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Marcela: Unfiltered

Tag 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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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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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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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under My World(s), Poetry

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Let’s NOT Make a Deal

04 Saturday Apr 2020

Tags

Humanity, Life, Poetry, The Other 'C' Word, Truth

A book of Mormon
or a lion’s head bowl
your dirty old sneakers
and a used camisole

A camping potty
and a broken TV
world’s ugliest chair contest-winner
and its mate, the settee

A tall concrete tiki set
or a big rusty clock
and bald vroom-vroom tires
for the wannabe jock

A Loong Foong vintage cookie tin
and a scuzzy old toilet
or a decrepit old rocker
but don’t sit lest you spoil it

A pair of leather-like boots
or a real-plastic dresser
and some moldy old books
from a dusty professor

An inflatable hot tub 
and fake-rattan patio chairs
or some lightly used razors
includes gross chinny-chin-chin hairs

Some creepy old doll parts
or a bagful of ‘hemp’ seeds all ready to sow
and 2 dozen duck eggs
though not in a row

A box of A & W Mugs
and ‘a fake owl to scare birds’
or a disgusting old hamster cage
opportunely pre-soiled, comes with used turds

An ‘Old-antique’ horse lamp
and a ‘dead’ cow rug
or some grossly stained mattresses
replete with bed bugs

A giant Yahtzze set
and miniature chairs made of wicker
or a pre-cracked ‘antique’ mirror
prices are firm, please do not dicker

Cement garden pigeons
and barbicide for dog groomers
or 4 and 6 inch flex hoses
for all the DIY boomers

These are but some of the ‘treasures’
You want me to buy
Steals of a Deal
And (crap)Pies in the Sky

Thank you but no deal,
at the best of times I would pass,
but now during COVID
I’d like to kick your sad ass.

So Fuck-the-Fuck-Off, which means stay-the-fuck-home
re-use and re-cycle up-cycle that thing
please stop being a chump
or WHEN COVID is done with us
take your shit to the dump!

 With all the love I have, 
~Marcela: Asking, begging FB Marketplace and local buy/sell/trade groups 
everywhere, to take the example of Ladysmith BC, and PLEASE shut.it.down,
for the duration! These are NOT essential services, but they ARE actively 
contributing to the problem! No amount of legal-ass-covering-guidelines 
are going to change the thoughtless actions of STUPID; 
the OTHER pandemic. 
April 04, 2020

  960x0

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw

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Of a sudden…

24 Tuesday Mar 2020

Tags

freedom, Humanity, Life, Love, Poetry


20200324_131443
As I rummage and ruminate,  
categorize and discard,
too many items,
and thoughts,
long of little utility, 
to you or I,
though stubbornly occupying space,
in my physical and internal environments,

I am thunderstruck!

…with that which we pay lip-service to;
as a matter of course,
in our excessive,
daily rabblings and babblings;
but rarely to never,
truly abide by… .

And of a sudden,
nothing matters!

Nothing;
…with the exception,
of how we choose to utilize,
This Moment.

And of a sudden,
in this temporarily,
to the outside world obligation-less life,

I find freedom. 
________________________________________________________ 
With boundless love,
~Marcela: choosing to live well, in the midst of my own, 
and our collective, uncertainty.  
March 24, 2020.

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

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Parker’n me II – The Culvert

02 Sunday Feb 2020

Tags

Life and death, Poetry, Truth

The roar of the culvert
spewing forth the runoff,
raging like the internal and external storms
of the night previous,
temporarily assuages my tinnitus and pressure addled brain,
with this other,
din.

I walk on
leaving the culvert behind, and,
with the relentless vengeance of the intruders in my body,
they cut anew; the razor-sharp edges of my current reality
and I wonder:
why I still choose to live this wounded and broken,
life(?).

Parker, Dorothy that is, in all her glory and folly
calls on me, again, to live another day
for while increasingly troublesome,
my vision endeavors to see, that “cherry bough gone white with Spring,”
and so I walk on, desperately seeking;
the next “prettiest, thing.”

~Marcela: not done yet, according to Parker anyway.
02, 02, 2020

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under My World(s), Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw

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The Unlikeliest Catch

23 Sunday Jun 2019

Tags

Life, Love, Poetry, Relationships

My oppositional flailings
to the expectation-less relationship
you desired,
have inadvertently
weathered my person
into a deepening of spirit,
reminiscent of the sea-years
etched upon your face
dearest Sailor.

With the persistence
of waves on stone
at the seashore,
these flailings and failings
have smoothed
harmful rough edges,
jagged bits of a younger, old me
no longer useful
to anyone.

And I am grateful.
Not despite,
but because of,
that which my net
failed to capture.

~Marcela: version 57.9 despite myself.
June 22, 2019
__________________________

"Let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught." -kahlil Gibran Interestingly enough, I deliberately cast a net a few years ago, and in so doing, despite my oppositional flailings against its very nature, the 'catch' quite inadvertently developed, through a love and friendship unlike any other I have known, into a profound deepening of my spirit, one not unlike what Mr. Gibran speaks of. ~M.Y.M. Kahlil Gibran quote from Google Search Poetry and Image: All Rights Reserved Marcela Mrnka, please share but do attribute. Thank you. ~M.

 

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry

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No Permanent Affliction

04 Saturday May 2019

Tags

Life, Poetry, Truth

The truth is:
There is no permanent affliction or injury
physical; emotional or psychological,
sustained in the day to day sport of human living.

The truth is:
There are only innings, periods, heats and quarters
of battle, endurance, triumph or loss
in this game called life.

The Truth is:
the ether or some mystical inhabitant of it
keeps not, (y)our score of wins or losses, deserved and not
you and I, solely, are umpire, referee, and judge.

The truth is:
There is no permanent affliction
physical, emotional or psychological
only Game Changers
permanence and winning are a Lie.

So play the game
play it well,
play it now. 

~Marcela.
May 03, 2019.


An intruder has taken up squatter’s rights in my body.
Whether microbial, myco-toxic, fungal or parasitic (all four?)
in nature, it is fucking me up but good: my hair is falling out, 
there are moments during which I feel like I'm going to have a 
seizure any minute, I can't feel my limbs half the time and the 
other half it feels like something is crawling around inside them, 
or biting me, from the inside out. My kidneys hurt all the time, 
my vision has taken a beating, it is blurry half the time, 
my eyes are pinned all the time, and I see floating spots 
every time I blink. I have a constant 'cold,' I am in physical 
pain all the time, it ‘travels,’ my ears ring most of the time, 
I sound like a crack whore, I have had a tooth (molar) removed 
because my (awesome) dentist and I thought maybe the numbness 
was because of that, way back in December, when things first 
started. That hole in my mouth severely impacts my ability to 
eat certain things and the way I talk. I talk for a living.

I have been treated (to the tune of what is adding up to 
thousands of dollars) by my (awesome) naturopath for (potential) 
mold/mycotoxin illness and parasites, gotten rid of furniture I 
can’t afford to replace because potential mycotoxins, taken more 
(unpaid) time off work, lost too much income, to travel and see 
the most useless doctor on earth almost weekly for pretty much 5 
months (here, have some anti-anxiety meds and/or pain killers… 
no, thank you anyway…), and everything I have/am experiencing 
points to Lyme, or some other bacterial/parasitic/fungal thing, 
but she does ‘not believe’ in that, ‘does not have time’ for 20 
different things, symptoms ( but that’s how Lyme, and other less 
common microbes work in the human body) in one visit or 40, 
couldn’t be bothered to test for anything outside her limited 
box, and literally gets (intimidation) uppity when I mention 
anything I have talked about (including Lyme) with other health 
care professionals.

The list of her endless negligence and tyranny toward me is so 
big and hurts so bad I can’t even go there. It is safe to say 
that other than pregnancy when they said I couldn’t, I have 
never hoped for a ‘positive’ test result from a healthcare 
professional in my life, until now. The walk-in doc I saw in 
Nanaimo last week gave me no useful news yesterday, and won’t 
take me on as a patient because he’s leaving that clinic anyway… 
but he did give me the name of another doc there, and I managed 
to get an appointment with her for next week. In keeping with 
the recurring theme in my life, none of this is straightforward 
and it might even go way back to something I may have picked up 
working at the hospital in Duncan about 3 years ago, remember the 
Hashimotos thyroid thing (?), and I will continue to work with my 
naturopath, who unlike the ex-GP, is not intimated by other 
perspectives, mainstream medicine or the folks in it, 
she believes they should all work in a complimentary and 
collaborative way. Yeah, me too, but it feels like that is 
so far away from what we have that it borders on wishful 
thinking and we all know how I feel about that shit.

I am not giving up, while at the same time, 
working extraordinarily hard not to let my anger 
and hurt consume me, for it is not productive, 
harms me more, and attempting to regain some measure of life 
quality, while working full time (there is very little choice 
here) in a field and area of said field, which requires my full 
physical, mental and psychological acuity. I am out of energy, 
out money and out of credit, but I repeat, more to hear it myself 
than for your benefit, I am not giving up. 

She is a brutal fucking bitch at times, this game called life, 
and she is in a particularly bitch-slappy mood at this juncture. 
What she doesn’t know however, is that at least in this very 
moment, right here, right now, so am I.

~Marcela: Battling, unwell, wielding all power toward 
living, for survival is no longer an option I am inclined to 
entertain.

The Score

Illness: 5 (months, maybe years…)
Marcela: 1 (tenous)
GP: Useless but winning, because safely swathed, in God-like 
white coat, and unbeknownst to her, fired.

PS: Please, oh please, spare me the ‘you got this,’ and any 
manner of ‘positive energy’ and other platitudes. And please, 
oh please, respect my beliefs by not, under any circumstances 
praying for my Atheistic-Realist soul, in the same way I don't 
atheist all over your posts/struggles/issues/triumphs... 
for the only defense I have left for this manner of 
un-helpfulness, is delete and block. No tackle left for 
bullshit, not a smidge. Comments the likes of ‘this sucks ass,’ 
are so much more meaningful, as are none at all, if positivity 
and prayer are all you know how to do to support someone in pain. 
Thanks.

PPS: If I have to 'deal,' with whatever is eating me alive, 
I will do it wearing cherries and polka-spots...



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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw

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Un-learned; an Intelligence of Self.

26 Tuesday Feb 2019

Tags

Poetry, Self, Truth


“The Artist is no other than [s]he who unlearns what [s]he has learned, in order to know [her]himself.”
-E.E. Cummings


The longer I write, create anything, the more I get this on a level so profound it hurts; and it hurts so good that at some point it stops hurting, and serves to validate, that, which I have always known, self.

The less I care about what you or anyone think, of anything I create, written or otherwise, the more I unlearn about all you and they have inured me with: false concepts and ideas, of who and how to be.

The more I unlearn about these things you have gifted me with, the less I need your, and their validation for my art; or anything, pertaining to me, any little thing at all.

And the less I need your validation, the more forth-rightly I can inform you, when you have mis-read me, again, and care little, if at all, about what you do with that. This is a freedom, an intelligence of self, I have not known, here-to-fore.

~Marcela.
February 26, 2019.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Parker’n me…

18 Saturday Aug 2018

Tags

Dorothy Parker, Life, Poetry, Self, Staying another day

The roar of a trusty steel steed,
beneath a lead foot, 
masks the rolling thunder of a cascade,
down a tear-stained cheek.

And for but a split second,
a mortally wounded, though upright warrior,
considers swerving self and her metal mount,
into the final oblivion.

Parker, Dorothy that is, in all her glory and folly,
calls on me to live another day. 
And so I resume, and re-revise, 
this life's resumé.


~Marcela: consumed enough to resume.
August 18, 2018
Photographs and Writing All Rights Reserved. 

RESUME by Dorothy Parker: 
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44835/resume-56d224150522

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry

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Remnants

05 Tuesday Jun 2018

Tags

Fear, Humanity, Personal Power, Poetry, Truth

 

 
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

 

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry

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I Saw A Great Cloud…

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by ~MyLa in Poetry

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Tags

Poetry, Social Media is a thief

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

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One fine day, child… A Birthday Poem

22 Thursday Mar 2018

Tags

Family, Motherhood, Poetry, Relationships

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that the single fiercest battle you will ever wage,

the only one from which you must emerge victorious,

is the one against and with,

yourself.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that the only human behaviour,

which you ought critique in any great depth,

the solitary one you possess any capacity to revise,

is your own.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that in order to live a life you want,

you must tune out the auditory barrage of the box and masses,

ignore all but one voice,

that, of your deepest self.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that to err is the essence of humanity,

and risk is the singular path upon which you must tread,

in order that you become,

your truest you.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that failure lies not in mis-steps,

but in lack of trying,

and that success is yours to gauge and judge,

yours, and yours alone.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that we occupy a world laden with the land-mines of our own, and other’s planting,

that detonation will pain you but you will suffer less,

for you will have learned to navigate,

the rough patches.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that ours is a culture cancerous of spirit, and bereft of critical thought,

that no action is benign and the choice of impact,

as detriment or contribution is yours,

solely, yours.

One fine day, child,

you will know,

that love without labour is something else,

that joy cannot be known in the absence of sorrow,

and that contradiction is at the core,

of a life well thought.

One fine day, child,

you will, of-a-sudden realize,

that our time here is indeed finite,

that procrastination is a drug as powerful as heroin,

tempting as a sea siren and equally deadly,

heed not, her call.

This, is one fine day, child!

Happy 27th birthday Thomas, I love you more than life, and we know that’s a big-ass bunch, because even in the middle of life’s biggest bitch-slaps, I have a fairly healthy love affair going on with her, crazy bitch that she is… I still love you more, there can never be enough, or the (w)rite, words…  Thanks for your limitless patience with my human folly, a loyalty defying description, and for providing me with that most ubiquitous of concepts, hope, for our species…

Fully yours, with every ounce of everything I am, and always with some awe and madd gratitude that you turned out to be you, despite me.

Love,

~Mama.

March 22, 2018

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry

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Image

Your Chainsaw Voice – a nod to unruly work-folks… and others…

18 Sunday Mar 2018

Tags

Burnout, Humanity, Life, Personal Power, Poetry


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.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry

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Image

Of GoldieLocks and OldieLocks…

20 Friday Oct 2017

Tags

Aging, Life, Poetry, Self, Truth














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.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry

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