A muse appears in many forms
From beautiful to beastly
The art we bear equally so
From hellish born to priestly
–a.r.
The Good and Evil Angels, by William Blake
Muse
•September 29, 2014 • Leave a CommentThrowing Stones
•September 28, 2014 • 3 CommentsDropping of bombs and destruction of bones
Armies, and mobs, and the throwing of stones
Will not change with war or religious stagnation
But with power of mind opened through education
Blinding our eyes, sitting blissful in silence
Ignoring their plight is permission for violence
The screams of the helpless left dying alone
Those chickens up-roosted will visit our homes
Blood on our hands leaves us nothing but stains
Repeating our past drops us drowning in chains
Safia, Samira, Colleen, and the girls
Michael, Trayvon, and John, gone from our world
Dividing our dreams between us, us, and them
Ignoring the truth that the veil hangs so thin
Will keep some of us happy, and dumb, and to blame
While we slip off the precipice, smiling in vain
-A.R.
Painting: See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil by George Kocar
Spinning with the World
•September 27, 2014 • 2 CommentsI saw a string of spider’s silk
Sway in the morning sun
She must have worked all eve on it
Her work barely begun
She spun her web by shade of night
While cooler breezes blew
Her work destroyed by morning light
I wonder if she knew
Perhaps she’s spinning with the world
Sleeps full in daylight then
When hunger rises with the moon
She’ll weave her trap again
-a.r.
Painting: Spider by Moonlight by Matrix Meditations, Etsy.com
Season of (Re)Enchantment
•September 25, 2014 • Leave a CommentI am opening windows
Singing and clearing clutter
Saving space for possibility
I am dusting surfaces
Noticing the cobwebs
Letting life keep spinning
I am changing batteries
Dancing and lighting candles
Borrowing time for brewing
I am readying my rooms
Unpacking decorations
Leaving a place for magic
In the making
-a.r.
The Crystal Ball by John William Waterhouse
Because it is that time of year again.
Mindful In Tatters
•September 18, 2014 • 1 CommentSome part of me
Is always manic
Maniacally too much
Having some
But wanting more
It always costs me
Something
Balance of imbalance
I have found
No way around it
It is merely a matter
Of my reigning in
Which loose end
While the next is left
Mindfully in tatters
-a.r.
Bipolar by Dr. Taha H. Malasi
Psycho
•September 18, 2014 • 7 CommentsOpaque vinyl curtain that clings to me
When I step in the shower and try to get clean
Not quite as romantic as cotton or glass
I feel so Saran-wrapped when you stick to my ass
–a.r.
Reposted because this happens regularly and, to spite myself, I still react.
Morning Fertilizer Regrind
•September 17, 2014 • 2 CommentsThis morning
I shuffle still
Slightly In sleep
To that steaming
Bubbling altar
Of chemical awareness
My bedtime bun
Disheveled and askew
Imbalance tugging at
My heavy head
A leaning tower
Of convenience
Craving that first sip
But in my mouth
It turns to dirt
And gritty earth
Swallowing
With aversion
To the taste
Of mineral and tin
But maybe while
I dump this out
And grind away again
Some ingested seed
Will germinate and sprout
Crowding out the nausea
Of early morning doubt
– a.r.
A Mess
•September 15, 2014 • 8 CommentsI want
To be unruly
Unkempt and unyielding
Like my daughter’s hair
In the morning
A mess of matted tendrils
From sweat and tossing
Turning with fevered dreams
Nightmarish scenes
Unable to be straightened out
Or worked through without ripping
Some bit of screaming
Cursing the task at hand
“Damn you”
“Fuck you” even
Leave me alone
Let me be matted and messy
All parts of me tangled
With and caught in each other
Perhaps today
I will not untangle myself but leave
The strands of me in shambles
Smelling of tortured sleep
Looking like hell
And hurling defiance
At the world
-a.r.
Untitled painting by Jaclyn Conley
Staircase Descended
•September 12, 2014 • 4 CommentsToday I sit on the bottom step,
No fear of falling down.
But I cannot shake the feeling,
Another me sits up there reeling;
It’s getting tough not to turn around.
-a.r.
Bracelet (Repost)
•September 11, 2014 • Leave a CommentToday I wear a bracelet
Which is thirteen years old
I wear it this day every year
For memories, lessons that it holds
It was made for us in gratitude
For being there and holding up
The families of those who died
That somber day in Washington
Crafted by hand in Glory’s colors
That once were bright without a mark
Each year the colors fade a bit
And the beads become more scarred
At first I made an effort
To keep it quite pristine
But on this day I realize
Value is not in keeping clean
The dirt and scratches simply show
Thirteen years of life we’ve lived
We’re not defined by cracks and tears
But by what of ourselves we give
Dear bracelet, you’ll be on my wrist
On this very day each year
Until one of us lets go that thread
Life well worn out for those not here
-A.R.
The bracelet made, and given to me, by a volunteer at the Pentagon days after September 11, 2001 to thank those of us who escorted families to view the site where their loved ones died that horrific day. I am proud to have stood there with them, to have wept with them, to have heard about their loved ones, to have been available. It is one of my saddest, but proudest, days in the military.
sometimesihatemycat 
