Are we so bored
Uninterested and unaware
Of our travels
That we miss
Our own momentum
Demanding
Racy bandwagons
To hitchhike on
Hoping, hopping
From one to the next
To another
No, I’ll get there
Eventually
I wave them by
And think
I am content
On my own
Two feet
— A.R.
Walkabout by welilly on slimber.com
I just wanted to send out a quick apology to anyone who got multiple emails from my blog, of the same poem. I was clearly having issues with my WordPress mobile app, or perhaps it was having issues with me…or maybe it was a glitch in the Matrix.
I will repost the offending poem at a later date when it is ready to go out. Thanks for your patience.
Poetry & Practice,
April
Shhhh…don’t tell anyone but,
I took the red pill AND the blue pill.
Weeeeeeee
I bit my tongue today and tasted blood
Because I could not keep my big mouth shut
On my own
— a.r.
If you don’t bite your tongue
by LightUpMyPallette on deviantART
I saw you bare
With dragging feet deliberate
Building up a charge inside your body
Preparing to unleash
Sparks from your fingertips
Onto, into me
Wherever I might allow
So I ran with fear and laughter
But briefly
Because I realized too late
You were gaining anyway
With that charge in your palms
Only intensified by each step
Stopping, my only option
I turned
I could have touched you first
But I closed my eyes instead
Preparing myself
Giggling and barely
Breathing
Static
Crackling
Electricity
— A.R.
Because last night I played with static electricity,
was shocked, and was inspired by it.
Lately I’ve been wearing pigtails
Just because I can
My inner child wants out
We play tag and we pout
Life is Silly Putty in both our hands
— A.R.
Pepper from the Altered Bits Blog
I am not a disciple
Though there are times I envy
Those who would follow so easily
I wish I could lose myself
Completely
In a fog of faith, belief
In what I cannot know for sure
But I need something human
Something real
Something direct and bleeding
I will not let myself be fooled
By figments
— A.R.
Wounded Angel by Hugo Simberg
My muscles ache
Fatigued today
I’ve no relief
From memory’s weight
So I will simply sit
For now
Hold my own skin
I’m learning how
— A.R.
Painting by Amanda Rose
Today I sit constricted
My waistband tied too tight
Until I sat down I had not noticed it
Digging into the forgotten flesh
Just below my belly button
But this time
I do not allow myself to fix it
I decide instead to feel it
An irritation around my middle
I hate this
I have always hated this
I have despised the soft center of me
Since I was 8 years old
I have rejected any sensation starting
From this spot
My entire being crawls away from it in all directions
Shattering me and scattering my pieces
I have always had a vague notion why I split
But today I simply feel it and let the thoughts in
And there it is
A memory as clear as the mark it left
HE used to grab me around my middle
HE used our childhood games
Of hide and seek
In a basement, dark and full of horrid hiding things
While the others hid, HE sought me out
HE would take me by my middle
Hauling me off with HIS giant hands
Encircling the entire middle of me
My flesh and guts a handle for HIS gripping
So this is why
I have punished and pounded and pulverized
This pound of flesh that lies
Between waist and once wasted space
This is why I crudely cut a giant jagged hole
And gladly let myself spill out
And happily filled it in with cold concrete
I have been terribly trying to loose his fingers
Trying to pry them off
The memory he buried
In the middle of me
I have been trying to reclaim my own geography
Violence for violence
NOW I return
NOW I am still, here
NOW I sit on solid ground, his hands are not around
NOW I hear the birds sing of safety
NOW after all of this restraint
I decide to forego formality
Before it is officially over
I move of my own accord, free
Not to fix with force but to find out for myself
To feel the spot where he used to handle me
To see if it still exists under there
And as my hands begin to move
The ending bell rings, allowing
Sounding as if to say to me
It is over
His grip is gone
Your center has returned
You may hold your own middle now
And so it is
And so it has
And so I do
Soft and gentle
I take myself in my hands
And I find
Only me
— A.R.
Woman Sitting artist unknown
Calculating satisfaction
Putting possessions in their places
It never lasts
Days dripping past
Control devolving quite to chaos
–A.R.
Painting by Giuseppe Crespi, 1665 -1737
And needing nothing
Today I will bury myself in my art
Bawdy books and meaty music
Six feet under layers of history
Ancient minerals mixed with new
Tunneling of night
Crawlers without a light of any kind
Only in search of warmth of flesh
My movement my breath my life
There will be no separating
Brain from body roots from tentacles
They are all welcome
Because they approach by sense
Alone without eyes
By tonight my body will gladly be
Buried alive
— A.R.
Buried by manuelestheim from deviantART
sometimesihatemycat 