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11 days February 3, 2017

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Today is the day
I was meant to be born
My mother alone
My father at war

How cruel I was
making my mother wait,
11 days late

Even at my earliest moments
I was hesitant.
Afraid to begin.

How worried she must have been
after four losses
driven to continue, to try
no matter the cost

I was born from determination
from a love so strong
it did not stop

I hope I was worth the wait, Mom.

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Mother of Gods January 31, 2017

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Seven climbed the
green foothills
made a camp
and slept so still

Eight there were
when morning came
without a reason,
without a name

Did you give birth?
They asked of her
“I did not wake,
I did not stir.”

Yet there he was
A life brand new
wrapped in cloth
of gold and blue

 

 

 

Note: Sorry it has been awhile. Poetry is something that kind of happens to me, instead of me conjuring it. You know?

Andromeda May 7, 2016

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My gilded warrior.
Your armor was forged
By starlight
Your aura undefinable
By mortal eyes.
There were no others like you
And there never will be again.

You took an oath.
You pledged your heart
And body to my cause
I trusted and loved you
More than I can describe

In an otherwise ordinary moment
You had an opportunity to
Prove your loyalty
And you did
Swiftly
And without hesitation

I can still hear the ringing dissonance of battle
And the awful, heart stopping
Crunch
Of your shield taking its final blow,
Your starlight scattering, falling
To the ground to be snuffed out.
Your armor stood between me
And what could have been my end

We both knew that someday it
Might come to this
But we pushed those thoughts away.
Optimistic fools.

When the stardust settled,
And I picked myself up,
Your broken body remained still.
Silent.
I curse myself for ever accepting your oath
And putting you in harm’s way
But I know in my heart
This is what you would have wanted.

A warrior’s death.

Twist of Fate March 20, 2015

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He grabbed the necklace
around her neck
and pulled down and away
but the clasp was too strong
so she bent at the waist,
at the strength of it.

It dug into the skin around her neck
the chain of fate,
of burden, and
of power.
She smiled at her feet
and took this moment to
gather herself for his
next actions
his knuckles were white
as his grasp on the pendant
tightened.

She gathered her will,
her faith,
and her courage
and it manifested.
In the palms of her hands,
glowing violet and pulsing

The pendant burned his hand
and he stumbled back.
The witch stood straight again.
Thankfully he had remembered to cast
his eyes away,
her spell broken and powerless
without the windows
to his soul

Tight-rope March 13, 2014

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Tight-rope walking with a
rope around my waist
hanging onto memories
of times I cannot place
the words are formed upon
the lips my
fingers used to trace
and I know that I will fall
if I keep
moving at this
pace
but if I stop to face the ground
my work will be a waste

Oblation July 5, 2013

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Through painted glass
it watches music
rise to meet the
ceilings tall
Hungrily, it waits
unmoving
whilst reed and wood
prepare its meal

Although opaque
the window view,
the subtle things
catch its eye
The ebb and flow
of waves of sound
a pleading voice,
a servant’s cry

A hum of air
against the walls
the wind it roars
its loud applause
Dancing rain upon
the roof
cheering loud
and without pause

A deity with
open arms
as if to catch
the divine sound
Made from earth
and hands of man
a purer art
cannot be found

Linger June 7, 2013

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The bass is in my chest
and it makes me feel hollow
Recent events, whatever they mean,
make a hard pill to swallow and
There’s no time to feed
the self loathing that’s roaming
in my head and my heart
or blame the rules of the game
So I shrug off the shame
lying bare on my shoulders
and move forward
But the road has grown longer
and meaner, and I don’t
want to linger here in this
faux purgatory more than I have to,
more than I need to
“I’ll pull through, in the end,”
I tell myself, like I’d
tell a friend.
For now I’m a ghost
making the most of
the time that I’m given
to prove I am driven
enough.

Core April 1, 2013

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It goes beyond
the foundational crust
It’s biological, it’s
part of us
It’s the chemistry of
carefully mixed parts
and checking your
math. Twice.

It is shaped by us
and, in turn, shapes us
the world moves to
many rhythms,
tripled and mixed,
but all in sync
and writing the
history books

Saying more than
poetry or painting
evoking lost emotions
and guiding the heart
to new ones
Music is my center,
my core, my purpose

Find your center
You may have to dig,
your knees planted on
the earth, your hands
covered in dirt,
and sweat on your brow
Find your center
but don’t claim to know mine

No one can
take that away
from me
And I won’t
let them take it
from you

St. James Infirmary February 21, 2013

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Blue skies, blue eyes
a sad, sad story
it’s a simple progression
to make misery
a wailing song
been too damn long
since blue’s been
a good color

Any color would be
a welcome sight
to these weary eyes
a yellow bright
or a red like wine
would be more than fine
but everything’s gone grey

It’s just as well
I didn’t appreciate it
anyway

Hush February 19, 2013

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I.

She squeezed her lover’s hand. It seemed an innocent enough gesture to those around. But they knew the secret to keeping it all hush, hush.
Three squeezes meant “I love you”
Four squeezes meant “I love you, too”
One long squeeze meant “Please don’t leave me”
This message was lost to the second lover as they picked up their bag and waved goodbye, feigning happiness to the lover left behind. To the unconvinced Brena.

It was then that she remembered the first time she said those 3 beautiful words.
“I love you”
“Hush!” her lover laughed, “someone may hear you.
“Let them hear!” Brena retorted, firmly but lovingly
“I wish I were as brave as you”

II.

Brena sat on the cliff overlooking the quiet sea, waiting. It had been months since her lover left. She took a pebble in her hand and squeezed it thrice.

She feared for her beloved, out to sea. She shook as the wind blew but not from the cold. Rather, she shook from the quick air penetrating the growing hole in her chest. The waves swelled and hit the rocks below as her heart, too, swelled, sure that her lover was already on her way back.

She had to be.

III.

Brena wasn’t sleeping well. Nightmares of hungry men having their way with her love, holding her down and muffling her screams kept her awake.

The images had her tossing and turning in the bed she used to share.
She told herself that no matter what she would put her back together again. She would brush the sea air out of her hair and rebuild her from the ground up.

IV.

The ship came back but her lover did not. The men ignored her worried, persistent questions. She went to the cliff again and told herself she would jump.

But the sea told her “No.”

V.

Brena was visited by officials a couple of days after the ship came back, without her lover. With no other family, her beloved’s belongings were returned to her.  A scarf, a leather bag, and a pair of work boots.

“What of her emerald? She never took it off.” Brena inquired.

“Hush, do not speak out of turn woman,” the man of God raised a hand, “We are truly sorry for your loss. Your sister was a magnificent sailor.”

Brena did not correct him and he said nothing of the emerald.

VI.

In the dirty hands of the sailors, drinking in the local tavern, was the emerald in question. A raven landed on the window sill, and eyed the jewel with curiosity.
“Didn’t take much to obtain it, stupid girl didn’t put up much of a fight,” said a drunken sailor.
“Hush! Drink makes you loud and foolish,” his friends warned.
The raven flew toward the sea.

They stumbled back to their wives, no worry of the morning’s repercussions in their mind, only the present merriment.
They were spared the harsh, judging light of day for none would wake with the sun.
Their blood drained from their throats,
Their tongues cut from their mouths,
Their bodies covered in black feathers.
The last sound they heard before death took them hung in the air, more than a promise. More than a threat.

“Hush”