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libramoon
[3210323]
[2006-09-26 00:17:36 +0000 UTC]
"Laurie Corzett"
(United States)
# Statistics
Favourites: 80; Deviations: 136; Watchers: 16
Watching: 54; Pageviews: 10285; Comments Made: 696; Friends: 54
# Interests
Favorite movies: Hedwig and the Angry InchFavorite bands / musical artists: John Coltrane
Favorite writers: Laurie Corzett/libramoon
Favorite games: philosophy
Favorite gaming platform: life
Other Interests: visionary arts and minds
# About me
Favourite genre of music: jazz# Comments
Comments: 80
www.redbubble.com/people/libra…
www.redbubble.com/people/libra…
libramoon.deviantart.com/art/A…
plus.google.com/u/0/collection…
www.paganspace.net/profiles/bl…
www.paganspace.net/profiles/bl…
yprophecies.wordpress.com/2017…
bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t…
groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/me…
www.tumblr.com/blog/postapocal…
www.tumblr.com/blog/libramoon2
caelastory.blogspot.com/?zx=c4…
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metafiction, working title: Something Sacred.
I am thinking about publishing this. Any suggestions about appropriate publishers would be appreciated.
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imaginary workshop for re-creation
New project on Wordpress
myths new and revisioned
and continuing om2317.wordpress.com/
OPERATOR'S MANUAL notes playing to a theme
libra's child
What is this "love" that pulls me to you?
A gauze of hope, desire, imagination
woven with faery dust, tied by good strong cord.
Pulse arousing, clinging, anchoring and ringing,
those siren bells of joyous meeting.
I am beguiled by those bells, ringing in the clouds
while rain weeps down
gently on my fingertips.
You have kissed these hands, quickened by surprise.
Enchanted interludes, moments between time,
so that time drags now, drags me down
harshly weighted.
It was but theater of
aspired visions weaving.
Would that I could gaily entertain,
remain curious and blithely
naive child.
Would that it be enough
to trip veils’ ecstatic trance,
loving intricacies
of intimacy.
Fall from Innocence
You found out that things can't always be
just neat and clean and bright.
You found out that sometimes right ain't strong
and wrong is right.
You found out a lot that Ma and Pa'd
never want you to know.
You're found out in the streets in the snow
with nowhere to go.
Ain't it a bitch, what you've found out.
Ain't you a bitch when you're found out.
You ain't so sweet and true anymore
The world ain't pink and blue anymore
And you're living in a world that
wasn't just made for you.
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hi, i would still very much appreciate clarification when you have a moment, so please do reply to my last question in the deviation submission, if you haven't yet noticed it.
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~sharing(secret)water~ EV13
emergingvisions.blogspot.com/2…
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website update
night's pages
{patchwork narrative} a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
nightly poetry posts
Emerging Visions visionary art zine
caelastory.blogspot.com/?zx=78…
caelastory.blogspot.com/
Something Sacred – metafiction
www.tumblr.com/blog/postapocal…
PostApocalypse blog includes original patchwork narrative flash fiction serial
Selected Works 1968-2005
Year of Prophecies as a page
Year of Prophecies as blog posts and posts beyond the project
web.archive.org/web/2009102715…
Samhainic Verse
beginning soon, posts about healing through dance
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groups.yahoo.com/group/seersee…
October 17, 2003
8:52 pm EDT
Boston, MA
alabe.com/cgi-bin/chart/astrob…
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This is the "patchwork narrative" flash fiction serial story of a child vampire (the eternal child monster working out that existence),
originally featured (and still appearing) on my PostApocalypse tumblr site: postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
now appearing on this Blogger spot for easy editing and viewing.
The last entry, which is what you see on the home page, is the first “patch” of the story. Go backwards, down through the previous posts to see the whole story, or as much as you like, or some now, some later ...
The narrative will most likely continue, someday. Meanwhile, I will work with this version on Blogger.
I intend to reformat online as a paginated book when I find the appropriate platform and have it ready.
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HARVESTING MOONLIGHT
Today the dark approaches, loosens veils of entropy.
Pixel colors whisper, soft hum of trails diminishing.
Lumbering, tales sweaty from slumber sweep
crumbling crusts, twigs and dust,
unencumber twinkling.
Luscious Moon, brilliant, rises
like a sacred flower unbinds, radiates,
smiles indulgence.
Celestial song, deep-breath effulgence,
lofty spirit. All we who hear it open our wings.
This night we fly over poignant fields of work requited,
imbibe euphorious mystery of peace. Labor’s release,
rewards of harvest, ritual feast of play.
Uproarious dance with moonlight; voice, arms, soar
in embrace so strong, complete.
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patchwork narrative - Fatality
SEP 6
Fatality
Autumn feels morning wane of my energy. Daylight’s force seeps
through despite dark drapes. She hopes such hours of weakness
will ease persuasion. Her voice calm, even, engaged in conversation,
drips into me like soft summer rain.
“A person can be noble, sensible, even wonderful. People are
mean crazy. A person striving for sanity gets wiped out in the
madness. The self-justified angry crowd will just converge to pin
you down and apply deadly pressure. They’ll cry, whine, simper
that you’re the cause of their lethal behaviors. You are the enemy
who refuses to fit their expectations or unwritten rules. The truth,
that it’s not about you at all, it’s just what they do for amusement,
to fill some minute of their emptiness, what does that matter?
They win a stupid, miserable battle because they’re all about the fight,
all about taking out any foreign concept or perpetrator of perceived slight.
The war continues because soldiers are so much fun to play with,
so easy to control by those who enjoy divide and conquer games.
For the few outsiders who don’t want to play, well, we make good
training exercise targets.”
She settles into her quiet tirade, gesticulates with grace, profundity.
“That’s a lousy social function, a target to ridicule or overpower with
pain and shame. I have no effect on this world, no path to a successful
future. My best bet is what, a vampire’s house pet, me and my crazy
mom. We could be a retro macabre sitcom. Oh, yeah, in our own closed
circuit because nobody else is watching. How long would even you, oh
eternal one, have an interest in putting up with our sweet domestic
degeneration? I’m not so amusing when all my magic eye sees is
barren dust, empty recursive entropy, shattered ideations like mirror
splinters lost from reflection. So very tired.”
Her demeanor is limp. Her eyes flutter, close, reopen as dark stare.
“I know you are tired, Autumn, overwhelmed still by undigested
trauma. You need rest, recuperation. You can reclaim your energy
as you heal. You don’t have to mirror Kathy’s defeat, despair, unwillingness
to face forward. You can show her how to regroup, get stronger, live.”
She continues as if speaking rehearsed lines, unmoved by my pleas.
“What if teen suicide is just self-completion of a very late term abortion
when the mother was dissuaded from what she knew was right?
After he got her pregnant, more vulnerable to his oh so concerned
control, he was less vigilant about letting his good guy mask slip.
She saw glimpses that she tried to ignore or explain to herself, as he
gently suggested, as delusions. In rare moments of clarity she
seriously considered ending me, breaking their bond of shared
parenthood, getting away from his influence and ever more evident
cruelty. Instead, what happened happened. After all those soul
breaking years she finally left, took initiative in theory to protect me.
For her I’m not much more than an excuse to wrap her lie around.
I get to be her reasons, her harness and whip that keeps her going
ever deeper into a rut she no doubt secretly hopes grows into her
final grave. I guess we all escape as best we can once we understand
our place in this fixed casino.
We know that I attract violent, twisted men. Most likely that was
always to be my fate. You just postponed it, gave me this space to
create my mad dreams, try to erect my own meaningfulness against
unacceptable realities.”
Her eyes flare as if to singe. She draws up what power she can marshal
to grab full attention.
“If you aren’t willing to supply me with resurrection to a share in your
supernatural powers that would assure me winnable defense, then
drink me dry as I sleep in your arms. At least let me die enclosed by love.
I know I can find plenty of guys out on the street who would end it for me
with anything but. They would be so happy to rid their designated corner
here in humanity’s world of one more useless woman. Well, useful for only
one thing; and she acts like she’s in charge, can tell you what you must not
do, as if she was boss of you. You know I can so easily find them. I’m a
violent guy attractor. We certainly keep getting proof of that. It’s my fate.
I’m born with magnetic DNA.
It’s like a dumb, sad joke. A sadist and a masochist come together in
connubial entanglement. What could go wrong?
I could.”
I try to reach into her mind, to connect.
“I love you, Autumn. I am not your fatal servant or executioner.
I feel real, important, elevated by your presence. I don’t want you
gone. I don’t want to change you. I want to help, to be back-up and
refuge. I can’t protect you. I can help you better protect yourself,
patch your wounds to heal, prepare, repair, share battle stories,
outrage, strategies. Don’t demand what I can’t bear to carry in my
haunted hump of memories. We can devise workable plans that
include my freely willed contribution.”
The illusion of fire dies down. She presents wilted, desiccated.
“It’s not about getting better, having back-up, girding to get back in the
fight, strategy to win. There’s nothing to win. I’m not blind. I see all
the impossible options. They are always waiting, ready, pulling, pushing,
pissing to mark territory, assured this garbage heap they’ve invested in
reeks for their purpose, their domination. Always shooting projectiles,
throwing jabs, oppressing with tests, cuts deep and shallow, draining me.
They’re the vampires, Ellie, sucking me not quite dry to prolong their
pleasure, vying to inject their poison, infect me with their koolaid blood
so I’ll be just another beast in the pit, squabbling, disgusting, unaware of
any other destiny, because, really, there’s nothing to reach for that could
lift me out. My one chance, my miracle lucky break, was you. You can so
easily transform me into something else, a different reality, or a definite
escape. You can free me to forever, or absorb my life force to keep me safe
from your eternity and their unbearable disgrace of a world. You can be my
redeemer; but you refuse? How is that love? What you think to preserve,
this girl you so admire, I’m not going to last in this man’s Earth. It continuously
kills me in so much less pleasant a blood-letting. How can you let those
monsters win my soul, destroy me at their pleasure?”
She is silent, pensive. I watch her for a sign of where she travels.
“I haven’t eaten or slept for too many hours now. I’m wrung out,
exhausted. Even if I have some fantasy about getting real, striking
out to fight, or run, to survive, there’s not enough of me left to resist
defeat, to make a difference. This weakness is good, a readiness
to fall into fate.”
I grab and hold her close to break this deadly spell she works to weave.
She releases from me, backs away to look and speak sharp daggers.
“When you go out to feed rather than drinking me, I’ll know
what I have to do.”
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patchwork narrative - Response
AUG 25
Response
Autumn awakes to alert consciousness not long before dusk.
Lowering Sun offers dimming of somnolent heat.
I tell her I can take her home or we can stay here to decide
what Kathy needs to know. I tell her I am here for her.
Whatever she needs. We can stay here, make this house
our home. We can invite Kathy away from her demons.
We can be a family. We can remake this place into our own.
She sees my excitement, my hopeful fantasy. She is calm,
deliberate, solemn. She moves slowly, cautious to speak.
I feel energy rising in me, response to falling night.
Autumn feels with me, sympathizes to charge of power.
She hugs me with sudden strength. She takes my hands
in hers, my eyes in hers. Watery blue absorb into deep,
fierce brown of earth.
“That Geoff, he told me you had a deal. He said you had
promised to turn him undead when he was ready. He
laughed that cold, deep knowing laugh and taunted that
he was your real partner for eternity, that I was only a
temporary playmate. He bragged about how powerful he
was now, but that it was only a shadow of what he would
become as super powered immortal.”
“Yes, I made contract with him. We were partners in crime
of mutual benefit. I wanted to believe him my friend.
I let him convince me. I let his plan take me in. I understood
no reason to resist. A good con takes advantage of
unspoken desire, pretends to answer as miraculous fit.
I desired an end to abandonment. I desired to matter,
to be more than for myself. I detested being me. I
attracted a fitting savior. Then he was gone. The man who
returned broke my promise. Betrayal is grounds for breaking
bonds of fealty. My true bond is to my love for you. I could
not let him hurt you further. I removed his threat, for now
and forever.”
She continues to hold my hands, my eyes.
“I understand. Of course I am glad, relieved, that he is gone.
I know you would have regretted his companionship, even
without me in the mix. He wasn’t friend material.
I know you love me, protect me, are loyal to me.
You know I love you. With me, you are not a monster. You
are my beloved friend. You have found your more than you
miracle. I have found safe keeper of my trust, my fantasies,
my fear, my care, all of me. We can be complete together.
We don’t need anybody else. We don’t need to put up with
being harshly treated by their hateful judgments and executions,
spiteful sprite power. We don’t have to live like them, to be
afraid of our own fear so we’ve always preemptively striking,
to always be messing up, creating ugliness as if that were our
greatest goal. I hate them all; and I’m so sick of hating.
You want to help me be whole, to heal from this traumatic
incident. You want to matter, to be useful in my resurrection.
Take me with you, into the night. Turn me.
I’m not some arrogant sleaze. I am Autumn, your true friend.
Give me the immortal power. We could be a happy partnership
forever. You won’t have to stay accustomed to lonely nights.
Neither of us has to suffer ever again. Turn me, like you were
turned from a living death into becoming a powerful undead.
Neither of us will ever have to be abandoned.”
I turn from her. My mind, my will break from her grasp.
A voice, Geoff/Peter’s cackle:
“We use you, vampire, not for any purpose you could condone;
otherwise, it wouldn’t be using but common cause.”
No, I understand. She is scared, scarred, desperate to hide
in transformation. She believes so deeply her need for power,
for defense. She desires to be safe. She desires constant
reassurance of adoration as blanket, as shield.
She demands permanent solution, immersion in darkness.
She does not understand or imagine unintended consequence,
the price of false salvation. She does not possess the truth
of who I am.
I offer my opening piece in response.
“It was not that I lacked sustenance. I had a home, a house
where I was allowed existence, expected. I was fed, clothed,
given opportunity to be clean. I had purpose. My life was
service. No questions, ideation of resistance. How can you
understand? There was no possible ignition of self will.
When the vampire changed me, it was just one more
unquestioned acquiescence. The horror came later.
When I was free to understand awareness of willful self.
My fate was never about free choice, power to effect. By the
time I could cognate the concept of conscience, I was undead,
eternally cursed.”
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My current projects:
patchwork narrative. a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence
featured on my PostApocalypse tumblr site.
[link]
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
a daily poetry page of my work
[link]
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patchwork narrative - Cruelty
JUN 29
[link]
Cruelty
Throughout night walks I see, touch their misery;
so many unwanted people, so much gratuitous cruelty.
Children thoughtlessly conceived, grudgingly borne helpless,
let loose into the world without a friend. All these people who
trust death much more than life.
A streak of compassion grasps my pondering mind, takes thought
into a whirl of streams. I am drawn to wondering about mothers,
their archetype of loving protection. How do beleaguered women
conscious of their inability to give what they lack, of their bleakness,
allow their children birth into useless suffering, into brutality?
Inculcated or innate, maternal imperative, moral responsibility to love
and protect, ought sound strong warning against prolonging
unfortunate gestation. Certainly women have always shared knowledge,
means of ending what ought not have begun. Or do they feel need for
outward manifestation of their sins of pleasure, of weakness, of
worthlessness? Do they bear not blessings but images to punish,
a chain of blood and thorns as reminder and retribution? Is there
redemption in such carrying of disease, deadly remorse?
Just what is redemption? What is redeemed? Is there some reputable
proof beyond my education that through trial and purification, flailing of
body, mind, essential code, over generations man is meant to evolve
beyond dependence on punishment?
Then what of demons, of my fate? Are we stuck in mere mimic of a process
we have no hope of taking part in?
Are there people who don’t take part as well? Are their human beings who
have not been infected with twisted need? Could there even be people who
have seen through that losing game, turned instead to games of merriment,
deep satisfaction, development of will and wisdom, to enjoying usefully
happy pursuits? Those are not the grown-ups of the world I know.
Perhaps they only exist as phantom suppositions, my hope for their better
world if they could be.
Where would I fit, so much as I find my crevices, in such a world?
A social enterprise busy with exciting, effective projects that preclude
time or interest for bleeding energy, for unbreakable chains of punishment,
for the clarity of hate, bounties of war, worship of clever weapons. Would
such stalwart sapiens welcome me as fellow sentient? Would they
supportively rehabilitate my hunger with appropriate technologies?
Or would I sneak through their inattentions as any random tragedy strikes?
How long could I maintain my secret existence, avoid capture, in a world
where no one goes through their time unwanted, in which every missing person
is assuredly missed?
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June 16, 2013 by Adriene (Sweepy Jean)
Third Sunday Blog Carnival: June 2013
This month’s blog carnival is brought to you by 22 bloggers: 11 in the Poetry category, 3 in the Fiction category, and 8 in the Writing Life category.
Visit these links and please leave comments for the authors. Feedback is so important to a writer and we need your support. Other ways to help are to follow our blogs, Google+ our posts, and share our links on Facebook, Twitter, StumbleUpon, and other social networking sites. If you know of someone who would enjoy the blog carnival either as a reader or a contributor, please pass this post along.
The next edition of the Blog Carnival will be on July 21. If you want your link to be included, read and follow the guidelines and email your submission by July 10.
Let the Carnival begin. Enjoy!
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June 16, 2013 by Adriene (Sweepy Jean)
Third Sunday Blog Carnival: June 2013
This month’s blog carnival is brought to you by 22 bloggers: 11 in the Poetry category, 3 in the Fiction category, and 8 in the Writing Life category.
Visit these links and please leave comments for the authors. Feedback is so important to a writer and we need your support. Other ways to help are to follow our blogs, Google+ our posts, and share our links on Facebook, Twitter, StumbleUpon, and other social networking sites. If you know of someone who would enjoy the blog carnival either as a reader or a contributor, please pass this post along.
The next edition of the Blog Carnival will be on July 21. If you want your link to be included, read and follow the guidelines and email your submission by July 10.
Let the Carnival begin. Enjoy!
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OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
[link]
it’s not you; it’s me
I told myself this silly story
I’m telling it today to clear the fog away
make of it what you will
or try again tomorrow to see
if my stories speak to you
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"Jesus wept and died"
I always wondered what that meant.
Is it an admonition to us to do the same?
Like, "Life sucks, and then you die"?
Or, if Jesus died for our sins,
did he first weep for our sins --
a holy pity party embracing us all?
So, our sins have been wept for, died for;
we carry the blood and tears of the Lamb
on our souls.
Perhaps that would be best blessed, if we
rejoiced and laughed and hugged and forgave
and generally enjoyed the feast of life
to balance the weeping and dying and love.
For joy balances weeping;
life balances death;
and love, of course,
is the only balance to love.
Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine Jesus cried, and somebody grinned -- don't whine Jesus smiled his love on the least, scattered his manna that the lowly might feast All you remember is that slavering Beast so remind me why you find daring to share peace of mind in kindness less than Divine
Holy Weak
Locked in a keyhole
a romance gone AWOL,
a sad bitter song badly sung.
Mad voices lie to our young,
encrypt failure as beggar’s choice.
Born to be property, Innocent of means to judge,
to please
a man of pride, complete his beautiful
bride, be his family retreat from
right and wrong.
. . .
Jesus, before His Destiny
removed Him from common ribaldry,
banter and shoving that score for a man,
secure his order among fellow men,
Jesus loved the children even then.
He dared to imagine a gentle love, free
from bullies’ shaming, from easy blaming,
from traumatic scars of social war.
He believed in us, human kin, above
judgmental sin.
Fatherly humor, the way fathers love
their children, with the pride of
ownership and the slave master’s
secret fear,
God disciplines His Heir.
Easter
Gentle rosy raindrops of a mellow morning,
Children make the day – it's Spring.
I thought of Christ in Church this morning,
nailed to His cross in long ago Jerusalem,
arising to springtime, the earth's reawakening.
It's a time for children and games of childhood,
a time for playing with love,
secret smiles and daisy chains.
It's a time for the simple and natural
A time for anointing the soul in peace
after the ravages of winter.
A time for gentle things
like newborn kittens
and flowerbuds after the rain.
I am slowly relearning the healing strength of love,
Slowly relearning the simple pleasures of humanity.
Life is sweet, poignant,
a drifting melody.
At the Table
You want your fond place at the table
You want to be a fellow jolly good "so say we all."
I tell you, the table is vastly laden with
layers of little memories, which
no two see the same.
We arrive at the feast
hungry for virtue, for love, for
forgiveness of our wanton ways;
willing to be merry, to partake of
ritual, merging through
transubstantiation.
Constellations, moving, shifting,
making waves in our collective
consciousness, appear to reveal
sparkling impulses of truth.
On that warm, wet evening
taking in the sweet, evocative air,
embracing untranslated joy,
something catches in our throats.
The song we need so desperately
to share can only emerge in shards.
The pain, sucked in with our breath,
becomes one with the bread and wine.
This is the blood, the body,
marinated in salty tears, preserving
what has not yet found
appropriate release.
Again, and yet again
meeting, to take sustenance.
Hungry battle wounds
courageously opening,
to imbibe the healing
of grace.
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valentines
I can be imperfect, as I am
and love you still
Love is not about
seamless melding
perfection to perfection
but all those cracks, crags, crevices
hoping (aching) to be filled
[link]
[link]
Enchanting Romance, EV8
[link]
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[link]
Eye to the Telescope is looking for submissions for the April 2013 issue. The theme will be Immigrations. The editor is looking for speculative explorations of border crossings, assimilation, enculturation, acculturation and other facets of moving to and living in a strange place. Guest-edited by Joanne Merriam.
[link]
Issue 7 • January 2013
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"8th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival
This seems like a good time to start the ball rolling for the Brigid Poetry Festival, an outpouring of verse in honor of the Goddess Brigid, Patron Saint of Ireland. "
[link]
[link]
[link]
[link]
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the year of prophecies has ended
find my ongoing journey here in the PostApocalypse:
[link]
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[link]
A billion women dancing
"Imagine A billion women dancing together, dancing to end violence against women. Or as the organizers of “One Billion Rising” put it: “One in three women on the planet will be raped or beaten in her lifetime. One billion women violated is an atrocity. One billion women dancing is a Revolution.”
And if one billion women around the world begin to dance not just out of joy and exhilaration, but also out of anger, determination and commitment, then their dancing cannot but move the earth. It may in fact literally send the ground shaking.
“Dance is a form of protest,” explains Monique Wilson who, with the women’s group Gabriela, is leading the local preparations for “One Billion Rising.” The global movement seeks to get one billion women “and the men who love them” to dance and get the world moving against violence against women. Eve Ensler, the creative mind and moving spirit behind “One Billion Rising,” who is in the country to meet organizers and popularize the movement, says she senses a “feminine wind” renewing the planet, getting women, men and children to overcome their differences and join hands in the “global struggle” to bring an end to violence against women."
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Enter Dancing
That liminal space
Between my body and air waves
Creates a dance.
Fluid form.
There is salvation,
Thunder from the heavens,
Tears and lightening,
A host, a feast, a conflagration.
There is laughter.
The dance takes me up
In her motherly embrace,
Holds me softly,
Listens closely,
Takes in all my sorrow,
Lets me fly.
Tell me I can dance
The world becomes a mystery
an ecstasy, a history
of all who dance
for the joy
for the taste
of pure enchantment
in midst of the everyday
in this instant every wish
is granted
in the play
-- body with bliss --
of celebration
Bliss enchanting melody
movement in twosome candidly
gliding beyond duality
beyond mundanity
essence of dance
Teach Peace
Dancing in the classroom
Body wisdom
Reaches through neural pathways
regenerates whole to whole
soul to soul
touching life
exactly
I feel you in my mind, my spine
Feel me dancing
elongating muscles
extending connections
Winter Solstice
The darkness descends.
As we cry out for warmth and light
Our voices turn to spirit-imbued song
Our frantic movements against the cold
turn to ecstatic dancing.
We take comfort from each other's warmth
and celebrate the life within
struggling to survive.
'Tis the season to relearn the magic
As we share our heavy burdens
of fear and despair.
Joining hands, dancing 'round the fire,
we raise our sight to the sky
and each day,
the days get lighter.
When Galaxies Dance Together
Startled stars gasp and bow
Great Time takes a break between
"then" and "now"
All of eternity swirls into certainty
then back out into wavicle trance
in the throes of a pose
where it stops no one knows
or whether
forever
Galaxies Dance Together
a bowl of water
Deepest indigo
An image of Goddess dancing with Gods,
deep within the water expressing
transient quality of dance,
expressing moment to moment in body bliss
in deep commitment to the flow
Drink the image, dance to the magic
Feel deeply Feel joy
Streaming in and out of consciousness, I don't know what I know.
I feel,
but fleetingly.
I feel exhiliration and fear. I feel so abysmally sad, so
ecstatically unbound, so small and insignificant, so rebellious and angry,
so tired, so endlessly used up, so guilty, so abused, so resigned, so itchy
to be free,
so overwhelmed, so stagnant, so magickal, so impossible, so
dangerously close to the edge
yet happy to be here dancing on the head of a
pin too small to do other than fly.
There is magic.
There is the ability
to send out energy
and have it return
as your heart's desire.
There is a magical path that will take us there
once we have the courage and grace to find it.
Like the end of the rainbow
with its pot of gold,
it's tied up in koans and hidden between the
dimensions.
The only thing I know to do is dance.
"10 things to do to draw up creative energy"
dance
daydream
worry with logic
delve into feelings
play with words and meanings
take a play journey to impossible possibilities
web surf; idea surf; ride a wild wave
face down a demon to discover your other faces
read of random wisdom
dance!
A confluence of ripples
scoops up objects of prophetic reclamation
(seen smaller in the glass-eye of science)
readies to set off more forceful expression
Elemental reaction
Metamagick metamorphoses
any body's guess
Smooth glide out of cavernous hiding
into buoyant seas
Gala release to navigate (no hesitation) past
history's
sunken shore
-- to explore, forward
-- captivated, not captured
Fleet from soul to feet, swim enraptured
immersed in the only delightfully lighted path
Form flows with function
at last, riding elegant waves
gracefully, recreated
as dance
Lullaby of Light
Ride a stallion of snow to the heart of your dreams
Imbibe the sweet nectar of endless romance
Twirl into the world of magic and melody and dance.
Send out twinkling moonbeams as smiles of delight
Gift us all with love's vision of bountiful peace
Pour out joy that every beauty filled impulse increase.
Find a song that fills your heart
Feel a beat that sets you free
Embrace the dance of who you're meant to be.
Simple Things
"We need to believe in simple things."
She said with a curtsy and a smile
And with that proceeded to
change her shoes and dance.
The wind and the waves seemed to chant
in flute and fiddle and drum
played by the white-robed ones behind her
As she danced out a story of love and remembrance
and, yes, simple things.
So a vision was made to appear
before the hypnotized crowd.
The clock struck backwards and forwards
through seasons and ages
Not of Czars and Wars and Events or Inventions
But leaves falling, snow drifting, folk singing,
birds calling, children laughing, bread cooling.
And soon the crowd became a joyous dancing throng
of beaming folk,
each remembering special moments,
breaths of air on dew-dropped dawns of spring,
or the warmth of a loved one's hand,
or a birdsong.
And she spoke once more before dissolving
into the mist in a warm sparkling glow:
"Believe not in salvation nor sin nor in reward --
we must live as we can,
and believe in simple things."
Mythopoesis
Reality enrobed in symbols
Where would we be outside our trance?
Ecstatic in the sunrise
Open to the rainbow rays
Moving, life within the dance
Each cell, each system, synchronized
Vibrating to celestial tones
Each jagged lonely fragment
Joyfully bonded, created anew
Sent on to chance.
Enchanting
(for Kala Snowflower)
Magical child, the world awaits you
Not just this place,
any world you care to grace,
relate to, turn your lovely face to.
"We love you"
sing the winds, the seas,
the creatures large and small
"We love you always"
Singing and dancing long into the night,
you turn it into day.
Play that haunting melody.
It moves you into dance,
into a chance to name your trance,
to name us all
as we dance before your eyes.
The skies will dance for you,
will open wide their hearts of stars.
Sparkling through the night,
Shining into day.
You play.
All of creation dances to your song.
We dance with you,
creating worlds of joy.
Standing here before you, I want to take your hand
to be swirled up into a magical dancing
to be taken to worlds of beauty entrancing
to give you the will and the wonder to set you free.
Can you see me?
Revelation
Weave into the fabric of a tribe of artistic dancers.
Fall under the spell of pure magic.
Silent night, peace and cold
Imbue me with music
In ecstasy, I dance to the stars.
Rainbow Shop
And she sold me rainbows
dancing gaily 'cross the window
windchimes in light.
And she smiled me daisies
and bursting bright blooms of summer.
And she told me, maybe,
if you're looking in
the right direction,
a miracle may grace your sight.
And I smiled
dancing
into the day.
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Winter is Coming
She arrives!
Cold, clear, glorious crystalline air.
Happy to roast by the fire, spin out yarn for warmth.
Happy for cozy aroma of home and hearth.
Euphorious, heart singing, blood roaring fun.
Out to run, slide, ride through white mist,
escape from resistance; engage with bright bliss.
She alights from her carriage, a vision of charms
carved in ice.
Look into the prism’s flame, wondrous worlds
never twice the same, mesmerized.
Happy to have this gift, this season, this time,
open eyes.
Winter is coming
She arrives
Glorious voice lifts up the night,
trails splendor, soft drifts of white.
Taste delight, pure as ice, sweet as fantasy.
Soulful reflecting safe by the fire,
caught by flame’s magic,
aligns with the greatest of stars, the finest of galaxies.
Wild Wind whispers “Higher, my love; ride my mystery.”
Deep flow of desire; snow lit in moonglow.
Reclined, widened eyes ablaze to behold.
A fabulous sleigh swoops from above, aglitter with glee.
She alights.
Swirl of romance, adorned in brisk excitement,
stunning aroma,
clear aura of peace.
Winter is coming
She arrives
Conviction strong and glorious
Brilliant astral presence, at last.
Swollen with destiny, swirling in ecstasy.
Feel air breath-moist beat to Her sway.
She drinks, uplifts the cup of our prayers, feasts upon homespun tales.
Listen! She reveals.
Torso spun forward, head arched back
dervish aware. She incants, caresses, blesses,
sweeps through this startled assemblage. Chase if you dare.
A child of shadow slips behind, catches at her tresses.
Slow secret smile grows, their silent delight snow white, bare of guile.
Time freezes. Hungry eyes press against
icy glass. Inside, twinkling eternity blazes, laughs.
All of space awaits. We need but reach through
may all your world ends hook up to better worlds beginning
[link]
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"Bill" Hicks (December 16, 1961 – February 26, 1994)
[link]
[link]
Bill Hicks ★ Revelations ★ Complete (Entire Video)
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12/12/12 Year of Prophecies
[link]
Ignitiation
We willingly expose,
offer blood and agony.
Sacrificial phoenix, a’blaze
upon charred altar’s throne.
Seared eyes, scalded tongues;
bitter acid drips to anoint,
to hallow, to invoke,
again and again to approximate
perfection.
Each coronation marked,
perfume of condensing steam,
carnate fluids.
We surrender hope,
our innocence, familiarity,
for the freedom wisdom implies.
Loosened grasp on mortality,
slipping digits still desperate to hold
the next piece of the code.
Power – so slender, so sleek and bare,
essential,
air that moves worlds.
Burn raw, pure, to feel beyond
what thought could imagine, to know.
[link]
disclaimer
Those who lose their souls to religion
Caught up in frames against their better angels
Might, if the spirit so o’ertakes their vision
Come to discern divisive righteousness’s dangers
[link]
[link]
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today in Year of Prophecies
[link]
dec
10
dec
10sangfroid
Hunger too redundant for horror.
Each night to feed wrapped in repugnancy.
Hidden, alone, hunting streets of death.
No hope, nothing legitimate.
Days escaped in self-made darkness
without relief of dreams, blocking memories,
enduring.
Creature of these streets, cold, abandoned,
preternaturally cruel, air of sulphur, tar,
pain of rot sans remorse or resolution,
unnatural world without end or warmth.
Even when blood runs hot into aching jaws,
pallid, empty,
no warmth penetrates.
Nights go nowhere.
More filth, horror
too familiar to offend
solitary hunters crowding all the secret places.
There is no exit here
No sweet release of sleep, no prayer to soft salvation.
There is only dead degradation of soul.
Not possibility, no properties of love or fond relation.
Trial of existence with no useful expression, no expiration.
Yet in this ceaseless horror, in this carnal Hell,
in this my filthy home, cold, without mercy,
in this cage of unrelenting dark,
a spark, a circle of red and black calls to enter.
Here, where awareness centers, threads of rotten vein
play at art, at shocking beauty.
[link]
Posted by libramoon
Final Will
If these be our final days, bleeding out into entropic end
No elite “may we?” can overrule life’s yen
to feel fine
while yet there is fine to feel
Feast on the hoarded best; dance well past dawn
Deny requests of war or debt to waste this waning time
It’s no thievery to claim our hours, free of robotic clocks,
take whatever’s left as a chance to be real –
if the end is nigh, or not
[link]
[link]
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gifts for St. Nicholas Night
Riding the gentle glide, the whirling wind
Inside this tender bubble of in and out
Surrounded by gift and giving
Essential to we, the living
Picture each animated creature enlivened
Each candle warmly, brilliantly ignited
Animated faces celebrate excitement
Creature comfort gifts encircle trees
Enlivened pleasure whirled in peace
Lullaby of Light
Ride a stallion of snow to the heart of your dreams
Imbibe the sweet nectar of endless romance
Twirl into the world of magic and melody and dance.
Send out twinkling moonbeams as smiles of delight
Gift us all with love's vision of bountiful peace
Pour out joy that every enlightening impulse increase.
Find a song that fills your heart
Feel a beat that sets you free
Embrace the dance of who you're meant to be.
Winter Song O' Mother Sun
Winter homage to our waning Sun
that she will return, feed us
with light and heat, sweet
energy.
Mother Star, we enchant
thee with ceremony, in singing/dancing
glorious pageantry at your feet,
a synergy of faith and formal prayer.
We are your children, refining
your gift of life, designing
grand structures, grander dreams,
imaging rainbows from your
streaming light;
see how our visions learn to take
flight
under your warm embrace
and on through the night.
These long nights, we beseech you,
reach out to join our hands,
share warmth of your reflected love,
Mother Sun.
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[link]
Season of Light in Darkness
Holidays
You out there
with nothing
What do you honor, celebrate?
Is there a special twinkling
star that brings delight,
tempers sad misery
for just this night?
As twilight encroaches, covers cold crusts
of road, is your shiver of anticipation,
for joyful
revelries commencing;
do you bestow and receive
warm regard, embrace of
glorious good will?
Do you feel whole, holy,
a creature benevolent in grace?
How do you face the dark,
the cold, without hope
when better days, special days,
holidays belong to a story
you no longer know?
I think I get the "holiday" "War on Christmas" hype -- a distraction to keep us from the understanding that there is no holiday, but rather an orgy of consumption and stress.
gods rest ye
If only that were what it's all about
Communal fire, warm and glowing
Cooking up a feast enough to
fill our bellies and our larders
for wintry weeks to come;
Exchanging the gifts our separate
crafts empower
with wishes of good will,
good cheer, inebriating spirits
raised and quaffed against
chill or fear of night;
If only peace and sensitive portrayal
of the gift of human frailty
were the point and purpose of
a season,
voices pitched to harmonize
for beauty's sake;
If only we could reach into
legendary epiphany,
reach out in simple empathy,
if only we could simply be
merry.
Again, I Demand, "Merry Christmas"
Merry Mass of Christ
riven upon the four-fold way
cut into deity and man
on the crossroads
at the witching hour.
Sing praise of all things holy
Make us see and feel the pain
the horror of wrenching heart
from soul. Of blithely obliging
demonic Angel Fate
that each generation may descend
into fiery pits of degradation
reaching, reaching
into and out of the story, the path.
If Christ is love,
if love is what we worship, eyes closed
in holy communion,
what keeps us riven
on the crossroads?
What keeps us from reaching out
to bind each other's wounds?
Approaching Winter
Twinkling lights. I remember twinkling,
clouds resplendent awaiting snowfall.
It's Persephone's time below,
growing in power, regality.
Friend to post-living souls,
hearing their stories,
sharing her own,
from the above time.
Flitting about,
we sing seasonal phrases,
sweat anxiously in crowded malls
over inner demands for a never
remembered perfection.
Children standing in awe below
magnificence of glowing giant trees.
Cities return to primal forest
for an imaginary season.
Telling ourselves our stories that
Santa might find us worthy
of that shiny plaything that will
make us all right, make us happy.
Happy little children, so Mama
and Papa might be proud,
stop fighting,
tell us happy children stories,
take us back to the Garden.
Deep below, Persephone combs
her silken hair, long tangly
root
core
essence.
Magical petals of bliss and succulent aroma
lightly fall within the Garden walls.
The flowers are sleeping, blanketed in
millennial layers,
reverberations of stories,
plotlines thick with forest lore.
Snowflakes twinkle, lightly falling
drape long-growing trees
peacefully awaiting their Queen.
December Wine
Decant December wine
The best saved for end
of the year
held in fond anticipation
Traveling slick hills on sleigh rides
of old
Reliving the thrills over
fine age and spirit
A day we hold dear
it is worth far more than gold
I see a star pale and strong
hear glorious wind
made of song --
holy choirs singing
There is sacrament in desire
Wonders of will, of intensity
wild like the sweet breath
of winter
Drink in the joy of being alive
Present Opening
Going forward
Lights and music
Swirling holiday cinnamon and myrrh
Taste of snowflakes
Crisp, cold, lively
Ballet nights, stories from afar
Joy becomes a hallmark
Friendly carolers decorate our doorways
Signs say peace is nigh
If we take the highroad,
ride blessings' breeze
to the sky
Warm healing rays grow inside and out
Affirm this season of life is about finding that place
of release that allows us to fly
Soaring forward
Sparkling stars
shine glory to Earthly gaze
Spin a spiral of joy
for the pleasure of all coming days
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Stop panicking
[link]
Don't panic
world-eating fog encroaches
no chance to breathe in this miasma
gasping for something clean
to inhale
release
gently
into nothingness
no trace of panic
around which to coalesce
fear, malice
let all pain bleed off
into airless mist
relax, restless thrashing
sinking bit by bit
into silence
now, wasn't that easy?
slowly, without emotion
watch the fog roll by
easing into serene skies
breathe while reading
Living River
If you're doing it right
It flows.
Worthwhile work
is work that flows
feels good
feels real.
Impediments may abound,
stones and reefs to flow around
or through.
Pick up bits of wisdom
on the way.
If you're doing it right,
no need to delay.
Time's neither fast nor slow.
Every placement relates
just so.
Beautiful day,
lilting lazy river ...
Entrapped, entranced
Who is to be gained
by loosening the ties?
What you remains
released into surprise?
Feel, beneath your eyes.
Ease into the rhythm.
Blessed familiarity --
heartbeat through pulsing memory.
Breathe, connect with the real --
the gift of air, of skin,
of night, of chance encounters,
of ringing melodies
strong enough
to call to potency
your most precious name.
The I of my inner dimensions speaks truth, infused in beauty
lives as multiplicity,
cares implicitly,
always somewhere aware.
Breathe
Listen
See
Playmate child,
impish angel’s protective wing.
Ethereal, diamonds sing
light bell-clear at-one
alive in the air
Tune In
Just relax
Don't think about a thing
Just relax
Close your eyes and feel serene
Just relax
Feel the loosening of all your cares
Look behind your eyes,
Become aware
of the miracle that
you really are
Acts of Magick
If it is to be done,
We must go out and do it
Action, once begun,
Has beauty and power to it
Aiming true to course
Needs thought and reflection
Feed movement from the source
Of our yearn toward perfection
The play is never done
Each and every one
Performing through their part
Reinvents our start
So join the song, and sing your tune
Dance strong beneath a rousing Moon
Another day, another seed
Bursts out into the Sun
Ouroboros Comes to Embrace Sentience
Wake up
Wake up
Wake up
A new age is coming
A new way of being is a 'borning
Be alive
Don't believe
Be Alive
More Peace
In the center
a quiet stream
for reflection
ebbing outward
gentle ripples
bathed in sunshine ease
further out, at the shoreline
dramas, comedic, tragic, rhapsodic,
full of song and dance
for reflection
Second Star to the Right
Traveling beyond Persephone's garden
on the etheric threshold
'tween life and death.
Taking an oblique path at the crossroads
onto an accessway
along the axis of bliss.
It's not a road on which
the dramas fade.
It's not about a numbing block
to pain.
Drama unfolds --
my chemistry responds exquisitely.
Touch is just touch;
sensation translated information.
All the appointed tasks,
routine errands of the everyday,
little pauses along the bliss path
allowing me to breathe the scent
of endless possibilities
as path and consciousness expand
blissfully aware.
Basho's Footprint
Seek what's been sought by the wise in texts of glowing poetry, in deep-
singed blues,
in crypt-hewn runes,
in deepest breath turned inward, surprising miles of memory,
in whispered library words
by monks, solitary,
in solidarity with Muse.
Wander through all time, e-motion, all need for meaning.
Seek where your living leads
expecting not, nor pleading for
rejecting not, nor bleeding for
with eyes, with mind, with hands
unbound
Body Language
Teach Peace
Dancing in the classroom
Body wisdom
Reaches through neural pathways
regenerates whole to whole
soul to soul
touching life
exactly
I feel you in my mind, my spine
Feel me dancing
elongating muscles
extending connections
Meditation
Sitting, meditating
on self-hallowed ground
surrounded and succored
by the spirit of life.
It isn't easy
turning on the tide
being the talk of the town
the laughing stock
the example for errant schoolboys,
don't want to end up like him.
Yet no thing is easier.
Moving with the rhythm
natural, unafraid.
Beat by beat,
sometimes a song appears.
It sings with me and the crickets,
the cicadas, the bees and birds
and chittering creatures.
We dance a little jig,
breathing, breathing
inspiration, exhalation, exhilaration.
Bit by bit the sunshine
infuses with my cells.
I am opening. I am learning.
I am being made new.
All it takes is total dedication,
not a renouncing,
not a denying,
not what one would call a discipline,
just total awe and gratitude
for sweet layer unto exquisitely beautiful layer
as each is revealed.
Searching the skies for eternity
Opening upward, onward, out of words
Yet still bound
Sentience of form persists
Feel the glory,
the honor,
the fear
over eons emerge
as bliss
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Blush peek of coyly veiled Moon
in striated cloud seafoam giant arms.
Velvet meadow.
Majestic fields cloak the sky.
Shine, Moon.
Don't be shy.
Bathe my dreams in wishes.
Conjure
exploratory vistas.
Opening Night
Empty branches yearn for
darkening breeze.
Eerie singing echoes
from the horizon.
Slower days, longer nights
made for reflection ...
And wind sings, trees dance,
stars laugh in the moonlight.
Masked Lady Moon shines
into my room,
speaks of fantastic adventure.
Dare I question her fulsome
abundance?
I a masked gypsy
painted in gloom,
a taste for wry humour,
impossible promises,
resplendent terrain.
A woman insane,
taken in by the Moon.
Fair sister, far sparkling cold.
I have no home to offer comfort
but that clear, quiet salvation
hiding like Moonlight
unmasked in my mind
Moonmirror
The many faces of the Moon
reflecting starlight in her many moods
Entrance the sky
My mortal eyes want to believe
adventures of myth and mind
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in sacred moonlight
Dancing from your castles
to mystic mountain
legendary glades
Tell me why I should believe
in magic, in codes and
spells and sacrifice
Is the wisdom of the wise
so constrained?
My species may be blind to
true eternity
but we mutate,
find and define
new ways to see
Belief is far too limiting
for me
Dear Sister Moon, separate entity
from birth, entwined
still with Mother Earth
Patterns re-cycling reveal
what we regard to be real
is but reflection
Face to face to face, fluid
to change
Lunation
Mist passes the Moon
as she moves through the clouds
trying to reach me
so far below.
How can I know
it is me she desires?
My mind is on fire,
moonstruck, some might say.
Flying along the Milky Way
fueled by moonshine.
She flashes her shadowy eye
through cloud-studded sky
and I feel fine.
lunacy
accept my prayer, o Luna fair
accept my sins as payment
you know I only live to serve
I offer up my truest worth
my humble feet still scraping dirt
but luxurious my raiment
as I dance and strum my mandolin
laugh and shimmy again and again
work up my mojo limb by limb
it's all for your entertainment
to laugh and howl by the light of the Moon
break the chain to sunlight's ruin
of madness fine, my holy boon
as fine as Luna's hair, as stark as Luna's stare;
beatifically embrace entrainment
swirl as moonbeams
overwhelm the air
Scrying on the Moon
By sibylline light
images I recognize,
creviced captures of my life.
I know her judgment to be my own.
"Nourished by Moon rivers
mythical cavern blooms
unseen by sunlight
glow green."
Thus she sets the scene;
becomes the prophecy.
"Purest white simplicity
curved to suggest fragility
faith fed maiden ready for
plucking,
given in bondage to womanly woes,
hard rows to hoe
for that human hug through
crying of night.
Fate of mortal soldiers, sacrificed to lust.
Seeking relief, beg for the boon of drama
high adventure
sneaking into sad hotels
for a fix or a tumble.
Laughs,
deadly play,
danger, a real chance.
Barefoot in the snow
icy roads
winds so strong
I could not make you hear.
I thought you were my destiny.
Crazy thoughts, far from clear;
but I believed
song lyrics from Saturnine deities
would not lie, leave me
dying, fading into winter's grey
drifting clouds,
endless sorrow endured for naught.
Lost on this careless corner,
dreaming of oblivion, intent on visions
like rain
tapping against eternity's
vast windowpane.
Scenic serenity.
Nature's gradations of green
soothe tired eyes,
trembling nerves, throbbing veins.
Slivers of moonlight reflect
in withered refrains, unearth secrets
embedded in song
effervescing through cool pure air
cleansing the uprising nestling
set aflame
resurrected
tempered mettle,
pure, wise, tested
engorged with the will
to rise"
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[link]
ARTIST CALL! Make art to support Walmart Workers this Black Friday. Expose Walmart!
Dear Poster & Graphic Artists!
This Black Friday, we invite you to help transform the biggest day of mass consumption into a day of mass-resistance.
Join us in using your visual skillz to support a national movement against inequality and exploitation when thousands of workers and activists will be walking on Walmart, challenging the greed of one of America’s wealthiest corporations
Are you in?
We have prepared some guidelines for you in the pages below. Black Friday is THIS WEEK, so we are asking for really fast turnarounds. We will circulate the designs via social media and may print some of them for the various sites.
Click here to download the PDF with full instructions and guidelines.
Questions: Contact Favianna at theculturestrike [at] gmail [com]
THIS IS A JOINT PROJECT OF CULTURESTRIKE.NET & ARTISMYOCCUPATION.ORG
Please Spread!
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[link]
You can watch tonight's event at Le Poisson Rouge via livestream at the Rolling Jubilee website.
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Scorpio poetry
Here at the bar again, bar nothing to me.
Here at the bar again, bar nothing to me.
Early Scorpio warm, warm village 2 pm poetry reading
at Chumley's
Searching for bargains, found a Paul Goodman book
with cat and dog and baby photographs
to give to Cindy
a gift of love for a fragile child
stranger/sister.
Still afright from last night's heavy scene
Wherein the police took my man away again,
This time with my blessing and accomplicement.
. . . A man is a hard thing.
Also a drag on my developmental aspirations
When all he does is cry and threaten
Big Brute Violence
To storm my sensibilities.
(What's frustrating is he doesn't hear me cry.)
Laughing in the park we loved
Crying in the night we parted
Oh, beseech I, god above
Why must you leave me broken-hearted
(and I know he'll be returning with more disregards
and diatribes and possibly pistols drawn to fire.)
So I sit here in the bar, again
Drinking sweet Kahlua and awaiting the poetry
Taking a respite, you see.
Oh, god, for this while,
Bar nothing to this troubled child
(for child I feel, though woman grown)
Let peace alone assail me.
Sister Scorpio
Black as hate; white and bloodless
shrieking Fury
punishing Saint.
Your patient, erratic torture
has left me broken,
bleeding torrents of pain
unable to move
forward,
unable to sleep
or engage in
polite discourse.
Yet you were never satisfied.
It was not me you wished to sacrifice.
I was merely inconvenient,
or too convenient.
Dressed in a goatsuit,
queued up to be driven to slaughter,
how could I expect compassion,
fellow feeling?
But it was the Executioner's blade
I expected,
not frenzied repetition of
back stabbings, epithets,
steel-wielding rage.
We could have been sisters,
giggling secrets in the schoolyard,
smoking pcp in the girls' room,
shooting up the classroom,
dying in each other's arms.
Scorpionic
The forest is old
obscured in ghosts and mysteries
Come out in the wild night with me
dressed in the stars
Serenades from the Moon
intoxicate air aged in adventure
Exult with me in pleasure
Far from decay of leaves, sad savagery
That strange stained light in the darkness
Silence, a pause in cycling
Isolate
Tender reflection in the settling sky
a throne to reign
weary tantrum waves below
I can relate
the deals reality baits me with
so overrated
I'm left unsated
staring at fate's rear
Now escapes me
running into future skyscapes
holding yestereves
stiff and strained
closer than this moment
as it slips
into one more
I seek that honest sigh,
that joining smile that art
of distilling meaning
Pictographs along the wheel
to distract from
its unceasing
crawl
Caught
an instant
surrounded in space
demanded in time
tells the reaper
continuity
is in the eye
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[link]
Calling All Artists, Poets, Musicians, Writers, and Performers
On November 11 (Remembrance Day)
30 Poets, 30 Musicians and 30 Sculptors will create 30 performances across 30 London Underground Stations examining why they hold the opinions they do on conflict and war
[link]
Using this project as a catalyst, we are inviting artists across the globe to participate by creating an original work along the same theme and to post a description, image, text excerpt, poem, sound file or video link
on our no man's land map (see instructions below).
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To submit: [link]
submissions being much under our goal this project is very likely to be cancelled
The Staff at Nazar Look
[link]
[link]
Poetry Anthology: Magnetic Resonance Therapy
provisional planned for November 2012, Romania
The intention in putting together this collection is to bring English contemporary poetesses closer to Crimean Tatar and Romanian public.
All poems submitted will be considered for inclusion in an anthology tentatively titled "Magnetic Resonance Therapy – Contemporary Poetesses" and to be published in original edition in Romania in or after November 2012. The book will be large size (A4 or 8.5"x11") and with full color interior.
Theme and subject: your choice
Genre: your choice, no erotica.
Style: your choice.
Poetry form: your choice.
Length: any length.
Fee: There is no submission/reading fee, and you may enter up to five titles.
Opening: July 20, 2012.
Deadline: October 20, 2012.
You have to choose a sentence or phrase which expresses your ideal or guides your conduct. Your motto will be published.
If we reach our selection goal prior to the deadline, we may open another anthology project advancing this one to its further stages.
All submissions remain the property of the author. The Anthologist asserts its copyright of the book as an anthology, by which is meant the collection of works. The Anthologist asserts no copyright over any of the individual works.
Contributors selected to be featured will be asked for the MS Word doc file, and high-resolution photographs.
If submission deadline is past, please visit our site to see if deadline has been moved or to enter a new anthology.
If your submission is received after the deadline, we may apply it to another anthology.
Poems that are not selected for publishing in this book may be filed away for future publication.
We desire to publish your work as you present it, but we may need to edit it in order to meet our publishing standards.
Payment: If your work is selected for publication, you will be entitled to receive up to three free copies of the book, for which you pay shipping costs. You may also choose not to claim your free copies.
Multiple, simultaneous and reprint submissions are welcome. However, we do not accept works with licenses or conditions assigned to third parties, and you are responsible for proper credits and information about the source of first publication.
Please send us only original, unpublished bios. If your work is accepted, do not reprint the bio published in this anthology. It is not a bad idea to simply delete this bio file from your computer after acceptance. We accept bios previously published in Nazar Look.
We accept only e-submissions through our online form.
You can always check the status of our running projects using our tracking page.
To submit: [link] .
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welcome Autumn
Autumn Calls a Prologue to Fall
Settle into setting Sun, calling leaves, day diminishing.
Secret scent sings of grail quests, reveals synchronicities.
Gathering hunters sense frenzied victory, pray to
coalesce with
darkening forest, deepening tales, shadowing deity.
Ritual beauty, fierce death/wild rebirth.
Pulling energy, drunk from fruits of Earth, swirl
into ecstasy; face becoming. Sun dies from Western skies.
Realign.
September 2012
[link]
[link]
[link]
[link]
blogbook word opera on 4 platforms
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Peace eve
[link]
This year, 2012, the International Day of Peace is on a Friday September 21, special activities and celebrations will take place all across the world over the 2012 Peace Day Weekend, including festivals, concerts, a global Peace Wave with moments of silence at noon in every time zone, and much more. We encourage you to attend local events (find them [link] ), put on an event of your own, take a moment of peace at noon, and check in on the global broadcast to view the worldwide activities.
[link]
[link]
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