Category Archives: Poetry

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Cancerian Side-Step

10 Friday Jun 2016

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Crab-Walker

A cancerian side-step
on the mountain like Otep
Shamaya, that is…
infernal screaming
salt-rivers streaming
crevasses and gorges
eye’s-blood forges
lava lines on a face
botox not to erase
triumphant tall tales
as well the fails
of proportions epic, that is…
stories rife
furious life
noisy this silence
obscuring the violence
mind gone wild
untamed adult-child
mutters insanities
trapped in banalities
of one’s own choosing, that is…
inaudible plea
no chutzpah to flee
this bird-cage un-gilded
wings flapping bewildered
red smear on a white page
reading lines on a stage
one so prudently set
best not forget
designer and choreograph
of this story’s epitaph
she/herself and yours truly
ever most duly
contrary in diction
this life of non-fiction, mine, that is…
dance of cancerian side-steps
while ludicrous forceps
tear out the part
once resembled a heart
and that bitch called love
bleeds on the floor
resembles the whore
that I am…
fuck
me, no,
you.
~Marcela: unapologetically yours.
June 10, 2016

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If I stopped believing in Love…

21 Saturday May 2016

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If I stopped believing in Love

because my heart has been wounded

I would stop believing in everything I do

and if I stopped believing in everything I do

I would stop doing everything I do

and if I stopped doing everything I do

I would cease to breathe

because love is the basis of all human connection

and human connection is the basis of love

and love is the basis of everything that I do

and must be the air that I breathe

or I will suffocate on hate

I am not perfect at it

yet.

~Marcela: (im)perfectly Unfiltered.

May 21, 2016

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My Valiant Purple Heart

15 Tuesday Mar 2016

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PurpleHeart

 

 

 

 

 

I know you not, love
For you come to me disguised

I get you not, love
For you speak to me in forked tongues

I hear you not, love
For you whisper to me screaming

I see you not, love
For you obscure my vision

I taste you not, love
For your sapor is but acrid

I smell you not, love
For your scent is cheap perfume

I feel you not, love
For your touch is numbing absence

I fear you not, love
For I have a valiant, purple heart.

~Marcela: undone
March 15, 2016

Image credit: Vinoth Chandar

Retrieved from:http://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20160212-the-unexpected-origin-of-love

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Pyre (o’maniac)

02 Saturday Jan 2016

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Derailed, discombobulated
hamster wheel for a brain,
drives my treasonous
heart
that run-amok freight train.

Incessant, the thoughts
constant and circular
brain matter
detonates
fuse lit by vernacular.

Disillusioned, with Life
and other L words,
I question
reality
is flying high for the birds?

Wakeful, I fret
over this, about that,
rue and
regret
engaging with gnats.

Diminished, extinguished?
the yearnings and flames,
all stealth and sneak
fear
stakes a new claim.

Vehement, (m)utterings
implore a but smouldering fire,
(re)torch that heart
woman
get back up on your pyre!

~MyLa: unfettered and spinning, yarns…
(01, 2016)

… t’was a most fitful night… brain ran in circles, how fitting the photo I snapped accidentally on my beloved trail yesterday… and as I coined another fretful ditty, this thought slapped me upside the head: the point is, nothing in my life, ever, has occurred in any sort of logical order, but particularly not in any sort of expected, culturally appropriate, or accepted order or manner. So how could I possibly write about any of it that way? And KaPow, with a random meme about the next 365 days, and a most productive night of wakefulness, the Year of Fly, and the next great thing, is born in the never ending purgastory, that is my 24-7 brain. Stick around and help me feed this baby, give this dragon, (unicorn?) wings. Or don’t. The next level of Unfiltered is coming, either way.

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Jump; into this dis-ordered life!

24 Saturday Oct 2015

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This love and life are schizophrenic
confusing and bizarre
a psychotic freight train run-a-mok
searching for its freight train cars

This love and life are melancholia
contradictory depths and shallows
understated hyperbole
its verdant fields all fallow

This love and life are so neurotic
too bad – too good – too much – too small
plod and slog along that edge
‘til through the cracks we fall

This love and life are paranoid
para-normal even
monsters lurk ’round every corner
something to believe in

This love and life are anxious
fear this – fear that – fear self
hide that heart way up on high
up on the highest shelf

This love and life are O C D
chaos seeks control
prim and perfect to appear
lest the death knell tolls

This love and life are risky
unsafe and oh-so-perilous
jump to me – come off that ledge
else each breath be but vicarious

~Marcela; unfinished
For my work kid Einstein, with so much gratitude that we get to keep flying in the Tardis together, and all the others who have walked the edge, stood on the ledge, and for those who jumped and didn’t have us to catch them, in time.
October 24, 2015

This past week the Universe conspired to connect so many experiences and events in the various worlds I occupy; with a semi-colon. In the wee hours of another fitful and anxious night I struggled to turn off the demons; the ones I bring home from work more often than not. Those of the work-folks I care for so deeply, and my own. At four a.m. it was clear that the demons were not to be tamed, so I chose to get up and write them out in the form of this ditty. Later that morning I came upon the art and heart of one John Finn and found another kindred spirit via my big brother Tom. That work day consisted of 9 relatively unexpected hours in a hospital with the 12-year-old work kid I will call Einstein. The demons were so loud, so overwhelming, that this brilliant and beautiful child wanted to die. I need to get one, a semi-colon tattoo; for Einstein, for me, for you, for all the work-kids, for their parents, for so many people I have known and loved, for Marilyn, for Robin Williams, for Dorothy Parker and for Sylvia Plath, just some of the people who move me so deeply, long after their time here ran out. Get one too? Come on, I double-dog-dare you!

Image: “Pause” Courtesy of the Über-talented John Finn.

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Of Virgins and snow

30 Wednesday Sep 2015

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Ice Tears - Norway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T’was a night before morning
and all through this life
the nightmare before daytime
gifts no end of strife

Ghosts of then ghouls of now
haunt an overwrought soul
a confusing cacophony
words falling, pits of black coal

Tides and torrents
tumble in and gush out
run down cheeks in hot streams
throat swallows shut

Blue eyes query wildly
what the fuck goes on here?
silenced voice screaming
your fears, we live near!

Embrace them, relinquish
hold on tight but let go
you are the virgin
they drove into that snow.

~Myla: Melting.

September 30, 2015

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Contradictions… III

21 Monday Sep 2015

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female-fragment-1.PaigeBradley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contradictions… III

I am…
…loosely cemented… no, inured and secured… of far sighted vision… sight lines fully obscured… entire… no partial… I cower… no rise… small silly child… no, crone oh-so -wise… zig zag and waver… no, I walk a strong gait… run to a finish line… no (im)patiently wait… emptiness, hollow… fill my bottomless soul… stubborn… no willing… fragmented… no whole… pieces of puzzles falling down to a floor… fall apart… no together… build a wall… no, a door… treasure inside… open it, open it… no, slam it shut… should have known better… Pandora! You slut.

~Myla: unknowingly certain.
September 21, 2015

Image: Female Fragment, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley

 

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Contradictions… II

21 Monday Sep 2015

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TwistedFemale.2.PaigeBradley

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contradictions II

I am…
…of a clear mind… and also perplexed… and running… no motionless… brain overly flexed… silent tears flow in rivers… down this young weathered face… each chases another… a perverse little race… I smile… no grimace… and laugh… no wail… quiet refrain… screams fail, epic fail… I see… no I’m blind… I am cruel… no I’m kind… I am twisted… no straight… occupy rooms full of love… an abandoned house full of hate… agnostic… no atheist… tempting fate, tempting fate…

~Myla: unknowing.
September 21, 2015

Image: Twisted Female No. 2, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley

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Love lies bleeding…

07 Friday Aug 2015

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SingleAgain-AngelinaWronaDearest:
I implore thee;
Dismiss not
my reality,
with Disdainfully Derisive missiles
to Dispute and Discount,
that which Displeases Your sensibilities.
For you will;
Disturb and Decrease,
(my) trust
and in the end;
(y)our
L</3ve,
lies bleeding,
D e a d.
On the floor.

~Marcela: deflatedly in love, and fully Unfiltered.

Image; with thanks: https://www.angelinawrona.ca 

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The Aff; by any other name… is still, not a toad.

29 Wednesday Jul 2015

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Be still my heart
drilled by the dart
of the man called Dieter
nothing sweeter,
than this curt curmudgeon
with truth he doth bludgeon
the remnants of trolls
stealers of souls,
nurses the valve
no conditions as salve
for a heart left bleeding
leaves me conceding
I am but a babe
in the woods,
of love.

Of Nibelungen fame
he sports a grand middle name
Siegfried at center
this soul he did enter
pierced the protection
raised by the rejection
of mangy mongrels
insipid scoundrels
(anal)ytically real
his nerve endings of steel
(re)awaken the fury
leaves this child in a hurry
to grow,
the fuck
up.

One Aff-and-a-half
message often a gaffe
comes from far-a-field
a shining sword he does wield
rips a wound in my oh-so-sensitive-spirit
his points ever-and-always laden with merit
their intent is assistant
for this girl’s e’er and persistent
fear of succeed/fear of fail
constant-companions (mis)read threats to bail
his words the tick tock
an alarm on the clock
of my life and our time
rise’n shine cutie-pie, this love is:
real.

Cleverest one of them all
walks all handsome’n tall
a bowl of bodacious banter
he’s a righteous ranter
full of hysterical hijinks
in an Absinthe-esque labyrinth
caused a cacophonous conniption
defying description
tends to and mends with the roar of a lion
safeguards (t)his damsel with fists and love made of iron
hysterical hyena
reminds that I’m Xena
or just me…
his sweet and sca(r)red, warrior;
Princess.

Yours always and with all the love I have;

~ The Yve to your Aff; and also fully Marcela; unfiltered, and duly undone by this thing called love.

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Forty-four…

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

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CzechChick-HardCore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A queen licks her wound
intensely attuned
to the fury and wrath
of one psychopath
or…
another.

Heart reaches again
wounded not slain
core splits asunder
pillage and plunder
truth…
hers.

Intuition screams loudly
alarm bells warn soundly
bent but not broken
words left unspoken
deafening…
silence.

No over just through
sight-lines slightly askew
vision is hazy
dense fog of crazy
welcome…
back.

Times Forty-four
her tally and score
of moves close and more distant
this ache is persistent
ground-less…
again?

Footing precarious
from deeds so nefarious
calculated to maim
not knowing this dame
breathes…
fire.

Bohemian lore
A Czech-chick hard-core
stretches her wings
flies higher on swings
than even…
dragons.

No guts no glory
this is the story
of a girl with she-ballz
a glued porcelain doll
making pigs…
fly.

Unabashedly human, and fully unfettered:

~Myla.

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Fly!

19 Friday Dec 2014

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Patronizing platitudes
in the never-ending purga(s)tory
of this 24/7 brain
refrains of fl-attitudes
preach gospels of negligence
the screaming human(?) freight-train, coming at me…
borne of DYI privileges,
their self-perceived pre-eminence
will curtail (y)our every freedom
forked-tongues and false images
projected from the box(es)
created by one Oz
this dystopian utopia,
purposeful scheming, corporate fox(es)… SCORE
so cunning so sly, plastic stuffs be (y)our new gods
exhaust the masses
a never-ending chase
of that proverbial dragon,
run-run-run lads and lasses
get your fair(?) share,
succeed-succeed drink up from this flagon!
known as
More,
Stuff…

Disembark that damned freight train,
get up on a swing!
come ride a Unicorn
a true free-for-all waits
stands gesturing wildly,
atop Your very own,
Wing!

Fly you fuckers,
Fly!

Yours, from a most loved place: MyLaRebelSeagull; in this moment, chained only by links that hold the seat in place…

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My Well-Lit-Heart

08 Monday Sep 2014

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My-Well-Lit-Heart

          My-Well-Lit-Heart       

Intoxicated by intention
I neglected to mention,
that holding this damsel at bay
since the advent of May,
t’was not at all, in keeping
with the deeds of the true Dragon-Knight,
dear BB-D-K.
‘Tis in doing not saying
that sets hearts a’flutter,
sadly sadly
your actions did, but stutter and mutter.
No Dragon-Knight honour is found in mere utterance of words
when to the ground they plummet,
with the utility of turds.
(and stick on the soles of this damsel’s ever-well-shod feet)
No gallantry present in noble intent,
when in sadness, a damsel’s Morns Days’n Eves,
be endlesslyyy spent.
Well-meaning plot
is worth nary a thought,
here, today, at this juncture –
how many (more) opportunities, do I provide you
to puncture;
this
<3
?
Zero ↔ oreZ
e   <3   e
r     r
Ø

September 07, 2014
Yours; Shining, well-lit through the wounds:
MyLa: truly Unfettered.

(Image: Marcela, Sep.2014)

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The invisible slap

31 Sunday Aug 2014

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sad

 

 

 

 

 

Reeling
from an invisible slap
jagged digits, peeling
the fragile membrane of my spirit
like the edges,
of Perkins-Stetson’s hideous
Yellow Wall-Paper

Dripping
from a source opened
left abandoned, stripping
the thin veneer of my psyche
like the turpentine,
of a former Prince’s
Purple Rain

Beating
from a place long-hid
words spoken, cheating
the valves of my valiant purple-heart
like the deceit,
of Parker’s prettiest Cherry White
Hanging Tree

Misleading
with circle-talk
false sustenance, feeding
the ravenous pit of my soul
like the noxious fruit,
in brothers’ Grimm
Snow White

Appeasing
in soft voices
the honourless, teasing
of this love-hungry core
like the snake,
in Adam & Eve’s
Garden of Eden

Smoking
with illusory mirrors
he suffocates, choking
re-incarnate my intense sensibilities
like the pure-gold baby,
in Plath’s
Lady Lazarus

Slapped-quietly but never into submission, yours as always;

~Marcela: Unfiltered

August 31, 2014

(Image from Desktop Nexus http://abstract.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/869219/)

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Intense…

22 Friday Aug 2014

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Help People!

Help
PEOPLE!

Intense…

…is not a pathology, a DSM Mental Health diagnosis, a deficit,
or disordered, or wrong.
Intense is bold, strong, courageous to the nth degree, in your face, truthful.
Intense is neither flexible nor choice.
Intense is not willing, wishful, wanting, hope, or even drive, ambition.
Intense is a primal need;
to push, limits; mine, yours, theirs, ours, always.
And exactly when you think;
Intense has pushed enough, pushed too far,
Intense pushes again;
further, than ever here-to-fore.
Intense is pure, unadulterated.
Intense is the epitome of unfiltered.
Intense is emotional excess:
the good the bad, the beautiful the ugly, the high, the low;
not despite having known pain, but because it knows pain.
Intense and pain, are intimately acquainted;
they are, in fact, in love, inseparable,
pain is fuel on the fire that is,
Intense.
Intense is often confused and contradictory, no, not contradictory,
Intense is highly conflictual.
Intense is deeply connected, insightful, wise, awesome-crazy, vulnerable and even, volatile.
Intense is wild.
Intense is unfettered.
Intense is not funny or amusing;
Intense is hilarious.
Intense cannot be contained, will not be boxed.
Intense puts the shattered pieces back together;
in a way that creates a picture more beautiful,
than the one which was seemingly in-tact,
prior to its shattering.
Intense has wings.
Intense makes pigs fly.
Intense knows not, of impossibility.
Intense is the home of creativity, its very core, its essence.
Intense is never indifferent, and never, ever, mediocre or neutral.
Intense knows no middle ground.
Intense is love and hate, war and peace, black and white;
but it resides, in living colour.
Intense is primary, neon, even.
Intense registers no nuanced hues or shades of gray.
Intense has no space for washed out and faded.
Intense is not boastful, but it is proudly aware of its inherent
Intensity and character.
Intense is a student and humble teacher.
Intense appears bossy, but is in actuality, a leader.
Intense is loud, especially when silent.
Intense will not walk the talk of shameful suffering and pastel-coloured pity.
Intense occupies souls and fuels the 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.

Intensely yours: MyLa, Unfettered.
August 21, 2014

Postscript, Nov. 22, 2015:

Intense will no longer apologize for its intensity.

 

 

 

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