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~ living out loud…

Marcela: Unfiltered

Category Archives: Poetry

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(Still) Intense

15 Thursday Sep 2022

Tags

Poetry

Intense

Intense is confused, contradictory,
Intense is conflicted.
Intense is connected, insightful, wise, crazy, vulnerable and volatile, even.
Intense is wild, unfettered.
Intense is not funny or amusing;
Intense is hilarious.
Intense cannot be contained, will not be boxed.
Intense puts shattered pieces together;
creating a picture more beautiful,
than the seemingly in-tact.
Intense grows wings, makes pigs fly.
Intense knows not, of impossibility.
Intense is creativity, its core, its essence.
Intense is never indifferent, mediocre or neutral.
Intense knows no middle ground.
Intense is love and hate, war and peace, black and white;
but Intense resides, in living colour.
Intense is primary, neon, even.
Intense registers no nuanced hues or shades of gray, has no space for washed out and faded.
Intense is not boastful, but aware of its internal power.
Intense is student and teacher.
Intense appears bossy, but is in actuality, a leader.
Intense roars loudest when silent.
Intense will not walk the talk of shameful suffering and pastel-coloured pity.
Intense occupies souls, fuels infernos of spirit-blazes too hot to extinguish.
Intense will be doused only, with (premium) fuel.
Feed the flame;
watch,
Intense incinerate,
evil; with Love.
Postscript:
Intense will no longer apologize for its intensity.

©Marcela Y. Mrnka

Original written in 2014, edited for publication July 17, 2022.
Page 27

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Coming Soon…

17 Sunday Jul 2022

 

 

Continue reading →

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What I know, the only thing I know for sure…

26 Saturday Feb 2022

 

To say that it has been a very challenging time in my life could be the
understatement of my rarely to never understated life.
Honestly, the last 3 years have been one Bitch-Slappy whack after the
other, quite continuous actually, in every.single.area of my life and
health, but I refuse to give up on myself.

Most particularly, though, I refuse to give up hope that I will be
inclined, have the energy left over after work and keeping at bay that
which ails me, to do what has literally kept me alive in the darkest
moments of my life: to write.

To write about what hurts, to write about the individual and collective
experience, to write about what is right, to write about what is wrong,
to write about everything that matters, or should. To write beautiful
and dark and silly poems.

I will not give up on myself to write. Just to fucking write!

~Marcela: not uninspired, just un-something… un-everything…

“When we face pain in relationships our first response is often to sever bonds rather than to maintain commitment.” -bell hooks

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” -Audre Lorde

“Write hard and clear about what hurts.” – Ernest Hemingway

“Write what you know.” – Mark Twain

 

 

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Was there a different, more unifying solution?

15 Tuesday Feb 2022

Tags

Taking down Gassy Jack

A group of what some folks are referring to as Wokes took down the statue of Gassy Jack in Vancouver’s Gastown yesterday. And while I absolutely stand behind and share, their outrage at the reasons behind his fall from positive to not-so-aggrandizing notoriety, he ‘married,’ think about that, a 12 year old Squamish Nation child, and went on to father his own child with her. In other words, he was given legal permission to rape a 12 year old girl.

I clearly see how leaving his statue up comes off as condoning his (and others’) heinous acts of child-rape, legally condoned by every system and individual who co-signed it, but I fail to see how this particular action serves to remedy anything over the longer term, and isn’t that what we really want? To air the dirty laundry of history while working toward not repeating it?

I find (and some of the comments support this train of thought) that this kind of action, while very gratifying in the moment, is divisive and inflammatory, and isn’t that what we’re trying to steer away from?

Would it have been more useful to erect a statue of her beside him, and a plague, articulating the actual history? You know, owning the colonial and paternalistic crimes committed against her and mega thousands of others, taking responsibility, acknowledging her and by direct extension her people and the suffering they endured?

Just a thought or two…

~Marcela.

Relevant Tyee article by Jen St. Denis is here, the photo is also hers::

https://thetyee.ca/News/2022/02/14/Gassy-Jack-Statue-Toppled-Vancouver/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_content=021422-f&utm_campaign=editorial&fbclid=IwAR2FJzVc0QCru-LvwzM5Lv487-lFaSbbhrxucmxYequCMrADve9waPB_Lc4

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Good bye my friend…

31 Saturday Jul 2021

 

My precious Claireabelle:

I have put this off for days; ‘this,’ meaning saying goodbye to you in some meaningful way. Intellectually I know that putting it off does not make your death any less real, any less true, but emotionally, it has kept me safe from the bottomless black pit of grief I fear falling prey to. So I apologize to you, to your family, others who loved you so fiercely, as fiercely as I do, as fiercely as I always will, for taking so long to say a goodbye I still struggle to wrap my brain around. I have been hiding in my job, hiding on the trail, hiding in my own pain.

But everywhere I go there you are, as you have been for so many years since we met. At times more distant than others, but always there, in my heart. For you were that rarest of creatures (in my world) who like me, just like me, knows the despair we have known, have felt so lost, so misunderstood, so forsaken, for so many years, and we ‘got’ each other, right from the get go.

And even after a decade long silence between us, because life, it felt more like 10 minutes since we last talked, since we last cried together, since we last cursed, since we last danced, since we last laughed together and at one another, it felt like 10 minutes, not 10 years. That kind of connection can only survive and thrive in an environment of absolute honesty, absolute trust, absolute kin-ship, absolute loyalty, and absolute love between humans, absolute: meaning no matter what. We had that, even when you didn’t like my straight-up words, neither sugar coated, nor brutal, just honest, always stated with and from love, and always driven by the fear of this very reality, losing you, permanently.

But I mustn’t fall down the black hole, for it was not only ‘the pain,’ our experiences of abuse and other vileness that connected us, it was the free-spirited wild, the beautifully crazy, the wicked funny, the sharply intellectual, the intensely sensitive (always shrouded in a self-protective shield of ‘I don’t give a fuck’), that created this most precious of bonds that we had. That bond will always be there, and as your beautiful daughter said recently, I too, ‘will never stop fighting for you.’

For what has occurred, this mind-numbingly tragic event, is a direct result of pain, not one of intent, and most certainly not one of failure, on anyone’s part, including yours. I have a good idea of what you yearned for in this life, and I know how determined you were to get it. I also have an inkling of how far down in the bottomless pit of pain you landed, how deeply you felt, believed, to have let others down. I know how low, how non-existent your self-esteem was, your feelings of unworthiness for the support you received in recent months, over the last several years.

I am acutely aware of the line we cross, when the war we wage with ourselves (because that, is where the true battle lies), turns everything into a toxic quagmire of shame and self-loathing, a pain that seems quell-able only with more pain killers; that Plexiglas shield of substances and behaviours that I have come to understand over the years, as more than the convenient, judge-y, pathological label of ‘addiction.’ I have come to understand this quick-sand swamp as a set of responses to trauma, to pain, to a lack of self-worth, self-acceptance. I have come to understand it as a set of reactions, decisions and choices we have made, that others made during times in our lives when we were unable to defend ourselves, decisions and choices we made as adults when choice A and choice B appeared to be the only two available and they both equally sucked. Decisions and choices that often served others and harmed self, decisions and choices that felt like the only survival tactics we had in our arsenal of weapons in this war. Decisions and choices that in the long run, stop serving us in any useful way, no longer kill the pain, and harm others, harm the people we love most, the people who love us most, and there we come full circle.

The cycle is only breakable by breaking it, and my heart bleeds for you, for now you will not have the opportunity of knowing that freedom. That freedom does not mean a life free of pain, because we do not live in a benign world, we live in a world fraught with injustice and systems and structures which doom people, the most vulnerable people, people like you were, like I used to be, still am, just in a different way today, to failure. A world in which bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people, and ‘fair,’ is a place I go to ride a Ferris Wheel.

The freedom I speak of is one of mastering self, nothing else; because ultimately self, our response to any given situation in life, as our friend Collie recently brought to our attention, mindset, our response, is the only thing in the entirety of our known Universe, that we ever, have any real control over. I wanted this freedom for you so very badly that I can taste the foul and bitter taste of its loss to you on my tongue, and it is all I can do to keep myself in check, for I am not just sad and gutted, I am furious.

But I know how futile, unproductive, and harmful that fury can be… we talked about it, along with so many other important things, on July 10th, at 11:28 a.m. It was a long and at times difficult conversation, as real conversations, about real things, between real friends often are. And remembering that conversation since learning that you are gone, remembering how both of us pushed through the hard parts, because love and trust, having finished it, having left things, as we always have, at a place of honesty and our respective truths, a place of deep and unconditional love for one another, a place of friendship, brings me some measure of solace.

And then I went away for a desperately needed reprieve from work, from most civilization, technology, and from health and other unwelcome realities of my own, came back with the intent of responding to your most recent messages once back on dry land, and before I could catch my breath, the message from your child, and that phone call, the gut-wrenching news we all fear most, when it comes to the people we love so fiercely.

I bought a wildly coloured pair of tights yesterday, because they literally reminded me of (y)our inner fire, and as soon as the weather cools a bit, I will don them, power the shit outta that one trail, the one I so wanted to share with you next Spring, because it is wild and glorious, and covered in Bluebells…

Everywhere I go there you are my beautiful ClaireBear.  We loved (and hated) so many of the same things. I will never look at another fiery sky, another cool cloud, another Bluebell, without yearning to hear your voice, your laugh… without feeling the part of my heart that you will always occupy. This world, your childrens’ worlds, your family’s worlds, your friends’ worlds, my world, lost one of its brightest stars the day you left, but your star-dust has settled into my heart, just in a different way than when you were here, and there it will stay, until the day my own star-light burns fully out.

Always and forever, your mama M.,

~Marcela.

July 31, 2021.

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Because I have known…

09 Wednesday Jun 2021

Tags

Poetry

 


Because I have known heart-breaking loneliness,
I know and crave, the bliss of solitude.

Because I have known spirit-crushing abuse,
I know and love, with compassion and empathy.

Because I have known mind-boggling ignorance,
I know and seek, emotional and intellectual intelligence.

Because I have known self-stifling entrapment,
I know and revel in, autonomy and freedom and self.

Because I have known trust-shattering dishonesty,
I know and live, truth and fielty.

Because I have known soul-ripping harshness,
I know and pursue, a softer side of being - me.

Because I have known gut-wrenching hatred,
I know and endeavor, to default to love.

~Marcela: knowing… but not all… never all…
June 09, 2021

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For the 215 Indigenous Children found in a mass grave in Kamloops… and those in all the world’s unmarked graves…

31 Monday May 2021

Tags

Indigenous Children, Kamloops



May the sun warm the earth,
that your tiny bodies were so unceremoniously buried in...

May the cool, clear waters of these, your islands and coastlines,
act as salve on the aching hearts of your families and communities...

May the trees and stones and creatures,
of these, your unceded territories, finally guide you home.

And may you know, that you were always missed, never forgotten,
and that you are loved, and grieved, then, and in the here and now...

...by your families, by your communities,
and by those of us clad in the unearned privilege, of lily-white skins,
who know, what we have done.

With all the love and humility I have,

~Marcela.

May 31, 2021

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, Poetry

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Oh those Russians…

03 Wednesday Mar 2021

I think Mr. Chekov’s words are more relevant than ever, with all the airy-fairy, faux enlightenment we are encouraged to pursue in this culture of every-thing-is-a-business, including health (care) and spiritual practices.
 
Industries like ‘health food,’ ‘wellness,’ and yoga also come to mind… but there are so many others…
 
Oh those Russians… ;)
 
“”Do silly things. Foolishness is a great deal more vital and healthy than our straining and striving after a meaningful life.”
 
-Anton Chekhov

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I am not content

21 Sunday Feb 2021

Tags

freedom, Honesty, Poetry



I am not content to fall,
any deeper,  
into the hole in my soul,
which was once occupied by the relationship with you,
my only child.

I am not content to dwell,
any longer,
on that which has befallen us,
respectively,
my dearest friend.

I am not content to remain,
paralyzed,
in a robotic survival,
originating in the grotesque realities of this life and world,
yours, mine or ours.

I am intent,
on creating something,
anything,
other than:

black holes
broken hearts
and trudge.

I may not know, may not see, yet,
this new future,
but I am fervently and passionately,
intent,
on creating it.

One
Foot
In
Front
Of
The
Next  

I am not content;
therefore:
I am intent. 

~Marcela: moving toward that which has eluded me most of my life, 
one well-shod step at a time.

February 20, 2021

Photo and writing: All Rights Reserved.

 

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Heads out of asses, please…

20 Saturday Feb 2021

Seriously, heads out of asses people! What’s happening in the town I work in is getting more terrifying every.single.day! A lot of really smart people have (correctly) predicted for some time now, that we have not seen the worst of it, and while that is difficult to digest, I cannot disagree. Come join me on any work day if you need (more) proof. I dare you. This article (link below) is a long, but to my mind, necessary read, and if you have even a tiny smidge of common sense and/or critically thinking brain, you will understand Mr. Niforuk’s very valid points and get behind the ‘go for zero’ movement.
~M.

https://thetyee.ca/Analysis/2021/02/19/Snap-Out-Pandemic-Passivity-Canada/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_content=021921-1&utm_campaign=editorial

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The Dead Horse

31 Thursday Dec 2020

Tags

Children, Life, Love, Motherhood


The Annus horribilis nears its final demise,
and another tear traces its way down a weathered cheek.

A mother misses her child.

The bullwhip strikes the next blow,
and a 24/7 mind re-runs the last 365.
A mother’s heart never rests easy, the maternal mind replays, 
everything.

The deep welts of self-flagellation burn white-hot,
and the mother agonizes, over where and when she had failed.

A mother, no matter how exceptional, will rarely never,
feel adequate.

The bullwhip is heavy, heaved high for the next exquisite, 
unforgiving lashing, but of a sudden, the mother recoils in revulsion 
as the mirror reflects her self-inflicted wounds.

The child’s choices are their own.

The bullwhip falls from her hand, shatters the flawed belief that 
she had any control over, and little to no contribution, 
in what has transpired,

and a mother comes to the stunning revelation that:

she is but flogging the rotting flesh of a long dead horse.

Rest in scarred and jagged equine pieces,

A mother must find joy!

~Marcela, December 31, 2020: looking back to move forward. 


Writing: All Rights Reserved
Image: Google Search 'Palomino'

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The Reindeer

28 Saturday Nov 2020

 

I was a bit giddy when I came upon him, and grateful to self for 
having dragged me out, for it has been a long while since my last 
walkabout.

The level of vigilance needed in my job and PPE/safety protocols 
changing daily create such high anxiety; do not contribute to a 
desire to brave the world on days off, so unless absolutely 
necessary, I'm not going out much. But I was glad I did, because 
I need outside, it drives everything good about me.

And had I not dragged myself out, I would have missed him! And it
made me smile that someone went to the trouble of creating him,
so that people, people like me, could smile.

I took my photo and went on my merry way, to run the stairs at the
marina, and 'trespass' at my beloved breakwater, visit with
'Resurrected,' smile at the irony of her, and watch the aerialist
acrobatics of the Jonathans in the world.

I walked back the same way I came, because I wanted to see him
again and to check if my own 'art du jour,' was still there,
or if it had been swept away by the tide.

And as I got closer, I smiled to see him, and my own Sea Eggs'n Ham
in the distance, still perched on the log, the one with my
favourite piece of chain on it.

And that, is when Entitlement walked up and said: "Hey did you
see that Reindeer? I think I'll take it home, I mean, there's more
'material' here for them to make another one, they probably made it
for that, don't you think"? I said: "...or maybe they just like to
make public art, to make people smile, people like you and I."

I pointed to Sea Eggs'n Ham, and said: "I build them because they
make me smile, and sometimes, if the tide doesn't take them too
quickly, they make other people smile."

I call him Entitlement because he was well-dressed, well-shod,
and his pure-bred dog was well-leashed with leather gear. He did not
appear to be a man 'in need' of free ornaments for what is very
likely his well-manicured yard.

He did in that moment, however, appear to be a man 'in want.'
A man quite accustomed to getting what he needs, and wants, when
he wants and needs it. And he demonstrated this to me when he told
himself, tried to have me co-sign, a story about the person who
built the reindeer, building it for someone to take home.

And while that could certainly be the case, I doubt it. I think I
know something about public art, and the people who create it, and
I don't think it has anything to do with someone taking ownership of
it, someone removing it from its 'public' space, to be enjoyed
privately, by only one.

I harbour no ill-will toward this man, his utterances and thought
process regarding the Reindeer, are but a reflection of the mass
self-entitlement, the other pandemic, plaguing human kind.

I wanted to say to him, "if you had taken it before I got here 
today,I would not have seen him, I would have missed a most welcome
reprieve of joy in my somewhat joy-less world," but I did not,
say that.

I work extraordinarily hard to be kind, most of the time, but my
kindness cup was running precariously dry, for there had been several
'sketchy' moments during my longed-for and sorely needed outside-ing
this day, so I said: "I'll be going now, have a great day."

Entitlement said: "I'm going to go take a closer look at your
Sea Eggs'n Ham," and I could not bear to turn around as we parted
ways, to see if he was heading for the Reindeer.
Marcela: Wondering about the Reindeer,trying not to judge, not always
succeeding. 
November 28, 2020

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Vestiges

25 Sunday Oct 2020

And as the last vestiges of summer 
relinquish their hold 
on this special place 
so I lay down this sceptre 
and bow out of a reign 
long due a new sovereign. 

For it is imprudent 
to cling to that 
which is neither my current reality 
nor domain. 




















~Marcela: desperately seeking a desirable next, 
in Ye Olde Queendom of Quack. 
October 25, 2020



















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2020: Season Finale Preparations

21 Monday Sep 2020

Some folks have expressed concern about the 2020 Season Finale, I’m building a bunker in my garage for the New Year’s Eve Party… cause I’ve given up all hope of the Aliens taking me with them… you know they’re out there going:

“What in the Flying Fuck’? President Covid and a virus called Trump! Abort mission to land Alf! Abort the fucking mission”!

Alf’s screaming “fuck you Mork, I’m starving, gonna get me a cat! Look, there’s one on the Virus’s head”!

A girl can dream, besides, it’s 2020, anything is possible…

xoxo
~Marcela.

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry

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Downside-Up

12 Saturday Sep 2020

Cups runneth over 
straws break a Camel’s back
bitter icing on cakes
did you step on that sidewalk crack?

Injuries are insulted
actions scream silent words
Bushes assaulted
did you throw the stone that killed the 2 birds?

Cats scurry from bags
blue eyes wide/tightly shut
Wild a-flutter red flags
Pandora you slut!

Sleeping dogs wide awake
a blue moon appears daily
Chewing on shoe-leather steak
Where the fuck is my baili(wick)?

Madness no method
mirrors reflecting but smoke
silver plated linings
world’s a fetid, acrid cloak!

Grace(land) left Elvis
a cat sat still, un-curious
barked down a tree head over pelvis 
tragic slo-mo life, in a lane fast and furious.

Because... just because... 
~M.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry

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