09 Saturday Jun 2018
Imperiled by Elk
I have watched you like a hawk
Pretty Flamingo
It is not without awe, that I scribe these words, for I am, Peony.
this day. Yours, most burgeoning-ly in full bloom, and with an attitude
of Elk-peril be damned,
~Marcela.
June 08, 2018
Writing and Images: All Rights Reserved
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under MyLa: Unfettered, Poetry
05 Tuesday Jun 2018
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Remnants Like an old flag in the wind, tattered remnants of fear, flap relentlessly, in the recesses of my heart and mind; denounce and decry my worthiness of, the unorthodox life I crave. Whispers the fearless wild-child inside, “…burn the flag woman, burn the flag.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ With thoughts of my maternal grandmother, Žofie Schlosser Ševčíková, June 06, 1911 – November 17, 1995. She was inordinately dignified and quite literally worked her fingers to the bone for my mother and her. She did it while standing up to, and then leaving (unheard of at that time), a violently abusive, alcoholic husband. She did it during a time in war-torn Eastern Europe most of us cannot fathom, no matter how many history books we profess to have read. She was profoundly gifted in languages,and well-read. She toiled with her tiny body and life-worn hands,in a way we, of more recent generations cannot know. One of the things I remember most about her is the importance to her, of quality, in everything. And I wonder, knowing what I know about the drudgery, the losses, the sacrifices that were the bulk of her life, I wonder, given the opportunity to ask her about what she would have done differently, had she the chance to be anyone,to do anything,she desired,what that would have been. I am anxious this day,and she came to my mind. She was born 107 years ago. A mere blip on the radar of our Universe, not known to most, but remembered well, by me and my mama,her daughter, this day. ~Marcela: tattered in the process of (more, always more,) unfurling. Writing: All Rights Reserved / Image: Google Search June 06, 2018
19 Saturday May 2018
Posted in MyLa: Unfettered, Poetry
Verdant, bordering on showy, the lush greens of spring, …announce their inimitable presence! Ferociously, not unlike yours truly, the Fiddleheads unfurl, …to dazzle us anew! And so I, a self-reinventress, emulate them with an abandon wilder, …than even amok! We are HERE! Hear? ~Marcela: unfurling, again... May 15, 2018 Writing and photographs: All Rights Reserved.
30 Friday Mar 2018
Posted in Commentaries: On what matters to me, Poetry
I saw a great cloud, out my kitchen window, and I yearned to share it with you. I was going to run, down to the dock, to snap a photo for you. I remembered wise words, on the age of the immediate, pervasive and constant, visual. I considered my love for images, created by a sharp mind, when we read other’s words. I do not wish to rob you, of an opportunity to exercise, your own imaginative psyche. I saw a great cloud, out my kitchen window, a colossal rectangle! I saw a great cloud, out my kitchen window, quilted, in a perfectly recurring motif! I saw a great cloud, out my kitchen window, a bouncy strato-cumulus sky-duvet! I saw a duck, out my kitchen window, as if landing, on its (eider)downy surface! I laughed at the irony, of the (duck)down duvet, and what we may have missed, had I run, to snap a photo, in my desire, to share this experience, with you. ~Marcela: introspective; on all the things social media could take away from me... March 30, 2018 Poetry and writing: All Rights Reserved
22 Thursday Mar 2018
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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under My World(s), On Love..., Poetry
18 Sunday Mar 2018
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Your chainsaw voice has dismembered the last vestiges of sanity in my human shell severed the final tendon connecting compassion to my heart Your rusty-grater words have shredded the final ounce of patience in my once limitless hoard corroded beyond salvage the walls containing my desire to be your ally Your atomic bomb behaviours have irradiated the remaining molecule of hope for your salvation jaded this now impermeable spirit to anything but its own voice.
It is a brutal irony, that as my desire to exit the work-world I so grindingly (yes, that is a word!) and lovingly built grows with a vehement vengeance each day, the place and space for which I pay such a hefty premium to escape to, has been anything but peaceful in the oh-so-limited time I have to enjoy(?) it, of late. The level of human disregard for others in some of my neighbours runs deep, the ridiculous human folly of my most inglorious work-folks, along with our culture’s obscene systems and structures, follow me home for longer and longer stays, and the gargantuan contradiction that is my life continues… on the flip-side, I have, without fail, only ever built anything meaningful, to me, on the foundation of strife, struggle and/or suffering… it appears that a skyscraper is in the making here…
~Marcela: corroded and unchained
March 18, 2018
Writing and original images: All rights reserved.
Chainsaw image from google search.
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under In the Service of Other Humans, Poetry
11 Sunday Feb 2018
Would you like your coffee here, or there? Would you like to have it, with some flair? Would you like it in a cup? C’mon Sailor, bottoms Up! Oooh! Bottoms… blush… Would you like your wench, to serve, your cuppa Joe with a lil’ swerve? Would you like it with a wink of her eye? Would you like it, with some (bacon) pie? Aaah! Pie… tee hee… Would you like it with some ‘spice’? Or should I add a little ice? I could oblige your salty, here, or there, I can accommodate you, anywhere! Oh! Even there…? wink… Would you like your coffee on your boat? Though from this lake we cannot float, there. We’ll just have it, in my lair, sorry ‘bout that curly hair! OhMy! Good morning Sailor ;) Writing and Images: All Rights Reserved.
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under MyLa: Unfettered, Poetry
15 Monday Jan 2018
I (re)bid farewell to a Sailor,
then I stacked wood and cried.
I was tempted to talk to a Sailor,
so I swept the deck and cried.
I pined for the touch of a Sailor,
but remembered my heart and cried.
I ached for the wit’n winks of a Sailor,
so I ran the stairs and cried.
I re-read fond words from a Sailor,
wanted to burn them and cried, cause they’re in my damn phone and lappy!
I remembered the ‘delete’ features of modern technology,
smiled wistfully at self and realized holy shit I’m a grown up,
and cried.
And then I laughed and laughed,
‘cause it’s all such a fucking ride!
There is something so much less satisfying about a more grown up perspective to romance, love, sex and knowing more about how we work, and don’t. Acting in my own best interest, despite the requisite pangs I know it brings is sad, because there is something a little more self-righteously gratifying, in the immediate discomfort of the moment, to childishly expounding on another’s un-virtuous behaviour, than in owning one’s own. Knowing, accepting, that I went into something that probably wouldn’t work for me over the longer term, but being willing to have a go anyway, eyes truly wide open, is so damned mature, that I’m angry about it because it takes away the previously noted gratification of stomping my (fifty)six-year old feet. Someday, other than this one, I will publish the (for real) ‘Dear John’ letter (yeah, I did that) and other correspondence associated with this most grown up parting of ways, for it holds all kinds of ‘interesting’ in relation to the psychology of love and the human folly of romance, but for now;
Against all odds and my own attempts at not, I am Adulting today. Who fucking knew?
Momentarily dry-eyed and temporarily in my right mind,
~Marcela: maturely unfiltered.
Photos and writing: All Rights Reserved
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under On Love..., Poetry
29 Wednesday Nov 2017
And as the waves crash onto the shores of my beloved bay on a blustery-warm, almost end-of-summer day, so the wind blows through away the remnants of the havocs and hatreds you wreaked, upon every square inch of my world.
It is not that I still writhe in the agony of your countless and sundry tyrannies, it is my astonishment at the brilliance deceitfulness and deliberateness, with which you so expertly executed them, that prompts me to waste my words thoughts on you again.
And as the last of the summer-people roll up the dirty mats outside the glamping monstrosities they rolled into this tiny bay on, so I endeavour to roll up the dusty track upon which I have trudged, in my efforts to expunge the dirty, self-hating demons that set up camp in my person, when I realized who what you were are, and what your mission was is.
It is not that I am regretful of my suffering over these 14 months, for it has brought me to the wisest, fiercely-softest incarnation of me to date, it is that I am bewildered at the calculated depravity with which you pursued orchestrated the demise of my core, in order that you could take from me that which you came for: my stability, my worth; emotional, psychological, intellectual and economic.
And as I pack up my favourite things and sort through turf the last vestiges of you from my being, my home and my worlds, so I prepare, with peace and gratitude, to leave the place and space I escaped you to, for one with nary a trace of your existence… and I leave dispose of you, for good.
And as the Maples and Cottonwoods drop their riotous fall colours, and frost and snow hit the tiny Bay with the same vengeance with which you collided slammed into my being, so I drop the frozen weight of your revile and it shatters on the ground into a million tiny ice crystals.
It is not that they are sharp, broken shards; it is that they have landed on my new ground, formed created frozen images, beautiful, like the hoarfrost I marvel at, fragile, powerful, and vulnerable to the thaw which inevitably occurs, at the end of a period of iciness, frostbite, even.
It is not that you held me hostage for the 14 months since I fully uncovered your sociopathic duplicity imposture and ran limped away, it is that I held myself captive, with self-reproach and other useless recriminations, and it behooves me to end the ‘As Is…’ saga with this, my final message to you:
Your dirty, narcissistic misdeeds have backfired, for I am the exact opposite of what you so purposefully endeavored to tear me down into.
And while I have very little but pity and the DSM diagnoses I normally abhor left for you, I hold myself, in the highest, kindest, esteem.
~Marcela.
November 29, 2017.
Images and Poetry: All Rights Reserved.
20 Friday Oct 2017
As I pluck, the stray hairs from my face, I try to ponder with some grace, this crazy thing, called Aging. As I take my locks, from gold to dark, With silver strands just for the lark, I smile, for I have Lived. As I view the lines on this visage, every day is vernissage, and mostly, I care Not. And as I judge this culture, youth obsessed, no more couth do I possess, than (T)rump-a-dump, himself. In this world, where absurd is King, I wag and wonder at this thing, the phenomena, of Stupid. We're teaching children, to regurgitate, are raising mindless reprobates, in bubble-wrapped, Entitlement. I yell at them, to read a book, get your brains back off that fuckin hook, you call a life, on-line. And as I sit, with 56.5 I rejoice the years I am alive Live(d) and Love(d), with frenzied fire’n Passion A youthful spirit, in its tweens the wise chick in me hears’n gleans that this body, doth Protest! In recent words, to my well-(b)read child I spoke of this my big wild ride, and uttered this, fair Warning: If tomorrow, I should die, know that my life was not all pie, but holy fuck me, what a Ride! Lose no tear, for my time lost here, I sped through akin to Buzz Lightyear, had no time, to sweat the small Stuff! No such burden, as regret, for NO dull moment did beget, a single breath, I Took! And so I enter, this next phase, In a blur of crazy-dayz, and with electrifying, Verve! I ought to warn, you faint-of-hearts, my new grand plan will have no chart, to map out how this goes! So if you love me, in all my glory, you will know that this next folly, will be, of proportions Epic! BOOM. FALLOUT. AFTERSHOCK. SPLASH. SMILE’n WAVE, like the Queen I am. Quack-a-fucking-doodle-dizzy and with a brand new energy, for an old(er) chick! ~Marcela. October 21, 2017 Photos and Poetry: All Rights Reserved.
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, My World(s), Poetry
