Sailing, with a Salt’n Pepper Sailor of off and on renown
I am shaken to the core by the clearest understanding,
of why we are what we are, to the other.
For one is hard pressed to overlook
the human shipwrecks we often leave in our wake,
in the pursuit of self-serving romance.
Floating, in a sea-water bubble-bath behind his true love, Jezebel
I am deeply aware of self and surroundings,
and laugh inwardly at the ironies of this life.
For one is hard pressed to deny one’s true nature
and relative un-importance,
in the middle of a salt-watery vastness.
Pounding, as the prow of his vessel meets the lumpy sea
I g(r)asp at the why, of THIS relationship,
as opposed to one of our culture’s norm and making.
For as affection must not be confused with ownership
so infidelity not with freedom,
and I languish no more in a union of others’ choosing.
Learning, the literal and metaphorical ropes alongside this(hu)man, in his element I am thunderstruck and blindsided,
with a deeply resonating perspective, of my own met and unmet needs.
For one is hard pressed to disregard the tutelage
of a life’s worth of evidence,
contradicting the common view.
Rolling, the hot silent tears down my cheeks
happy though wistful,
as I stand at the helm while the Sailor rests.
For one is hard pressed to spurn one’s calling to self and freedom
when it is so beautifully modeled,
by a Master of that art.
Counting, as the numbers on my personal odometer
climb toward an undetermined end point,
I remove the next vestige of a life never mine.
For as 3 years short of 60 register in my mind
so the realization that I owe me different,
than that which the box provides.
~Marcela M.
July 19, 2018
Photos and writing: All Rights Reserved.
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under My World(s), Poetry
With an attitude
of Elk-peril be damned,
~Marcela.
June 08, 2018
Writing and Images: All Rights Reserved
Remnants
Like an old (Czech) 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 damned 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
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 photograph: All Rights Reserved.
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.
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.
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.
She, Valkyrie
cradles tattered remnants
a slaughtered spirit,
in her intrepid care.
Goddess vision
greets wounded gaze
and I beseech her,
to choose life,
for an oft wounded,
heart.
To Valhalla
for mead,
and her.
Salve
for the psyche,
soul and flesh,
of gods mythical,
and mortal,
and their concubines.
~Marcela: beautifully lost, in a real-time myth, of my own creation.
February 18, 2017
Image: 
Marcela: Unfiltered 