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
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
Haiku On a tranquil sea A salt and pepper Sailor Quells this raging squall
Cinquain Let’s sail said the sailor my vessel’s safely moored in the haven of (y)our harbour moon’n stars
Yours, fairly unfettered: Myla
February 12, 2017
Poetry and Photographs: All Rights Reserved.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
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
Petulant and querulous,
you are perilously close
to me losing my fucking shit,
all over (y)our pristine(?) white shirt!
for what is not,
while with exuberance and great fervor
you choose to neglect
before (y)our sightless eyes!
Clean up on aisle M!
Marcela: Quite done with this bit.
Image: courtesy of google image search: https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/mop-bucket-caution-wet-floor-11546638.jpg
Wild, wanton even
anxiety, wreaks havoc
runs amok, this day.
~Marcela: anxious. Stop, revise: fucking anxious.
faith, acceptance, don red cape
whisper: fly. Higher!
~Marcela: Cape firmly in place, next…
Image: courtesy of google image search: https://www.google.ca/search?biw=1366&bih=657&tbm=isch&sa=1&btnG=Search&q=get+cape+wear+cape+fly