I will never convince you
I have abandoned my madness
As long as you are shrouded in yours
You will not, cannot see
past your veil of ignorance
to what I’ve now become
But every day, with purest love
I wish only everlasting peace
and happiness upon you
Do not feel special because
I felt you so deeply —
I’m an artist
This morning, I wept for
a fallen tree, I had fallen for
over these summer months
Now it lays stretched, dead
over the creek bed, highest branches
brushing forest floor
ground eroded out from underneath
the roots
The artist’s curse is attachment
masked as lust, even love
but the object isn’t special just because
it’s the perception, the artist’s deception
that gives rise to conception
We may have loved this thing before
and here we are losing it, once more
Don’t be fooled
To be felt deeply
is no honour, because
an artist is a slut for feeling
And now you’re just a bore
One of my foster kittens is auditioning for Shakespeare’s Hamlet
— what do you think?
adoptable through Niagara Pets Alive
Is only intolerable in the city
In the country it is relished
Under the shade of friends
Oak, sycamore and cedar
(If only I could be near her)
The heat
Is only intolerable
In the skyscraped city
Though sometimes pretty
Reflecting sunlight and cloud
Against brilliant glass backdrops
The perfect selfie studio
Good cell reception
Radiating from magnetic towers
(I still smell her flowers)
In the forest it is relished,
And we see life grow,
Hiking through heavy fragrance
just hanging
in the air
Without a care, afternoons
permeated with water breaks
we didn’t all die from
the heat
but there were other dangers
(The loss is difficult to bear)
The heat is
only intolerable
in the city
Where it clings to and delivers
Dumpster smells, sidewalk-fried vomit
Makes that much more objectionable
The masturbation in the subway
And the skin-pressed embrace of the public transit stranger
or do we see that anymore?
It has us hidden away in homes,
And air conditioned cafes
Appearing separate and unhappy
though we suffer sweaty swamp-ass
just the same – begging for marketers
to quench our summer-thirst,
cool?
(Missing mindfulness, I am the fool)
By the lakeside, the heat is relished
Finally the sun forgives bathers,
Bestowing hot sand and tanlines,
Quick dry towels and the joy of popsicles
Everything cold is that much more enjoyed,
Pleasure derived from sticky drippings
Freezies, creamsicles, ice cream cones –
Eleven dollar lemonade is for the city-sufferers
(Again, I would suffer her)
The heat is only intolerable in the city
without natural escape
Less those that die, burdened by
The thick, hot weight of smoggy air
Suffocating dwellers here
Folks willing to pay anything for different external conditions
Desperate to escape
to another’s arms, bearing summer’s dawn
to a heat that’s loved, cherished in evening’s temperate shadow
cast long over the fire pit, as memories
toasting marshmallows late into the night
Sleeping under the stars,
waking in the dew
(A fire still burns for you)
Dearest Othello,
How do I write this now? How now, my Lord, after all that’s become of us?
How do I tell you what’s become of me?
I’ve been sun-kissed and wave-licked
I’ve been rolling in the dirt
I’ve slapped a horse’s ass, cherry picked
and I’ve spit creek water to the earth
I’ve seen snakes in grass
and long thin worms, and sometimes chubby slugs
the forest yields such photographs
beetles, spiders, bugs
Moths and butterflies have pressed me
with silken, pollened wings
while no bee nor wasp has ever stung me
as the dog-day cicada sings
A cricket symphony has often put me ‘lone to sleep
under starry skies, dry eyes wake damp with dew
out here I do not care to weep –
a tear outside was never shed, except those I shed with you
If I never loved another, Desdemona be my name
I have never touched another, yet an Othello I have made
I have never laid another, but you laid me with the blame.
Oh, poor Othello! Confused with talk
fed into ear by Iago’s mouth, untamed and tainted
with mirthful, selfish motivation, to destroy love! Revenge!
Was my mistake the one she missed?
The one where I fought back?
For though I’m fair, when I get pissed
boundaries up and eyes go black
Not so passive, lacking grace
I begged and pleaded and tempted fate
with tearful eyes and ruddy face
now there’s nothing to investigate
I’ve not strayed, and still I wait
as Desdemona would have done
had Othello spared her life and run
her story, I do speculate, and mine
Would be as one.
So though leaves have stroked my arms
And brooks have soaked my pants,
No other man has ever stirred me
Woodsy tickles come from spiders, ants
Still, the forest gets me going,
More stagged than sumac sprigs
How then I touch myself knowing
I’ve never caved to pleasure twigs
Right now, I cannot know your mind
How now, my Lord, I’m feeling blind!
So, in ignorance I must declare:
I will never sacrifice my virtue
To die upon a kiss
Know, still, I’m saved for you.
Love, Desdemona
Was I truly a monster?
Having to beg for love crumbs
is ugly
I am not a villain anymore
I don’t steal scraps
And I don’t blame you
For reanimating my heart
When I lay as a corpse on the table
My virgin lips begging for it
Stitched to a rotting head
Jolted to life by your lightning touch
Addicted, attached to your light
Poisoned, angry when left in the dark
The literature you wrote warned others
Stay away from the beast
Science went wrong with this one
So alone I wait
for my doctor to return
with a cure
Not knowing
he got lost along the way
Following lamp light into the marsh
and voices into the mist:
Don’t go home. Play with us.
Is your happiness a monster?
Did you find your truth?
Who will love me?
When I am apart from this world
When I stand alone, refusing to be
wrecked by a cellphone superglued to my senses,
application addiction gone awry
When I refuse to partake in modern convention
preferring soft and spiky summer grass between my toes,
humidity sucking sweat to the surface of my skin,
lying upon rocks under thick air,
thick branches bearing bright green canopies,
thousands of thirsty leaves, some yellow and release
reminders that this moment is temporary,
and the Fall will come
Who will love me then?
When I bake appled pies and over-romanticize
the long shadows of autumned evening walks
my season of spiders, ripping through webs
strung out over trails,
boasting my bravery – no more fear of fine-legged friends
just as precious a life, so I give love
I give compassion, knowing these virtues are
given not taken, the cause of the effect,
happiness
Why, then, do I ask for love?
Believing the grasping, the craving
its fulfilment will make me whole, and I
will never want again –
a lie
like salt water quenching thirst
impossible
and possibility
still believed
Who will love me when I am
under a spell of such insanity?
And who will guide me out of this suffering?
Permanently?
I have begun to forget my mask
I have started longing to be open about my dissent
from new normal
I am not a pawn to progress political agendas
and power struggles
Just a person longing for the rights & freedoms &
peace of her parents
Was divorce a prediction of politicians’
same social strategies?
Yelling, arguing toward dominion
never peace
If we remove the masks we hide behind &
relent our ruthless blaming
Can we find another way,
more loving, to behave?
Infinite
Endless
Space
You create your future today
Do not become overwhelmed by the opportunities
If What if is What is then Why not What if
Something fucking fantastic.
Let us come together like fire and ice
to create the perfect fog
to slowly uncover the puzzle
put together by sightless senses
somehow complete and smooth around the edges
Won’t you create intentionally with me?
Let us build a masterpiece of a life
reciprocity
boundless giving, love instead of fears
we have such fun to make
a home of sex and joy
transforming life
for hearts we touch
and we strive to touch them all
with a swinger’s gift
unique lust lends
to love
after
all.
You showed me gypsy magic
under light of waxing moon
simple, soulful tunes,
banged out with wooden spoons
passed down from father to son
carved with mystic ruins
creating music for ear
hair raises on skin
I feel it on my neck
like hot breath
and scruff scratch
I feel it on my lower back
where kidneys rub tissue to soundtracks
my arching spine senses the divine
from this music made
so much more than sound tonight
as only magic that persuades
the body move separate from mind
out of control, dancing in time
to art brought forth from empty space
a fire burns within this place
a story comes forth from your lips
I’m dancing with it on my hips
it is hypnotic as I twirl
no longer human, no more a girl
a spirit, light and transformed, airy
you moved me with the music sound
so that my feet no longer meet ground
yet I dance, so moved by you
and you by my words
as you play your tune.
We came together this cold night
to create intentionally by candle light
both romantics, painfully, to core
wishing freedom from attachment
wishing for much more.
yet still finding the body
anything but a bore
because these human sensations
can be felt in each pore
Have you counted them recently?
there are billions
yet we call it one piece
don’t see it fragmented
and wish for release –
from what?
It’s the thoughts and desires
like three deadly poisons
like witches who snare
with unsolicited visions
inciting toxic ambition
that clings to an “I”
not found in team
not found in love
which only gives, lest I dream
and yearn to receive as much as I live
to selflessly, unabashedly strive
to get rid of the ego and get rid of my pride.
Until I have made much more progress here,
I just yearn for the music
to help me release fear
the magic is working
as the gypsies knew
the music is magic
and the music
is you.
Since Hump Day was a little on the nose, I’ve turned to Thirsty Thursday as the appropriate weekday to share Channeled Love Letters.
These tasty treats range from love poems to stories to love letters to playlists and more! Using intuition, clairvoyance, meditation, and creativity mixed with my own cherishing and affectionate love, I have crafted a mixture of fun, smutty, and heartfelt pieces.
These letters are made of words channeled through me from lost lovers, distant places, notes pressed upon my mental continuum, felt in the world’s energy, experienced directly or made up completely.
If that doesn’t make sense yet, I’m sure it soon will. Today I’ll leave you with something short and sweet.
Subtle Devotion
In quiet moments
My mind calls on you
Astral meditation
I touch your cheek
A muse for your mind
& pray to vain gods
That our karma entwine
The Halfwit Writer