responses are comical if not misplaced

By distorted males riding by on penny pony floaties

They shout “CABBAGE!” or “BOK CHOY!” or “PETUNIA!”

From the deep end where she already dipped her mug

Into the drunken pissy beer and found the taste repugnant.

She rejects the self-proclaimed wise men and gurus

Whom are no more effective than arm-chair quarterbacks.

Instead she paints herself a wisdom

Of spiraling owls and feminine curly tailed girls

That return prosperity in accordance to her schoolgirl happy.

When she looks at her beloved son, she realizes,

She is his Sherlock, he, her Watson.

Where she is prismatic and lively

He is repetitive and monochromatic

But they take out the crayons together one by one

Exploring every color of the world as a dynamic duo

Some days, when she’s a grounded bird and doesn’t want to fly

Juju nurtures her with yesterday’s worms and reminds her to seek the sky.

When he left, he took:

professormcbeezleEvery one of my canvases and paints but not the colors

every light bulb in the house but not the light

every shade from the windows but not the curtains

every blanket from my beds but not the warmth

every canned good from my cupboards but not the bread

every animal from their house but not the pets

every gift he was ever given but he left empty handed

every hug and kiss sprinkled with praise but not the love

and I let him go because he asked with action not with word.

Common Enemy

povertyinamericaWe have a common enemy

That hands out shackles of poverty

As Mistresses and Masters of iniquity

Provoking our inequalities

Promoting the division of you and me

Which adds dollars to their bloated prosperity

While we fill their sales on their corporate sea

With no trickle down reciprocity

I work for them and they give to me

Silver pieces for my soul adding up to forty

Which they take back in taxes from me

While claiming this the “Land of the Free”

Then they take food and shelter from our progeny

Claiming that we’re, simply, “Just lazy.”

Moving Day

My arms are full of boxes heavy with my heartfelt memories.

I look at the darkened windows that feel like a medical flat line

The front porch light that once greeted my arrival is turned off.

The driveway where my children created Michelangelo is barren

The study window from which I witnessed the drama of “Oak Tree Living”

Looks nakedly back at me without holding the allure it once did.

I turn my back to face a new adventure brought to me by U-Haul.

With teary resolution and no tag-backs, I whisper to the sunrise,

“Goodbye my lovely haven. Good day my place of rest.

Whomever crosses your threshold, may they be ever blessed.”