Shapes Like Stars

Across the universe...

...in this galaxy...

...these little pieces burn

shooting light
that blinds the road

and takes away our view

...if we could only see

this thing we are

and chart this course
above

we'd plot our path...

...to guide us home...

...avoiding edges

cutting paths

in sharply twisted turns

Flash Fiction Friday: "A Whole Life in One Day"

They barely knew each other, even after watching each other from afar for years.

And now, he studied her. Up close. Personal. From only inches away. One day, by chance, had brought them here.

His eyes detailed the memory he'd replay later - and for years to come. Her cheeks, flushed from the chill of the air and something else - something infinitely more permanent. Her hair, softly silhouetted in the glow of the streetlight behind her. Her lashes brightly glistening in errant flakes of snow.

"When I look at you, I see forever."

He watched his whispered words wrap around her, his warm breath causing a shivered smile to tease her face and his heart, embracing them both in eternity.

He pulled her close and touched his lips to hers. In one second, he knew his life was held inside this day.

Fourteen Ten Ten

deathly acts result in life
   unbidden
      uncontrolled
blossoming in uncertain promises
      delicate
   delayed

to touch the sheers
   to fraying threads
      comes dread
indecision
      resolution
   hesitation

of what brings forgetting
      of all you are
  and hatred fills the heart

resignation pales the flow
   as darkness drips like tears
      to drown in kindness
 merciful silence
    a new beginning's end

but again it begins
  this cycle we know
      where life results in death

Stranger

She knew their secrets
could name each one
as they laughed
and made their "jokes"
not once realizing
that truth would astound
and the things they held close
and hid under the skin
weren't fiction
or so far away

After the Hour

in the longest night
fear finally breaks

opens cautiously to light

shedding the earth
and the shadow that falls
from past indiscretions
that lie

in stillness it wakes
brightened slowly in grace

swallowing darkness

it waits

as the world's interference
slips softly away
and the focus of hope

is revealed

~~~~~~~

Solstice Blessings on this darkest of nights. 

May nothing overshadow your love or your laughter! 

~~~~~~~

Thank God for this New Laughter...

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I'm gonna learn to love without fear
~"Born" (Over the Rhine)

I'm laughing today. Not just at the moon. Not just at the night. Not just in some feeble attempt to convince myself that I'm happy. Today, I am truly laughing.

It's just... Something as small as laughter. Something as important as laughter. Something that I haven't fully experienced for a while. Something I'm afraid to allow myself to experience most of the time, because of what it usually means for me.

See, laughter often signifies a manic episode. I become hyper-active, bounce off the walls, fail to sleep (and sometimes eat), and laugh hysterically over stupid things; I'm invincible and uninhibited and I am literally unstoppable. And I'm often not aware of it. Oh, I know how I feel and I know how I'm acting, but it doesn't register.

It registers more clearly when I hit the intense irritability and anger, the almost paranoia over the feeling of spinning completely and wildly out of control, the panic attacks that make it impossible to breathe with stabbing knives in my heart, and the inability to stop laughing, even when it's wildly inappropriate to laugh.

During my last manic episode, I made a comment on Twitter about how the upside to a manic insomnia was the ability to go all night without sleeping and still feel charged and ready to go the next day. A friend replied with something to the effect of, "I think all moms should be manic."

No, Sweetheart, you really don't want that. Manic episodes are terrifying, and not just for me, but for everyone around me. Sure, I'm far more productive during those periods, but I'm also entirely unpredictable and irrational, and no child should ever have to deal with a mother like that. Happily, my mania is mild, my kids are in good hands, and I have the help I need to make sure we're all taken care of when necessary.

Still, because of this, laughter has become a bit of a warning signal for me. A symptom of something else that has incredibly ominous potential. And so, it's been a long time since I have been able to enjoy laughter this much.

But I do. Today, I do. This is a new laughter, a healing laughter. This is a laughter that overflows from hope and love.

Because I have found reasons for laughter. Reasons to believe that the pain of the past couple years might actually be closing and a new chapter in my life might actually be opening.

And this chapter might actually be full of real, honest, and non-mania-induced laughter.

Unassuming

glass fragility

sun-weakened under shadows

cracking unnoticed

fused together here

in darkness bathed in moonlight

slowly eroding

always protected

stored safely here forgotten

fading nonetheless

This is Where

I come from...

the flowers on the mountain

the sunset in his eyes

the first snowfall of winter

the rain trapped in the sky

the crunch of autumn stillness

the moonbeam's starry cry

the piper's race with sea surf

and the dusk where shadows die

Night Echoes

The night
Won't save
You

Or anyone really
But especially not you

It is
The moment
Of death
Of the echo

There's no salvation
Not in death
Not in the night

Only an echo
Only a repetition
Something played
Over
And over
Something
That won't
Let you sleep

Until death
Until life
Is gone
From the endless
Repetition
The echo
Of salvation

But the night
It certainly won't
Save
Anyone.

The Ceremony of the Dress

Burning
for Brenda

The strong are the ones
who've learned
to let go
who have walked through
the fire and left
some behind

as the dress slowly melted
to colorful flame
we shared in the awe of how
quickly it went
this one moment of time
this brief whisper
of life
flaring in violence
in a smoking black blaze

Amid tearful relief
this memorial to grief
in unspoken goodbyes held
in this breaking of time
and of moments we share

we hold what we've lost
in these scars in our keeping
and this knowing
we are
and still learning
what matters while watching
life burn

now this sacred rite passes
in the flowing of beer
our spectres released
of the things that once were
wafting on puffs
of stubborn cigars

What happens here, stays here,
but we carry it inside,
knowing we celebrate
with others who've vanished
and lost to the night
renewing hope for the future
gaining strength from this burn.

***apologies for the sound quality on this video. I'm not an editor.

#Twitchicks present: crazywidow, c_visual, jacksvalentine, jamiebentley, jbairy, jessm918, lholubec, mk_girl, mrsbenedict

Killing Jesus

Absolution

lonely

held here by no one

only solitary confinement

abandoned by the conflict

when all is stripped

and left naked

hanging here

forsaken?

Negation

forsaken?

hanging here

left naked and

stripped from all

abandoning all conflict

for suicidal confinement

no one here to hold

lonely

Tonight

for those gone before

tonight

one angel drops from flight
this slight
not quite
a thing that's right

as tears shine bright
in our fright
so trite
wanna be alright
left with only this plight
for try as we might
we can't fight

as we hug our loves tight
contrite
we invite
anger to incite
from this failed delight

we're done being polite
this bites
like spite
or a horrible rite
returned to mere blight

still this candle ignites
a white light
in our sight
and these prayers we recite

tonight

Flying Stars

Impatient bare feet tap on splintering steps
awaiting the sinking of day

To chase after these stars
like baby pieces of faerie magicks
and trap them in little jars

Like gathered pieces of our glittering dreams
displaying our hearts beneath glass

Like fractured moonlight
illuminated in breath
blinking here deep in the night


~~~~~~~

"Do these words tell you how deeply I love? Do they tell you what I dreamed of as a little girl; do they tell you what I dream of now? ... Do they tell you that in the summers, I sit out on the back porch and wait for the fireflies to emerge because they remind me of a thousand stars that I can actually reach out and touch?" ~ Susan Pogorzelski

Purple

To the God of the evening...

of heliotrope dusk
in violet-blue shadows

...blessing.

To the God of the moonlight...

of amethyst gems

in silvery-mauve beams

...honor.

To the God of the midnight...

of indigo blindness

in aubergine still

...awe.

To the God of the mountains...

of lilac-silk majesty

and plum-darkened throne

...glory.

To the God of the oceans...

of deep orchid rain

and tyrian waves

...power.

To the God of the meadows...

of heathered frivolity

and lavender rest

...praise.

To the God of creation...

of courageous love raging

through mysterious trust known

...everything.

~~~~~~~
Based off of Psalm 148

Outside My Window

I’ve waited too long
so when I look out now,
I see only silence in black
with only the faintest glimmer
of soft moonlight hidden
behind faraway, stubborn clouds.

It’s almost like nothing,
this empty expanse
full of distant echoes
and disappearing shadows

Why is it so dark
outside my window
when everything in here is so clear?

If I turn out the light
and get lost in the night
will I find rest
in the falling of stars?

Sound

when all I want is to
distinguish one sound
but all around me is noise
how can I focus
as the chaos erupts
and I can’t choose one
from the overbearing scatter
of this endless chatter

when all I want is to
hear the sound
of nothing
only my beating heart
and your breath inside

when all I want is to
be with you

After Midnight

She lies awake,
embracing her cold
lonely
forgotten child.

Waiting for it to stop
this discomfort
this pain
this miserable
crying hunger.

If she could just
feed it
change it
sing it to sleep,
she knows she could
fall back to sleep herself.

But the child's not consoled
not by her mere words
or just wishing
for silence
and rest

And pacing the floor
is the only way
to silence
the babbling voice.

For this inner child
needs her attention
before it completely dies.

The Beating of the Heart

It's what I do when the world is asleep
when the moon casts shadows of azure deep
It's what I do when midnight falls
when memories come haunting with siren calls
It's what I do when shooting stars cross
when dreamers are murmuring of other lives lost
It's what I do when the sandman stalks
when the reasons for waking are reduced to mere talk
It's what I do when night's swallowed day
when there's room just to listen without disarray

~~~~~~~

Prompt: It's what I do in the middle of the night.
(A Writer's Book of Days)

Misplaced

The moon wasn't made

to thrive in the day.

She's reflected there,

but is always overshadowed

by the blazing, awful glare

of the overwhelming sun

who drives her into night

thinking that she's hidden

but the darkness is her world

and she shines among the diamonds.

~~~~~~~

Prompt: Write about a day moon. (from A Writer's Book of Days)

Elegy

Today marks a year

since the day I died

well... the piece of me that cares

I always thought I knew

where I was headed

and who I was

saved by grace

and all that jazz

but now I've walked through hell

I've stopped believing

in the afterlife

if this is what it means

I'll accept this quest

of eternal search

to find pieces of my soul

and reconnect the parts of me

to try to be alive

~~~~~~~

Prompt: "A year after your death, ..." (after Czeslaw Milosz) from A Writer's Book of Days