Image

Open Letter to my Child

Tags

, , , ,

March 22, 2017

Dear Thomas,

This day last year I stood on your doorstep, and told you that Miller had died. Four days ago we stood with so many others and celebrated Matty’s life. They were both your age. Kids you knew, kids we both had significant connections to. And they both died the tragedy which your very existence provided me a most narrow escape from, so many years ago. I owe you Thomas. It has been a bizarre little year, and hard to believe how much changed, in only 365 days.  How much you have changed, in only 365 days. How much ‘we’ have changed.

We shared a roof again for the first time since you flew the mama-coop almost 7 years ago, and you got to experience my home world in a much different capacity, as an adult. During that precious, though most difficult cohabitation (we know why, but this isn’t about my ill-fated romantic escapades), I was gifted with many insights into who you have become, a view that I could not have glimpsed in the course of a less closely-quartered relationship, consisting only of weekly drive-by-huggings. I treasure that unexpected and challenging time we shared.

The kind, sweet, compassionate parts I have always known were readily visible, as always, to my ever-biased eye, and came as no surprise. They have been an integral part of you since the moment you took your first breath, and broke my heart so beautifully, on this day 26 years ago. At 1:29 p.m., Central European Time, to be precise.

Sharing space again was not the challenge, rather the battle we each waged with our respective demons-of-the-moment, which then manifested in our adult-child/childish(?)parent duo. A most welcome revelation during that brief roomie-relationship last spring and summer, was witnessing you put into practice, under highly inauspicious circumstances, some of my oft repeated, and most relentless teachings:

  • Stand up for yourself and above all, for others when they cannot!
  • Question everything, use critical thinking skills to analyze everything and everyone in the world!
  • Be willing to re-think and revise your own beliefs, always!
  • Question and challenge me, and mine!!!

That last one was/is hard for you, and I am tempted to apologize but I won’t. You did, you do good with it! I don’t make it easy. I know.

To my utter chagrin, I also watched you demonstrate some of my ‘best parenting,’ in a number of your habits, confounding, even provocative and head-strong ways of being! I can but express my remorse and regret for those bits, and forge ahead to lead by a different example than the one I obviously provided you at some point in time. Neither mama-flagellation nor Sunny-bashing is the purpose of including this piece, it is important though, to me, that I live with a more balanced view of my heroes. For not even you, my most beloved, all-time favourite human on this planet, in the galaxy, the universe, are perfect. And for me to live with that skewed perspective is a set-up for you, and for me. Because it damn well hurts when our heroes fall off the lofty pedestals, upon which we situate them. That in mind, I will only raise you to an altitude we can both withstand a fall from. Because we will, fall. Splat.

Watching you this last year, the softness you had for your babi during her painful struggle, and for me, having you close, through some of the hardest times you/we have experienced to date, and holy moly Bat-boy that says something (because have you met our life?), has yet again, been my ultimate saving grace. Once more, I owe you Thomas.

Twenty-six will be fabulous BabyCakes, and I look forward to more! More surprises, more challenges, more of everything we have always known together, more crazy, and more learning, about ourselves, each other, and how to evolve and function even better, individually and as ‘the set,’ we have always been. I can only beseech my atheist Ungods that we will always be, that set. ‘Always’ being so fully and inadequately impermanent and all, but you get my point!?

No words, no language (not even profanity), suffice to describe the gift of your presence in my world, for 26 years and counting. Who says I can’t do long-term relationships?! Our relationship has evolved, and not without serious growing pains, to something it has never been before, something I am loathe to label in any way, other than to say it is more grown up. On both ends. Which means you’re right on schedule, and me, well, sorry, bit of a late bloomer in some areas of life…

High five SunnyBoyManChildBabyCakesSnookemBooBabyCzechThommyCzechBatBoy (did I get them all?), we did well! No, we did fucking awesome! Yeah, that’s better, we did Fucking Awesome!

Happiest of happy birthdays to you child!

With the Maddest of Madd Love,

Mama.

 

Image

She, Valkyrie

Tags

, ,

 
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: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valkyrie

Image

3 Poems, for a Salty-Sailor-Suitor

Tags

Limerick

I have crushed on a sailor named Zeke
His ‘Salty’ some havoc did wreak
On pink oh-so-tender
Defenses useless he rendered
With nary a peek or a tweak
20170211_084830

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku

On a tranquil sea
A salt and pepper Sailor
Quells this raging squall

20170211_085734

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cinquain

Let’s sail
said the sailor
my vessel’s safely moored
in the haven of (y)our harbour
moon’n stars

20170210_184359

Yours, fairly unfettered: Myla

February 12, 2017

Poetry and Photographs: All Rights Reserved.

 

 

My (un)Gilded Cage

Tags

, , , ,

It is tragic in its fitting-ness, that the long sought (perfect) light fixture for my beloved cage, is from the Marcel(l)a series, from no less a cultural cage than Home Depot.

The perspicuous view, the vistas upon which I gaze from my current prison, pain me greatly.

~Marcela: quite fettered, and bereft of gilding on the cage.

January 17, 2017.

 

 

 

 

Image

“Stop,” she said…

Tags

, , , , ,

20161225_133507“Stop,” she said to herself! “Do refrain from accusing the accusers, from negating the Nellies negative, from despising the Debbies downer! And focus, on the freedom that comes with designing, with owning, your feelings, your thoughts, your life and your choices”!

“Know,” she said to herself, “that as long as you are breathing, life will bitch slap you, over and over again! Feel the fury, agonize in the pain, and then stand up to her like the fucking Warrior Woman you are.”

“Love,” she said to herself, “self above all, for it is not an act of ego, rather the only real survival skill you will ever need.”

~Marcela: Moving, at the speed of a woman Too Much!
January 02, 2017

Photograph: My personal collection. All rights reserved.

As is – III (reNewed)

Tags

, , , ,

 And as the New Year tolls its bell silently in this tiny Bay
So my spirit whispers to the never-ending purga(s)tory in this 24/7 brain:
“shhh, we are whole again.”

It is not that I was in need of repair because you broke me, for I was never broken
It is that my voice was lost in the roar of the tsunami that was your disdain for me

And as a new blanket of white refreshes the grime of salt and snowplows
So renewed faith in self cleanses my heart of the detritus you left behind

It is not that I was the dung you believed to simply wipe off your sullied soles
It is the vehemence with which you shoveled your manure onto my person

And as the streetlight on the far shore casts a long glowing ripple across the lake
So another crack opens in my heart to allow the light back in

It is not that you succeeded in extinguishing it with relentless revile
It is that I erected shelter for my very core

And as I turn the plans for this, my most recent incarnation into fruitful reality
So I recognize your singular, constructive contribution to my life:

I choose not to forgive you for the myth of forgiveness as salvation is not my creed
I will, however, put you behind me with nary a thought to our dalliance, beyond these words:

I win. Not despite your efforts to destroy me, but because of them.
And I feel nothing for you.

~Marcela: Newer than this year.
January 01, 2017
Photograph: My personal collection. All Rights Reserved.

Image

As Is… II (More)

Tags

, , , , ,

 And as the lake reflects nature’s finery back onto herself
So I reflect on the solitude I have come to crave

It is not that I wish to isolate from humanity, 
or reject the risk of a new paramour,
It is that I revel in alone-ness with the passion of a new love
for my own cosmos.

And as the stillness of the quiet-season brings peace 
to my beloved Bay
So the pain of my most recent faux pas is diminished 
in its tranquility

It is not loving one who cannot love that I regret
It is that I am wistful about having snatched up 
your well-baited hook of love-lies

And as the snow-laden branches dump their white weight, 
and spring to a more contented position
So the Warrior Woman I am exhales to release you 
and I find myself here:

I stand well-grounded and know that what you did,
only served to create this:
More big, more bold, more strong, more beautiful, more wise
more too much for some, but most especially, 
much more too much, for you.

~Marcela: As is. Only more.
December 27, 2016

Photograph: My personal collection. All Rights Reserved.

Image

Of (S)ass and other Asses

badassI can be Bad-Ass,
quite often Kick-Ass,
with a strong leaning tendency,
toward wild noisy Jack-Ass.

Sadly, more recently
I’ve been a big Dumb-Ass
but rarely to never,
am I a C(r)ass old Tight-Ass.

At 55 plus,
I still have a great Ass,
And in the midst of life’s bitch slaps,
I remain S(assily) yours: mostly to always,
one Wise-Assed fun (L)ass… .

Grammatically incorrect and chomping at the bit for 2017,
and the next bit of Bad-Assery,
~Marcela.
December 31, 2016

Image from: Google Images

Image

Shine on you crazy fucking diamonds!

Tags

, , , ,

I believe, fully, that no matter the outcome of the US election tonight, there will be dark dark times ahead, for all of us. When choice A and choice B both suck this badly, it does not feel as though anyone actually wins, least of all the citizenry of this planet. It matters not what bigger or smaller piece of it we call home, this impacts all of us, BIG. The only way I believe I can stay sane, not sink into a bottomless pit of despair, stay willing to live at all, in the midst of it, is to work harder than ever at being a light. As we roll full speed, and without having boarded this hell-train voluntarily, into the scariest of fucking scary tunnels eVer, I refuse, just fucking refuse, to capitulate to yet another despot, don’t care what genitalia they wear. Not even the invasion of the former Soviet Union into my homeland as I sat on my granny’s knee, felt this hideous, but I digress… I believe as fully, that it is incumbent upon all of us, more so than ever, to shake off the coal dust and become the fucking diamonds we are inside, shine with everything we all have, so that our children and grandchildren, actually have a future. The artists, the fighters, the poets, the writers, every day humans with humanity and humility, and above all, with spirits bigger than blather and all the money in the world, it’s time to take it back! One, single, bigger or smaller, thoughtful, good, kind, decision, choice, and deed, at a time. With all the Love I have,
~Marcela.

Image

Felix Unger had that shit down…

Tags

, ,

Hey kids, yes, this is a bit of a tirade (prompted as so many others, by those double-edged swords called caring, cleverly disguised as assumptions), so exit now if you’re not prepared to read all of it. Or, stay with me and learn something new, about something you thought, you already knew about me, and quite likely many of the other warrior women we know and love, though I would never dare assume… she says with a wink… .

Begin tirade:
Just in case you’re one of the caring horde, and thinking I’m all sad and lonely out here on this ‘holiday weekend,’ nothing could be further from the truth.

First of all, various holidays, including thanksgiving, don’t mean a whole lot to me. Many of the holidays celebrated in the world, particularly in North America, are not my culture or part of my personal life philosophy and belief system. This does not mean that I don’t enjoy celebrations, traditions and the like, or that Universe forbid I am not thankful. Sometimes, they’re just not the same ones that others engage in. And sometimes, for different reasons, they are. Have you met my Christmas Tree collection?

Secondly, I am just as happy, or happier, single and/or living on my own. This has almost always been the case. For reasons that I don’t really care to divulge to an all-inclusive audience, I am a serial monogamist, and I engage in romantic relationships every now and then, you know, just like most folks.This does not mean, that I hate being alone, that I am lonely, or anything else that folks appear to construe about me and my way of life and being in the world.

Clearly, a lesser known truth about my life, is that I have been single, and/or lived on my own for about 30, of the 40 years since I moved out of my mama’s house when I was 15 years old, and I repeat, I quite enjoy it.

Lastly, this is not about knocking what you do, what you believe in, what you choose to celebrate, when, with whom, and how. This is about letting you know that assumptions are still as bad an idea as they were when Felix Unger, acting as Oscar Madison’s attorney, first coined that famous and well-used line, when you assume, you make an ASS of (yo)U and ME. Actually, you make a bigger ASS of you than me, I just get irritated enough to spend part of my ‘thanksgiving weekend’ doing that which I love more than most things, writing, so again, thankful, yup, uh-huh… .

And if you don’t know who Oscar and Felix are, 1) I’d feel for you but I can’t reach, and 2) there’s this handy gizmo called a ‘search engine’ on these here newfangled machines, that you can look it up on.
Clear? Great. Peace.
Thankfully Unfiltered: Marcela.
End Tirade.

Image

Milleresque

Tags

The hardest goodbye... on March 16th of this year, my closest, most
loyal, most enduring friend Sue Graves, and David Johnson,
experienced every parent's worst nightmare. It is hard to believe 
that this vibrant young man has been gone for six months, and even
harder to scribe the ditty I promised at his send-off on March 24th, 
as I collected 'Miller-words' from all the folks who 
loved him so much... Miller Robert Clayton Johnson - December 21, 1988 - March 16, 2016
MILLERESQUE 
Dear Miller Robert Clayton Johnson,
in March we gathered on that day
our sorrow-laden hearts were heavy,
but we had some shit to say!

‘I had to stay alive to raise him,’
said your mama Sue –
‘no other ever would or could,
what else was I to do’?!?

You were a handful Millsie,
unconventional and true,
and then there was that awkward story,
of when you had to poo…

It went rollin down your pant leg,
then you gave that shit a toss
said ‘I, don’t need no old-man toilets,’
my kid still thinks, you’re the Boss!

Your shenanigans were legendary
hell on wheels and cars off roads,
same goes for your vocabulary
bitches assholes motherfuckers, shitty faggot-toads!

Your delivery was impeccable,
the timing most inglorious
but with a heart the size of Texas,
for THIS you were notorious!

Ryan Scotty Garret, said you’d give your shirt for anyone,
they just had to say they need it
many walked with so much more,
Millerish won out, where brain and logic ceded.

Solid, stand-up and insatiable,
an explosive combination
hilarious ridiculosity,
a most Milleresqe conglomeration!


Loving, kind and house-trained,
we got the real-life scoop
Chantelle sang high your chef-ly praises,  
yeah, Wiener Water Soup!

And then there was your name-sake
Jay Miller, Boston Bruins
Handsome devil just like you
Left girls’ hearts in ruins </3

So as today marks 6 whole months
since that darkest day,
I finally scribe this ditty
my heart in utter disarray.

I went to sit with other dead,
earlier this week,
thought about your parents
tears still rolling down their cheeks.
 
And then there’s all the sibs,
Robin Kevin Haleigh, spouses Kat Salena Steven
their hearts too are breaking daily
footing's still uneven...

For we're all uncertain, how to navigate 
this most unwelcome path,
and our feelings often vacillate
between broken pain and wrath. 

And though our hearts will but grow scars
never truly heal,
know that you, your life, your damned departure,
are one BigFuckingDeal!

~Marcela, </3 September 16, 2016.

 

Image

As is.

Tags

, , , , , ,

 
As is… 
And as the mist obscures the scars of clear cuts on the hillside
so the steam from my tea obscures the ache in my bleeding heart

It bleeds not because it is over between you and I
it bleeds because against my best intuition, I allowed you and I

And as the sound of the rain drowns the drone of regret  
so the heat of simple soup soothes my temporarily ravaged spirit

It is ravaged not because you found it Too Much
it is ravaged because I knew your opinion should not matter

And as dusk falls on the tiny Bay I call my (44th?) home
so solitude brightens the darkness in my psyche

It is dark not because you dulled the diamond I am
it is dull because you painted it with brushes of critique and counsel

And as I will always remember our time with bewilderment at self,
so introspection brings me here:

In this one thing you are correct: I am too much. For you.
Never, for those who love me. And self.   

~Marcela, as is, not as you need(ed) me to be.
September 7, 2016

Image

Cancelled

Tags

, , ,

Cancelled

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sat downstairs and played video games

I sat upstairs and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I went to work and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I went grocery shopping and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I hauled in the shopping and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I cooked dinner and cried

He came up to bed and read a book

I went downstairs and cried

He screamed that my crying was unattractive, and that is why he stopped touching me

I screamed back and then sat silently, gouging holes into my arms

I watched them bleed and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I went shopping for his needs and cried

He screamed that I had broken him, that is why he sat downstairs and played video games

I screamed back and went for counselling, for all my ills and cried

He came to counselling with me, screamed my counsellor was an idiot,  that is why he will counsel me himself

I drove away and cried

He sat downstairs and played video games

I went to the trail to cry

He sat downstairs and played video games

I hid out back to cry

He screamed he’s sick of my crying games, his truck is broken, that is why he can’t work

I screamed back, then I bought a truck and cried

He went to work and cried, about his sacrifices for me

I looked at my empty bank account and cried

I looked at my empty soul and cried

I looked at my empty life and cried

He screamed that he would like to finish me for good, though he would probably be sorry the next day

I could not scream, I looked desperately for Marcela to help me, I could not find her, I looked everywhere and cried

I cancelled self-esteem and cried

I cancelled physio and cried

I cancelled the dentist and cried

I cancelled the trail and cried

I cancelled school and cried

I cancelled writing and cried

I cancelled my life and cried

I CANCELLED HIM TO LIVE.

~Marcela: un-cancelled

August 13, 2016

Image

Food For Thought…

As I pack my favourite cookware
remember meals you thought were swell
I fall into this sad reverie
of broken-hearted hell… 

I will miss the fervor of your appetite
for the food I pleased you with
and cannot help but question
was the whole thing but a myth…

Did I just imagine you
as my version of the fable
the one in which I serve it all
put that shit out on the table…? 

~MyLa: undernourished, craving the new, craving more
August, 06, 2016

Image

Next!

Tags

, , ,

Petulant and querulous,
you are perilously close
to me losing my fucking shit,
all over (y)our pristine(?) white shirt!

Whinging, whiining
incessant pining
for what is not,
while with exuberance and great fervor
you choose to neglect
the magnificence
before (y)our sightless eyes!
Clean up on aisle M!
Next!
Marcela: Quite done with this bit.

Image: courtesy of google image search: https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/mop-bucket-caution-wet-floor-11546638.jpg