Showing posts with label lit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lit. Show all posts

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Bloom

Image result for lotus moon
Bloom
My Love,
my Moon,
my Muse,
my wide Night Sky,
my sweet lotus flower
O, sit ol' lotus,
perched upon your pad,
sit & stay with me
a while.

I want to watch
you bloom, under
the rays of the moon, watch
each precious petal
spreading itself
to embrace the Universe.

I cannot bear
to watch you 
hide inside yourself, 
within walls
you would build
to block out
the very light 
that makes you shine.

So be wise
my sweet lotus,
as you wander to ponds
old & new
your head wants left alone
while your heart wants to roam,
but your spirit will carry you
home.

Blood Moon

My latest Moon poem, composed a couple of days after last week's partially eclipsed Blood Moon...


Blood Moon

My moon bleeds tonight,
not from harm,
but because nothing can stay
Full, forever; everything
must empty
lest it burst.

My moon bleeds tonight,
& I worship her
as I always do,
more so, knowing
tonight we dance
in shadows
so thin,
only I can see

She feels
the sliver,
like black
thread dragged
across her body,
a taste of the wane
that is coming.

My moon bleeds tonight,
& She will draw me
to her & I will slide
inside & together
We release
release
the world around us
for the Universe
about Us,
release the heart
& the mind
for the spirit
We have been
neglecting,
release resentment
for Love.

My moon bleeds
for me tonight.
¿Will she bleed
for me, again?
Only Destiny
has that answer.
I only know
the moon
must bleed,
as must I,
as must we all.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Firefly


firefly
My Muse
is a firefly
& temptation tells me:
trap her,
capture her
in a jar, screw
on a lid pricked
with just enough
holes to let
her breathe—
trap her so that I can imagine
she fires for me.

But she doesn't.

Fireflies fire
from their desire,
to flee, to breed,
to be! 


So I keep 
my firefly free
of jars or nets
or any constraints,
& she flutters & floats
& flitters about
& she burns,
she burns so bright
she ignites the sky,
& sometimes I catch
her just within sight,
on my right,
& confuse her
for a meteorite—
shooting stardust:
memories
of a Universe
more ancient than gods.

My muse is
a firefly, free
to fire anywhere,
& my blessing is
that she chooses
to burn brightest
near me.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Night Falls














Night falls
& I rise
to meet her,
bury my mountains
deep, so deep
her stars burn me,
turn me, I churn
& erupt
in torrid ash clouds
& magnificent magma.

My Night erupts
simultaneously, 

pouring
forth liquid life,
cooling my fervent fire,
whetting my thirst
in rivers that flow
to form oceans
where only desert—
empty wasteland—
once stood. I would 

be nothing
without Her,
my Night
bearing the water

of Life
to this once
barren Earth—
her air fueling
my fire inducing
her water infusing
my soil seeding
her air until
Creation
has been acheived—
& I am relieved,
knowing She leaves
Me with the arrival
of the Sun,
leaves me
with reminders
of our love,
crawling, swimming,
running, flying—
filling me
until my Night
falls again,
& I rise.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Eight Blades


Eight Blades


You seek security,
safety, freedom
from the things that ail
the World. Would
that it were so simple,
so easy to escape 

problems inherent 
in probability.
 

I know You feel 
You might have found
a viable option,
the one solution
to making it
through this cruel,
cruel world,
& it lies in the arms
of another,
another who can offer
a simpler life,
a life free
of the concerns
the rest of us
have to face
head on.

Do You truly not see
that what You think
is security,
safety, freedom,
is merely an illusion,
a mirage made
specifically for You?

You will enter that oasis
only to learn, too late,
that you are trapped
in a desert,
condemned
to survive in a jail 

with no walls,
surrounded 

only by dry,
lifeless sand
for untold miles
everywhere you turn,
no water to bear
anywhere you stare,

no Life to share: 
a prison disguised
as paradise.

My Love,
my LOVE,
my undying love,
these are not my words,
these are prophecies
handed down by the gods

your would be jailer 
does not even believe in!

Eight blades. Eight
blades jammed
into the sand, 

into the Earth,
driven deep 
within my heart,
& You stand
fastened to one,
easily able to free
yourself, but only
by choice,

only by Will,
only by the wisdom
You try to deny.

Please, please
my Love,
my One & only
True Love, listen
to my counsel:
the answers You seek
will not be found
by looking
for Oases
that do not exist; only
within our own heart,
within your own mind,
within your own spirit,
never in the arms
of another 

too simple
to understand 

the complexity of You.

You know
I’m right. Denial
will serve no purpose,
except to drag
out  the inevitable
& expand the pain
someone will have to suffer
in the end.


The sooner You free

yourself from this
prison mistaken
for paradise,
this iron maiden

of the mind,
the sooner You can accept
that You cannot substitute
fate for Destiny,
the sooner You can begin
to be the difference
in this cruel,
cruel world,
& not just one 

of its remainders.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Alchemy



















alchemy
I’m just the Fool, 
Nothing, Zero,
crying at the back
of the bus, Muse
blowing through
my head because
my muse is so far
from me, drifting,
drifting, still
drifting away,
& toward,
& the pain
weighs on me
because holding up
the sky alone

is no easy task
ask Atlasshrugging
is no option.

So I cry,
the Fool
at the back
of the bus,
& I hide
my tears
behind her mirrorshades,
wipe with a wedding
napkin, hoping
that I might
still have a chance
at that dream,
because that's what fools do:
dream the impossible.

Nothing is impossible
for the Fool whose
muse finds the Will
to drift back to him, 

finds the Words
to awaken him,
finds the Way
to infuse
her power 

with his
power to transmute 
nothing into something, 
Zero to One
to slay a Fool 
to make room 
for the Mage.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Cake

Cake

Let him eat cake.
Let him gorge
himself on that
sweet confection,
until his face
explodes
in streams of
colorful confetti.

Flour, sugar, eggs, butter—
Go on. Have another!

Enjoy every morsel.
Lick every last, lingering
crumb from your filthy, 

flaccid lips.
 

You’ll never taste the icing.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Cyclops


“Stranger, you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they.”—Polyphemus


You’d like to think
me Οὖτις,
no one of consequence,
a mere Fool, lost
in the wilderness,
but you’d be wrong.

You are the one
unworthy to be
my rival, my equal,
my superior.

I may be Nobody,
but you are nothing,
nothing but an uncouth
cyclops feeding
from my crew,
coveting what is mine.

I pity you, Polyphemus
condemned to see
the world through
a hub, only fit
to cast straightforward
glances, always
missing the periphery,
blind to the Universe
outside of your myopic 

vision. 

Narrow vision leads
to a narrow mind.

& it will take nothing
but my guile
to intoxicate you,
to drive my spear
through that eye,
blind you so that even
your savage world
goes black.

Throw stones,
if you must,
curse Nobody
as if it were my name,
cry to the Gods
you have no faith in, 

shout for your father,
that wrathful Poseidon;
it will not help
your cause.

As you draw the spear
from your eye,
I will already be flying,
sailing back to my dear
Penelope. 


I will climb
the topmast
& reveal 

my true name,
you will know it,
and say it,
& curse Creation.

Cursed, perhaps
I’ll be, but I can’t
let you trap me,
even your father—
Tosser of Tempests
can only delay
me. Nothing
can stop me,
keep me
from returning
home, returning
to the arms
of my sweet
Penelope. 

Sunday, September 8, 2013

The Longest Day



Another Poem inspired by Nüt & Geb

 The Longest Day

How long must I burn
under this cruel Sun,
expose myself
to the light
when all I want
is darkness? 

I miss my Night,
cloaked in her blueblack
robe full of the infinity
of stars, spread
only for me, 

to show the Moon
glowing in her womb.

There existed only me,
& Her, & our lust. 

But Shu, in wisdom,
knew The Earth
needed Life,
needed to grow,
needed to prosper,
& He blew
us apart
with a promise:
Soon enough
my Love & I
will be reunited,
if only for a few, 
brief hours,
until that Sun,
that cruel, cruel sun,
returns to chase
Her away.

I already hate
the Sun,
& it's only 
the first day.

The longest day.

So I wait
for this day
to give way,
for this Sun
to drown
in the horizon,
for Night to descend,
to envelop me
as she once did,
to fill me
with her darkness,
to dazzle me
with her stars. 

Will this day never end? 


Won't the Sun
at least suspend
His cruelty long
enough for me
to simply taste
the bliss that is
my Night,
my Night,
my precious
Night?

Friday, September 6, 2013

Purgatory



















Purgatory

I put You through Hell,
so I suppose I deserve
no less than purgatory.
 

I must climb
that mountain alone,
without You. 

There is no other path
to redemption,
to forgiveness,
no other way
to wash
these wounds.

So I will begin
by scaling Pride,
bearing the stone
of my own creation

upon my bare back.
I will stare down
on my way up,
learning to see
everything beneath me

with more clarity.

Envy seems easy,
as I have a generous spirit;
but here too,
there is work to do,
to roam with my eyes
sewn shut
until I learn to listen
to my heart,
to stop hating
those ready to take
what I’ve lost.
Ownership is
only arbitrary.

I will rise
above Wrath,
allow my meek 
nature to shine
through, not let
myself be blinded,
choked,
by wrath’s acrid 
smoke & seek
harm for those
who’ve caused
me pain.

I shall not be beaten
by Sloth, by my desire
to fold,
to hide,
to die
in the face
of each failure, 

to get lost
in perpetual mourning.
Rather, I must work,
keep busy,
keep moving,
keep living,
for death before dying
is a Hell in Life,  

a perilous prison
in whose residence
my soul would only rot.

I will glide
through Greed,
as my desire
for things, for riches,
for great gain,
has never been
debilitating.
My desires have always
lain elsewhere.

Nor am I saddled
with Gluttony,
being One of
moderation,
for the most part.
That is not to say
that there are not times
when temperance
is needed,
when I allow
myself to get lost
in the smoke
forgetting how Holy
the fumes are. 


Lust.
Ah, Lust!
How to even begin
battling those flames,
fighting the fire
that consumes me
for You? Here,
like Dante, I
will lie in wait,
afraid to face
my flaws.
Here, You must be
my Virgil, reminding
me that only in
risking getting burned
can I ever hope
to reunite
with my own,
beloved Beatrice.

& here I will summit,
each sin purged,
brushed away
by the wings
of angels.
I will summit,
reach Paradise,
find my innocence, 

redemption,
forgiveness. 


Yet I am full
of fear,
fear that for all
my climbing,
for all my penance, 

I will learn much,
but earn nothing:
No Beatrice to guide
me through Heaven,
No Love to fly me
over the hard,
cold rock I have
traveled. But I cannot 

allow fear to stop me. 

I walk this path to heal,
not to be rewarded. 

Your Love is a gift
which I must be prepared
to never receive, again.

But I tell you,
My Love,
MY LOVE, 

It is what drives me.

If You do ever offer
Your blessing again,
to feel Heaven again,
I swear to keep it
Holy, for Heaven 
is no place 
for the lowly.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Spiral

Spiral

I
know
right
know
it
feels
like
all
is
out
of
control,
like Life
is
just
spiraling out
from
under
You,
like
no one,
no thing
is
there
to slow
your
mad
descent
from
your
shattered
tower
into
the dark.

Not so.
The Universe never let you go.

Monday, September 2, 2013

Jealousy

Penelope unweaving her father's burial shroud
Jealousy
I’m not blind
to the subtle
changes: new
passwords,
emailboxes,
making certain
that your facebook
is always logged off,
your face
perpetually booked
into your phone,
the way your eyes
& lips smile slyly
when you’re flirting—
the way they once smiled
for me—
stories
that add up,
but don’t.

Subtle, except
in sum, & I expect
not as subtle to some
less dumb than I
have been of late.

& I find
myself
jealous,
not because other men can touch
you, I know they can’t,
but because they reach you
like I once could,
like I once did:
with a word
or a glance
or a smile,
because they can reach
you more easily than I can
with little more than a text.

So, forgive me
my baseless suspicions,
excuse my infinity
of questions,
ignore
the self-inflicted
anxieties laying waste
to me from the inside
out. I was the One
to make a mess
of things, the One
who allowed the suitors
to swarm
during my selfish
odyssey.

I will return
to hold the high
place in your heart
I once did,
& you will not
have to undo
the burial shroud
you shrewdly weave.

I will return
& I will see
your eyes
& lips smile
slyly
for me
again,
& jealousy
will die
painfully,
like each & every
one of Penelope’s
suitors. 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Nothing

This one was part of an exercise to complete the beginning of someone else's poem, in this case, Katherine Foreman's "Washed Away."

Nothing

Nothing's changed 
except me
& the facts
& the sadness
I didn't mean to start.
But it feels different
now you've said
it's wrong,
& I can finally feel
your point.

Everything you asked for 
I gave, save for the few, odd
fuck-upsgranted, that ONE
was hugePandora
opening the box big.
But were any so fatal,
so final to warrant
such contempt, such
abject disdain?
What can I do to get you back
in joint?

It stings
that I have fallen 
out of your favor,
that the adoration
that once shined
in your bright eyes
for me has dulled,
like fish dead too long
& knowing
that every word
I write for you,
every deed done,
no longer carries
weight. I might
as well be blowing
bubbles & watching
them pop
when they touch
your prickled skin.

Your love for me
has been tainted,
painted by my procrastination,
flavored by my apathy
& I can buy you
lots of pretty things,
& shiny rings
& gossamer wings
to complement
your angelic nature,
but none of that will change
how you feel, right now.
Nothing will change,
except me,
& the facts,
& the sadness.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Less Than Self


How is One
supposed to Love 
selflessly
when all that One
has ever received
is love tied to strings
or grandiose things
or worship, which
is not Love at all,
but a need to believe
in someone, something; 

when all that One 
has ever known 
has been a lie, 
or little more 
than inconvenient truth, 
or love out of convenience, 
out of proximity: 
nothing from nothing 
leaves nothing, 
 or less? 

One can learn, 
perhaps only after breaking, 
often destroying, 
the only person 
to ever offer 
selfless Love, 
the one person  
who needed 
Love the most; 
but One was too blind 
& ignorant 
to even realize. 

In Love’s loss, 
in lost Love’s pain, 
the lesson is learned, 
but often too late 
at a cost that’s too great. 


Monday, August 13, 2012

Peer Review

I've had plenty of people that have read Killing Lilith in various stages of its evolution. While a few have been taken aback at its content, everyone who's read it has, at least, found a profound appreciation for the quality of the work. Many have given it very high praise.

David Kirschner, who you may recognize as the creator of Chucky from the Child's Play movies, as well as the producer behind An American Tail, Hocus Pocus,  & Miss Pottergot his hands on it and enjoyed it so much he was supposed to help me find representation at CAA. Sadly, I lost DK to divorce. But still, I had a thirty minute conversation with one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, and most of it was about how he could not put down my novel. He began reading it one night, discovered his file was corrupted, and called his assistants to immediately get an uncorrupted version. I wish I had something in writing to share, but our emails were used, purely, to set up the phone call. Had I the foresight, I would've found a way to record the call.

Most recently, I received feedback from Tracy Byrnes. Tracy is part of my writing crit group. The only reason you may not have heard her is because she hasn't really shared her writing with the world, yet. She will, when she's ready, and you'll love it. I know I'd be willing to host a blog to showcase her writing!

I love Tracey's writing. More than that, I'm in love with Tracy's writing. She's like a contemporary Erma Bombeck with the sharp wit of Dorothy Parker. It's the Erma Bombeck part, however, that is of interest in relation to Lilith.

You see, while Lilith can be quite graphic, albeit not gratuitously so, it can't stand on that alone. It has to appeal to the average reader on a level that they can enjoy the rest of the novel. Gratuitous or not, if reader's think it's gratuitous, they will be less willing to explore Lilith's deeper themes.

In a sense, Tracy is the most important part of my target audience, that stalwart, middle-class girl next door, but smarter, who reads. As such, I was delighted to hear that Tracy truly enjoyed reading Killing Lilith. Rather than summarize her thoughts, I got permission to share her words with you:

I’m impressed. I think you’ve written a well-constructed story that proceeds beautifully from one chapter to the next. There were no wild jumps, nowhere I felt confused in time or space. The writing, as usual for you, is elegant and often eloquent.
You’re very successful, I think, in drawing the world of the chat room. It’s not an arena I know well, or even have much interest in, but you make it relatable, reasonable (an outlet, is all, a stage, of course everyone needs that) and fill it with moody suspense. Characters, chatters, take shape through just a few lines. And they are memorable. I’m thinking of Bill who wanted to talk about his dead son – a desperate question unanswered…I thought, I get it, I get it!
I can’t decide about Lilith – do I understand or not? Like her or not? She’s not that crazy, that’s the part that kills me. She seems to have extraordinary insights into her own life, failures, family. She’s smart. She knows what she did/does wrong. It’s completely sane to be depressed. Sane to fantasize about death, disappearance. I personally identify with the inability to DO…or the talking yourself out of doing. And that guilt/frustration.  To get off the lazy river inner tube, finally, and swim!  But – she means to DESTROY her children, in a way. I read advice chats online and they dip into darkness more often than you might guess, so I know that parents don’t always love their children. I can believe it. Still, I don’t exactly like her for not leaving them with something, anything better than Just Jack.
I liked the title “Forever , Lilith” better. As in the note she leaves– the whole idea of a punchy sign-off, making a mark on everyone’s psyche that will last. Somebody made you change it?
Slo, I like. God help me. Your details, once we meet him in the flesh, are just perfect. Trailer with Bargain Couch – a still life.  I love the clean bedroom (that he cleaned his bedroom!), the tiny shower, the croissant egg sandwich. And the tears. Your story, it’s almost a romance. Maybe is one.
You make the right choice with the ending, I think, although I have to say that I’m a sucker for neat, wrapped up The-Ends like the kind in children’s books. So I’ll have to suffer not knowing, exactly, or feeling quite finished.
I know I’m way late in sending you Official Thoughts. But I wouldn’t advise much change anyway. It’s time to let this one go, and see. It’s a page-turner. It’s disturbing. I felt uncomfortable reading it at times, and also comfortable, and understood. Which is to say, well done. I’m wishing you the BEST of the best with the next step in the process, and the next.
Well, there you have it. High praise from a most valued reader. Now let's hope I can pull in some of those Fifty Shades of Sh— You know what, if you can't say anything nice...

Want to become a part of the Lilith experience? Check out Killing Lilith's Facebook page and press "like."

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Geek Orthodoxy


Geek Orthodoxy
It is religion after all
although we worship
different things
like Sky Blue
Sno-balls or the Big Kahuna
or Lucy & Ricky
before they broke
up or Quantum Physics
or polyhedrons
or Mean Green Dirty-Gened
Killer Kangaroos.
Some of us have even been known
to worship Impossible Dreams
as long as they were artificially
flavored Banana.

All through the almond-colored pages
of a slide rule bible.

We wear our glasses
because we’d rather let our vision
trickle away & go
blind than give
in to our sexual
frustration.

We seek salvation
through masturbation.

Our pocket protectors serve
as shields, a fort
of pens & pencils
to protect our flimsy
hearts from the whims
of adolescent vixens
looking to turn screws.

The very same girls once broke
our Holy Crayolas.

We vow ourselves
to silence because to speak
meant to spread our words like cold
butter on thin white bread,
hard & chunky & all
torn up.

Amongst ourselves we can speak
in our twisted tongues.

None of us practice
long; we all slowly trade
in our plaid & courdoroy,
our Dippity Do & our dandruff goo,
our floodpants & our jogging shoes,
our argyle socks & comic books
for a taste of the mundane.

Except for the few true, dedicated ones
who stick out the persecution long enough
to outlive our Protean deficiencies
& reach that Nerd Nirvana some call
Avant Garde

Saturday, January 9, 2010

My Night ( A Poem)



This poem was inspired by the myth of Nüt & Geb, a personal favorite.














My Night
¿How can I
stay away
when You wrap
so tightly
about Me,
sealing,
enveloping,
protecting Me
from Everything,
leaving room
for Nothing
else but the feel
of You wrapped
tight about me
like wet rice
paper?

¿What else
can I do
Sister Sky—
Heaven full
of stars,—
but grind
inside You
until My mountains
are raw
& My rivers
boil beneath
Your pressure,
Your pleasure,
Your gravity?

¿So what
if there is room
for naught—
nothing but
us, no space
for other Gods
to roam between
Us, to breathe?

The feel
of Your breath
is all I need.

Let Them separate
Us if they must—
make room
for Creation,
for Life,
for Other
than Our bond.

¿Could we expect
Them to continue
Existence smothered
between Us?

It matters
not, my Nüt—
They can keep
Us apart—
divided for only
so long
before Night
once again wraps
itself around Me—
when
the Sun hides
You fall
& I rise
to meet
You.

Perhaps
the time will come
when the Sun
abandons its
task & We can
again join
in perpetuity,
when You & I,
and nothing else
will reign
supreme—
Our Love,
Eternal Lust,
Chaos.