MystedTruths's Xanga

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 01:42:41 GMT

Certainty
is the patience of the gardener after planting iris bulbs.Of the many dull convictions, the assurance of spring blossoms is buried in the heart when the rest of the garden has faded. The wholesome seed. The embodiment of earthy nourishment and solid ground. Sturdy as the heirloom grape, these awkward forms with straggly roots are steadfast. My grandmother’s hands are deft around daffodil, lily and tulip. The wet earth accents the wise wrinkles that adorn her hands. Over the winter, she dreams of the slivers of color they will create. Red bulbous grills, pale pink of flesh untouched by the sun, the purple of Easter dresses, and fat, yellow goldfinches.

A Haiku

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 22:47:40 GMT

Morning shade gathers
in the absence of your sound
happy song of dreams

Specimen # 115 by Noonlight

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 17:00:46 GMT

Perca flavescens
suspended in a pool of yellow light.
An awkward angle in a jelly jar;
the barbs, strings and glass
behind the peeling, typed label
beckon a fascinated repulsion.

The gentle swaying corpse-
the satisfying plunk of the dark lid
stale air, acrid scent,
and the 115^th creature of Pandora ’s Box
emerge to the sterile air.

Rough, blue, rubber fingers grasp
the scales and lift the creature
to a new sea of suspended life.

This is science:
The cruel art of warped minds,
An elegant form
with blank, measured eyes
swimming in an ember pond.

Filth

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 16:48:36 GMT

My father always frowned upon me soaking in the bath as an adult. He despised the idea of wasting hot water and most of all, being swathed in ones own filth.

We float around in our own dead skin and mistakes everyday. What fault is there to conscentrate matters and warm the skin?

Monday, July 23, 2007

Mon, 23 Jul 2007 00:36:47 GMT

Mermaid

Endless sea of onyx
A smooth black spans
and the universe itself
married upon the horizon
She rises
a ethereal, pale stroke of light
Elegant limbs twirl
and flutter with the stars
Feeble legs tremble among the rocky shore
She calls a sirens song,
luring laughter
Spritely joy embodied amongst the foam
Effervescent

Curs't Be the Inconsistent Lover

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 14:57:20 GMT

May you be born a character of fiction
With purpose solely to vex and break mine heart
Ply the pages with blades wrought strong and true
Of scalding steel
Tear them in sleek swipes so that a shower
of intricate flakes may gently fall
to brighten the landscape below my lonely sentinel

May you be a vile leech desperately grasping
for the warmth of my leg
after a sunlit swim in the serene lake
Such an unpleasant unhailed guest
That I may burn thee
into a thousand blossoms of
tedious flame.

May you be the captured housefly
Lost in the corners of my humble abode
Forever slamming against polished glass
Your silver tounge lost to incoherant buzzing
So temendous an annoyance
Perchance I pluck your gossamer wings
from your feeble body.

Friday, October 27, 2006

Fri, 27 Oct 2006 16:30:32 GMT

Genderless and without a name I am.
A simple pronoun.
Anonymous Generous.
My voice is silenced to whispers while she holds your ear
She who carries the possesion of your name and sole right to....
while I fold your laundry.
Helpless cursed ignorant youth with too much eyeliner
the hand I have never been offered, I despise her.
Who carries the leash?

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Thu, 19 Oct 2006 03:04:04 GMT

As my eyes slowly closed, it was his chest my cheek was pressed against, his hand clutching at my waist, his heart pounding persistent. A soft, content sigh released from my lips only to evolve into a creature of longing. The voice that echoed through the chest I lay huddled against was not his at all. My imagination created only a moment of satisfaction before my eyes slid open to the black fabric of Chris’s shirt. The eyes of my boyfriend stared in hazel curiosity from a photograph on my wall seemingly directly at us. I could almost see Todd’s eye twitch in jealously at the curve of my friend’s hand on my torso as we sprawled out on my bed. Chris was thinking about someone, I couldn’t say who, but only expected his girlfriend back home.

It had been 9 days, 7 hours since I had talked to him. I was beginning to forget what his voice sounded like, his vernacular. Todd had moved to Alberta. The pocket watch he had sent me as a token of his love still ticked continuously, a constant companion in my lonely hours. After a frantic four days of Ophelia madness, my mind settled to a quiet anticipation. I let it go and put on a Zen like peace. There will be an answer, let it be.

I jumped at every phone call expecting his voice just once, but it was only my mother. I checked my mailbox after both the 11:30 and 2:00 deliveries. Sometimes written words from far away friends would emolliate my soul. Yet still, I cried his name silently the moments before I drifted off to sleep.

I could never love Chris for more than a friend. Chris was the jigsaw puzzle piece that was thrown into mass of my life that just didn’t make sense. I was his mother, sister and apparent reminder of his Maxine. He’d leave exactly at 8:30 to pick up when she called, to skirt any question as to where he was. The poor girl was terribly insecure within herself as beautiful a person I could tell she was. They liked not talking about their problems. Chris was changing though. I could tell in his eyes, I made sense in the weave of his life.

His hugs were frequently and by the way my hall mates looked at us, they thought we were lovers. I felt sometimes like the other woman how he’d rush out to the voice of his far away love with promises of future visits. All we ever did was cuddle.

Fair Rosalind, you unmask us all.

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 03:55:57 GMT

Loon song warbles in the humid air
Speckled sunlight in the billowing azure silk at our feet
Relief in the ungilded mirror of the lake
This is our island
Architecture of long past summer holidays
beckoning another petuenia and impatien triste.

-Untitled-

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 00:48:08 GMT

Bare feet hang over the front row
Silver azure glow upon the skin
Liquid beauty in the blue light
tensions of clenched hands
and shifting thighs
cautious fingers lock and curl
tedious touches till the credits roll
Faux sunshine on your
tender treachery.
Hungry lips consume
and beg for more.
Tight shoulders pull
from your guiding arm.
Surrender in the coarse
crimson upholstry.