Tag Archives: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

The Phoenix

 

phoenix

i will vanish;
the flesh will die
my hands, my skin
and bone, it feels
like hell, so real…
i say, enough
my scars, my heart,
a touch of blood,
your opus that
melts to nothing,
beware, beware
out of the ash
i rise like air

~kat

A Black Out Poem for MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Promptbased on Sylvia Plath’s Poem, “Lady Lazarus” as seen with bold (Black Out) text below.


Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanishin a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
Whata trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
Myknees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
Tolast it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feelsreal.
Iguess you could sayI’ve a call.

It’seasy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’sthe theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke andstir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I risewith my red hair
And I eat men like air.

 


if…for girls

if...for girls

If…for Girls

If you can dance with glee when no one’s looking;
and laugh when others catch you unaware
If you can love the girl you gaze at in the mirror
and realize she’s not her looks or wild hair
If you can fill your head with truth and knowledge
unashamed of being smart though boys may stare
And dream the dream of being anything you choose
reach for the stars, I promise, you’ll get there

If you can learn that strength is sometimes weak
that loving deeply’s bound to bring you pain
If knowing this you choose to love the least
and treat each person with respect, the same
If you would turn your ear from ugly chatter
defending the slandered scapegoat’s sullied name
Strive to be a friend who’s loyal, and forgiving
and when you’re wrong, bravely accept the blame

If you rejoice with others when they’re winning
and realize your own worth’s not diminished
If you can trust your heart and intuition, follow
through, see things you’ve started to the finish
If everyone around you tries to stop you
from being who you are, saying you’re foolish
Just rise to the occasion when it matters
there is no limit to what you’ll accomplish

If you remember all who came before you
the women who have lived and strived before
If you believe equality and liberation
are not some silly games to settle scores
If you’d pass this legacy on to your daughters
that women have a voice, teach them to roar
And teach them too, compassion in this land of men
sometimes the gentle way proves less is more

If there is just one lesson I could give you
I’d remind you that you’re perfect as you are
If I could live my life again knowing all this
I wouldn’t change a thing, we’ve come so far
If…what if, each girl grew up believing
their value’s not dependent on unrealistic bars
having it all is an impossible illusion
you’ll find your way by following your heart

~kat

A poem for Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt inspired by the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling. (See Below) I couldn’t resist writing my own version, but this one is for the girls.


If—

Rudyard Kipling1865 – 1936

If you can keep your head when all about you
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
   And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
   Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Suburbia

From Free Photos at Pixabay.com

“Did you hear about the new neighbors?”

“New neighbors? No! What did you hear?”

“Well…I heard that their name, Smith, is an alias. It seems they’re in the witness protection program. The guy was a key witness for the Bombino crime bust.”

“I heard about that trial. Cold blooded killers, they were. Money launderers too, but that case happened in New York. What makes you think the Smiths are from there?”

“Well, my Aunt Mabel’s husband’s coworker is friends with the prosecutor’s custodian and he heard that the key witness and his family were given new identities and moved to an old established neighborhood in Pennsylvania. A husband, his wife and two kids, a boy and a girl, school-aged. That description sure fits the Smiths. Husband, wife, two kids, except two boys, but hey, Aunt Mabel might have gotten that part wrong.”

“Certainly sounds like them. I hope they don’t bring criminals here!”

“I thought of that. Contacted the neighborhood association. There’s a special meeting tonight. You’re coming aren’t you?!”

“You bet I am.”

Meanwhile at the Smith’s house….

“So honey, have you met any of the neighbors?”

“Not yet. I saw a few of them at the park. I waved, but they looked away like they didn’t see me. Weird.”

“Give it time. My boss told me this was the best neighborhood to raise kids. Excellent schools. You remember it was a condition of my promotion and relocation. He knows how important you guys are to me.”

“I know. I hate moving. Hey, I overheard them talking about an association meeting tonight. We should go.”

“Great idea! Give me a minute to change and we’ll head over to the community center!”

“Perfect! Maybe it won’t be so awkward if we’re together.”

“You’re gonna love it here honey. You’ll see.”

~kat

Oh to be a fly in the wall at that community center when the Smiths arrive! I will let your imaginations finish this story, dear reader. 😉 This is a short 300 Word Story for Mind Love Misery’s Menageries Sunday Writing Prompt: Truth and Lies.


I Am…

I am a writer
my tools are letters,
twenty-six in all,
punctuation marks,
exclamation
points, question
marks, commas,
colons, periods,
semi colons, etc, etc.
nouns, verbs,
adjectives that
define my passion
I am a writer
a tree is not merely
a tree to me, it is
a living example
of resilience, rooted
deep, teaching me
to bend, to reach,
to let go, pulp
for pages to write
upon, teaching
me about grace,
because
I am a writer
words matter, their
placement on blank
pages and digital
screens, each meter
rhythm, alliteration,
refrain and rhyme are
deliberately placed
keystroke after
keystroke, poetry,
flash, prose…
note to self…
I am a writer

~kat

For Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt: “Inspiration Talk”


When Demons Rage

alone

passions from a
common source
sorrow to joy,
of life, good and ill,
the mystery, the torrent,
red, ’round me roll’d
the lightning flying by
the thunder, the storm,
when heaven was blue,
a demon in view

~kat

A Black Out Poem for MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Prompt based on the poem below, “Alone” by Edgar Allen Poe


BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
 
My passions from a common spring— 
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrowI could not awaken
My heart
to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
 
Of a most stormy lifewas drawn
From ev’ry depth of
good and ill
The mystery which binds me still— 
From the torrent, or the fountain— 
From the red cliff of the mountain— 
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold— 
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by
From the thunder, and the storm
And the cloud that took the form 
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view

 


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