Mental Health, Mine Na Poem

Resplendent Rainbow

How I feel you
On the prowl
I’m the projector of emotional auras
Your titillating colors slip and slid over me like silky ribbon ties
No longer a fixation of identity,
As my rigid selves enter nature’s magical transplanting
Submerged in NaNa, the greens of Nara’s richness of empathy
The arching of hope

Yet, in times there comes a counterpart in my being
A pulling away from the vivid arc in the horizon
And the colors muddle down into one block of black rune, resting on my chest

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dreams, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Sundog

Hyper-sleeping in diamond dust.
Above the dreaming pool
fingertips snaps,
bursting river feelings as
sudden swollen demands.
Let them permeate the earth.
Mother’s core contains all heaviness,
all sorrows and more seasoned scenarios.

Even though his voice
went into a vacuum void,
he was not confused in the darkness. Eventually the light passes through
pinhole dreams.

Daughter Colma, universal child
silently waits on the high hill.
Persistant to find her lover again.
Rising in the gloaming, out of clay, her love, shaped by the beam of fire.
Until summer days fill with ash,
and devotion,
goes beyond the river’s edge.
Swimming towards
the innerconnected horizon.
Up the arc of his haloed skin.
Willfully dripping prisms.

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dreams

The Colors Swell

What terrors?
surprises us out of our pleasures
Guzzling down demi-gods,
for a chance to walk down
that black opal bridge
Into the portal masterpiece;
a collection of reveries

The bleeding blot comes to me
in a green night
Enveloped in a vibration
A Rothko blur
Move backwards into chatoyancy
Waited eons to be scanned by those eyes
Like magnetic mountains pulled and left fragments of a ship
A fragile line,
as flowers are in the wintertime

The moonglow glittering
A buoyant royal blue
hovering over the golden velvet valley
A drowsy hum
Descending towards the door,
ossia,
Where the heart is full

 

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Mine Na Poem

On the Cusp

Scorpio Moon
Salty scales
In depths concealed,
keyhole through
the unknown ebony
Pour in rippled imaginings
Cast away the poisoned torrents of
Chevron
The mind whirling curtains

Exchange for trust,
that my better half
is on the other side,
of that someday summer door

Discover a truth like no other truth
The tide is high, but I’ll choose to let it flow in me
My cards are worn, but I’ll spread them out in front of me
I’m not sorry, to be in love with the magnificent mythical, the maps of metaphors, the bountiful of the illogical mind tilts
I’m just a leftover dreamer
I’ll vanish one day,
in the willow moonlight,
on wings they thought they clipped

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Mine Na Poem

Mac and Moir

In crown of stupa,
The sugilite jewels birth the Violet flame
Fresco half-moon-wise
the excavated
Blue lotus, bud-eyed boy of two
Rises to
Hear his mother’s universal voice in the wind
Running barefooted on the damp grass
Between the golden yews and pass
spires of irish bells
Meets her at the garden gate
To nestle his face in the warm depression of her shoulder
In intervals
She swings him high, then
She anchors him back to her eyes
And wraps his anam in the seventh ray
Holding back the night, to bless his lifestreams
Until memories retreat into the void

Words: Nara Β  Art: Christin Laszka

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Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping With Malachite (Part 2)

His mind softly touches my,
Exuberant ladder of dreams.

He is wrapped in a blanket
Of my layered terra.

Like a destined sleepwalker
He came right through.
But with care,
For my scared
Velvety ivory dog.
He even brushes
My bronzy beauties.

He gathers all
My thought patterns around.
Even one of my owl friends
Joins the funeral circle.

Who died?
Wait. What?
That’s me, wrapped
Like an egyptian mummy,
With malachite.

How could I have died?
A woeful projection
Hears me and explains,
“Drown in a lake of cadmium red.”

He shakes me awake
“Just another nightmare.”, I say
“But you were laughing
Not crying.”
He says.

I reply,
“Oh my unconscious lost my life.”
But with a more serious tone,
“I was under my fate.”

 

img_6503Poem & Art: Naomi Ruth W. Photograph : Erwin Blumefeld

 

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Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping with Malachite (part 1)

The owls are perching
On the ladders of my dreams again.
Heavy oppression,
Vacuuming the brilliance out of me.

My flint feeted girl grasping
Her inner world.
Where bells rung,
To set the horses galloping
Through green dust infinity.

What incubus?
Has dropped in my belly of layered terra;
With picks to pluck out
My dream felt exuberance.

To be awaken at 3:00 a.m.
With vacant swan girl stare.
Swathed in ivory guilt.
Did I forget?
The owls are my friends.
Above, with watchful hearts,
They strung up stripes of malachite.

Poem & Ceramic Art: Naomi Ruth W.

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