Uncategorized

WHITE/BLUE

Weathering the Spectacular Supernatural! By: Mark Ryan

Havoc and Consequence

(for Naomi and Gina)


The lady of the jars

It was snowing. It always snowed. That’s how she liked it.

The swirling white that enveloped everything, dusting and smothering all in a wonderland. There was more variety in snow she’d always thought. A sunny day was nice, for a trip to the beach or a stroll in the park; but sunny days were predictable, ordinary, and what everyone wanted. Snow, on the other hand created such chaos and difference.

Her cottage was nestled right by the huge stream that swept through the core of the little village of Hamani. It was near enough for her to grab the things she needed from the stores and the like, but just far enough on the outskirts where she could find the solitude and quiet she relished. That’s not to say she was lonely. She was always visited upon by someone knocking on…

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Imprints, Music 🎶

Imprints: Dolores O’Riordan

I love what her music always resonated in my soul. As a teenager, many nights when I couldn’t articulate my despair, my depression…
I would replay her songs over and over. Artist like her made me feel less alienated to these contorted emotions.
I know she suffered with bipolar depression as I do and many others. And it is heartbreaking. I (we) do not know how she died. But we know a bit on how she lived. And it was through making beautiful songs with her soaring Irish voice, that cuts through to clarity in a day gone bad.
These are only a few of my favorite songs.

RIP Dolores O’Riordan 💔

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Relationship

Dark Matter

Friend, hide into that dark-
cherry winter conversation.

How does the vine to vine manifest
the continual of dying and coming back?

Seek his question fiercely.
Sense a sorrowful approach,
imperfect blue.
Linguistics the shadow of rusted truths.

For he is a newfound mystery.
You share in this elusive gathering;
beyond form, touch, and time.

Without the weight of mercury,
the icy smack of Neptune,
the toiling of Jupiter, or
Mars, the insufferable.

He is dark matter.
An exotic empty space.

 

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mythos

Moira’s nightly weaving

Moira’s nightly weaving
Beginning evermore!
Silver threads spinning pass orbiting space debris,
so delicately the bundle on spindle

Measured in spoonfuls of three
Dropped in the cauldron of quintessence
Simmering down to mortal coils
Cut with the mystic’s wand

Swirling web of blood prisms,
Poured into marrow vessels
Weld through the mouth of iron-flint fabric
To emerge the fractal fire pattern

Seam by seam….determining
How sudden is the sever day
How quick is the tangled night

Art: Sól Hrafnsdóttir

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Imprints, love

Imprints: Mary Mackey’s Poetry

The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position No. 2

“should I greet you
as if
we had merely eaten
together one night
when the white birches
dripped wet
and lightning etched
black trees on your walls?
it is not love
I am asking
love comes from years
of breathing
skin to skin
tangled in each other’s dreams
until each night
weaves another thread
in the same web
of blood and sleep
and I have only
passed through you quickly
like light
and you have only
surrounded me suddenly
like flame
the lake is cold
the snows are sudden
the wild cherry bends
and winter’s a burden
in your hand I feel
spring burn in the bud.”

Mary Mackey 1987
From “The Dear Dance of Eros”

The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position Number 3

“It’s easy to love
through a cold spring
when the poles
of the willows
turn green
pollen falls like
a yellow curtain
and the scent of
Paper Whites
clots
the air
but to love for a lifetime
takes talent
you have to mix yourself
with the strange
beauty of someone
else
wake each morning
for 72,000
mornings in
a row so
breathed and
bound and
tangled
that you can hardly
sort out
your arms
and
legs
you have to
find forgiveness
in everything
even ink stains
and broken
cups
you have be willing to move through
life
together
the way the long
grasses move
in a field
when you careen
blindly toward
the other
side
there’s never going to be anything
straight or predictable
about your path
except the
flattening
and the springing
back
you just go on walking for years
hand in hand
waist deep in the weeds
bent slightly forward
like two question
marks
and all the while it
burns
my dear
it burns beautifully above
you
and goes on
burning
like a relentless
sun”
Mary Mackey, 2006
From “Breaking The Fever”

Painting: Owen Gent

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Uncategorized

I brought the rain to the hills

Renewed in Malaysia

Singledust

I brought the rain to the hills

I sought the light of the words
away from the darkness of life
to distill the gloom of living

I brought the words for comfort
I sought the solace of rhyme
away from the hurt of memories
to feel the arc of time

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
– Anais Nin

my view over the jungle hill station Fraser’s Hill Malaysia

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Mental Health, Therapy

Pulsate

In this year, what cloth should I wear?
Yesterday’s madhouse pulled out from that big dark dyeing vat
Passionate red
Confusion at the edge
Goes beyond the edge
Again, back towards the middle
Winter rings appear numb but vibrate in longing

Left me a note
On the phone table
Tabbed the brakes,
To repair the mind

Arrived at the session
But mind and love have run off
This silence, blue and green, pulsates
But it doesn’t invoke yesterday’s purple blade
Soaked in a tantalizing name

Art: Peter Sedgley

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