in promised hope of the sublime
intertwines with my veins.
She will rock me into the seventh min dynasty
Riding on the seventh wave.
The bars of gold pulsing liquid molten around my corpse.
Dear lord , can you save me from this devil ?
She goes by the name of my Sultan
To rhyme eloquently
I try not;
Fore mere words in visual
My daily bosom
This is all I’ve got.
* inspiration for musing listening to this song and listening to a friend mess about with his KORG VOLCA SAMPLER
featured image photo credit domugraphic on Twitter
sails set -flappers on deck- bags packed ready to dance with le mistral –
Prepare for signs of cursive scurvy , unorthodox rats.
a canary and a dove destined for a new type of island style
Known by the name king Louis of swing.
Allegiance to the flag
Pledge to acquiesce to the captain of this ship
He – the cardinal son.
She- Scarlett wife , tresses of a bedheader installs a navigation Wicca app aura .
Puritans on the other side of the reminisce -wont flock in God’s pinitation no more.
Men blemished from wearing rosacea glasses,
They don’t mind if their ladies flesh is pricked by a stranger.
Possessive is not a prerequisite to all nature.
If she hustled away every coin for her current despicable appearance,
Would his fists mangle into the renegade degenerate?
He ,sitting on a cracked pavement, sipping beer 9% proof distilled hops poison
The brain canters away with a wild neigh, a hurdle jump to late to plummet off the mezzanine ?
Money talks .
Yes, your majesty,
The Queens face-discordant in all apparitions injects a dose of annus miribilis.
Scarlett wife Disorderly conduct causes a head to head, bollocks to a curtesy,
Sight convinces the reality of her hand gripping onto a can of mace.
Artistic expression insists on splashfuls of colour of cans .
Expressive language told in graffiti.
Stand back — look at the words staring at you on the attack
What is respect ?
No dictionary to hand. Examples pour out without definition.
Pleasantries, thank you , cups of tea, good nights, mechanical nav app claiming
Quickest reroute to I love you,
Is it posse of homies fist bumping in homage to the lionized mane with blue blood paw
Together-slumber in king size
Flesh remains languorous to the swirl prints of human touch-
Mistaken identity chickens both fear to lose more feathers
Life division — soul mates obliterated by differences in decorum ethics.
Always the sophisticate — the crowd whispers nectar grains of gossip behind whimsical fans.
She is the fallen angel , notorious for the malaise in her head,
Milked by onions far future veiled tears and a survival credits demeanor .
The pair adore the honeyed bee with cotton blue eyes –
the enigma who keeps their fates sealed in bondage
Arrange one another like a book end seeking outwards ,
a common agenda arise
Pleiades siren sisters heard mewing departing with the breath of dawn
tangerine hues , salmon pinks,
Creative muse leads the joint pair to rip at each other until both are mere bits of itty bitty jagged ,torn up pieces.
No clean break.
Wind takes a pile of their stake
People fall out of love everyday.
Better opportunities appear in the sky line at sun
Save but for this,
Passion misaligned enough to impart a spiritual kiss.
Scarlet answers to his tonic inflections — atonement persists every other day.
heinous tumor clots the mind by a sprinkle of a spell hypnotic
The poltergeist won’t make a proposal with a smudging kiss -so dreadfully emphatic!
Compromise to exercise the practice of sabili.
Feverish tug of war discourse breaks out in lieu of discordant decibels strung out on opiate sentences.-
Night terrors channel the unblemished one onto hang mans cliff, one foot away she is from tumbling to the state of alone.
How can we humans get it so wrong for so long?
Hearts motivation is seeking for a state of a rose petal bed sensation
Yearn that the fleeting soul mate would over estimate his worth.
Indeed change his own faith perhaps even his fate.
No frown lines
Don’t mean no problems.
equality determined by duvet covered up underscores
Old Ben ticks a version of rock.
seize a raconteur to reveal a mandatory position of bondage-alternating positions to top-
Knowledge of new positions verbalized in consumption — a crescendo of orgamsic crowning
Don’t you think it’s fascinating we can live in cramped states and boxed ticks?
Fairies move out appalled by love birds sudden screaming in Tourettes tics
Strangers bound by vows and contracts have perfunctory sentiments ,
Know her soul — possess her ,emancipate her from well coined ferry man ferrying crowds over the river of sty.
she needs the force of a Minotaur-
Amygdala explosion — irrational welts to a few tossers , no burial for those who disrespect a generous gender-life givers-vessels for the lucky few
Respect is a two way street.
A part can disappear to a sudden gasp of disappointment clad in veil-hidden-
Though some part still exposes her skin announcing she’s prepared to paint a mural — decipher their own teasing ,high hopes for their Art.
He needs a stability, no hand palms lined with haphazard crosses-
Nor to the cosmos antagonizing the make up of her spirited sum
We – love is what ? a dessert homemade , multiple attempts to attain the taste of perfection
To understand the the meaning behind the effect of not giving a shit about garlic breathe.
We fall in love-
we fall out
we don’t love
Love shouldn’t have a contract of pre determined conditions.
Feisty souls-what will happen when they reach past there 30th mile stone?
All blasphemous bathe in water infected with parasites of bloody rouge delighted to succeed leeching on a new host — a corruption life draining feed
is this enough to see them through the next phase-a turnstile or direction that doesn’t rewire an IQ test
emotional intelligence — hear her lilted accent
Manipulations, guilt — disappointment-
She commands brutal truth in — communication
Not the bullshit that she is the get down momma.
Big up her soul — she won’t trust words wrapped in silk feathers made by the wife of the bent over farmer.
Troubled is this state of terrain .
life epiphany moments can unify a bond lost to an inventory of savage materialitisic scum
The body is infected
Damn woman, screwed up everything from the moment she puffed out a perfect Oh breathe , the day at her party of existence.
Which way to go?
Look at the neighbors garden — all flowers and herbs cultivated with hands green hue glow.
Tender, patience — imagine a perfect relationship.
It’s easy to forget the good times when Cerebus wakes up-
dodging three eyeballs — accumulate by the sense e of fear-causing blood to boil in heinous state of haemorrhage.
Reminisce the spaces with laughter , moments of frisson, an out line of a future that didn’t appear another gilded prison.
Vow to be a sensual, thought after action man
Vow to be a lady who will cite and recite her promise .
re read the words spoken amount attuned bird chirping,
Above an audience not hidden by a curtain-breaking down every wall.
They recite their vows
Explore the true meaning,
Speak them out loud
Reconnect – her proposal to fight for their future far from the hostile terrain cartel.
Oh how did this happen to me
The girl from some other foreign city?
Wiley enough to make a plan
Cunning and soft of heart -all my eggs bled before the start of labour
Before the sun came up.
It hid her pain, all the clots of her smiles.
She would coocoo again
for her soul was of one who couldn’t quit even when they told her she was dead.
Hey ho – It’s Easter
My mad has turned into glad
Easter hunt with Bee leading the front
Check out the daily song
Start a debate if you think its wrong.
The lyrics touch my heart and make me smile -two of my favourite effects of Life.
Wanna cry, wanna laugh
Wanna give all I have
I’m so grateful
I can fight through the pain
‘Cause I fight in your name
You’re my shelter
I’m so grateful for you
[Verse 1: Chance the Rapper]
For my house, for my home
For my chair, for your throne
For your love, for your mercy and grace
For a job or a dub or a odd or a slug
Or a bone or whatever you say
Hop in the whip and turn the heat up
Turn that seat hotter than a teacup
Please tell the car to turn the beat up
Evergreen Plaza, had the black Santa
Coconuts across the street, get my CD’s up
Shout out [?]
Used to buy my snow cones, pay ya back tomorrow
Every time I go home, hear a bunch of sorrows
Grass is always muddy at the other party
Drive down to Blue Island for that flavor
Where they ain’t scared to say the name of the Savior
Oh, we got some healing, got some blessings, got some favors
We got some gifts, we on the list for good behavior
Give you whatever you want
Ain’t that what the family for?
All I know, all I want
Be around the family more
Be there whenever you want
You know what the family for?
All I know, all I want
Be around the family more
My cousins not soft, one skippin’ frosh off
One finally grew up, cut the block off and cut his locks off
One of ’em passing all her classes, Now pass the hot sauce
Never become one of those knockoffs that rather not talk
I know I look just look my auntie, (love my auntie)
I’ma keep it funky, talk too much like Donkey
On my back like monkey (love my auntie)
On my line like laundry, she keep it a hundred
I’m the biggest brother, biggest cousin, big ol’ nigga big folks
Just hit my jack like Peter Pan, that shit don’t never get old
They introduce some evidence, my homie might never get home
That’s why we screamin’ “Fuck the president” like Marilyn Monroe
YAY I’VE WRITTEN SOMETHING
THE ORDER OF THE BLACK DOG
My family. Here we all are, sitting around the circular dining room table- flecked with bits of gold. Ma sits under a hanging portrait of this Christmas just gone. Three weeks ago. We are all smiling in it including Poppy. Poppy sits playing with her Annabelle doll, on my husband’s lap. Sat opposite from Ma, closest to the electric fire hearth is Gran. I find myself sitting across from Gran. An iciness breathes mist over us. It separates me from them, cloaks me in a fog. I try to swallow. The air is so thick it chokes me, I’m forced to put my hands to my throat. Nobody notices me. Nobody notices me the way they used to. I tune in to the conversation-taking place.
‘Of course I’m not suggesting this is your fault. I should have known. Done more…’ Nan bursts into tears. A cry out for:
I need attention I’m suffering the most.
My skin bristles. Nan pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, and then throws out a familiar comment about it being draughty.
‘You know I could catch pneumonia with my Asthma.’ She coughs. Ma gets up to put on the electric fire.
‘I didn’t take her seriously. You know what Angie was like?’ Ma’s eyes are red as the rosary beads she is thumbing; she looks over to an unusually quiet Poppy.
‘Did she just do it to spite me?’ How could she just leave her own…?’
My husband throws a warning look at Ma,
‘Marie, for Poppies sake. Our Angie suffered more than she let on.’ Ma sits back down. ‘Let’s put on a cartoon, luv?’ Poppy shakes her head.
She doesn’t look at us. I look straight at her, willing her to leave this table. Leave this conversation. She lifts her head and looks me dead on in the eyes. I instinctively smile. Eddie and me always stood together when it came to Poppy. Her face is pale, her eyes sunken, her skin is drawn in so tight I can see cheek bones protrude. Beneath her eyes-, veiled shadows betray her youthful face. She clings onto Annabelle, still looking me dead on in the eyes.
‘When’s Mummy coming home?’
Silence. Her words enmesh with the silence. Her question disarms me. Marks me. The arrow leaves its bow splintering my heart. I open my mouth to scream out as many words as I can. Condensation steams the air distilling me into silence. I reach my hand across the table to grab hers. She doesn’t see me. I glare at my family sitting at the round table. They say nothing. Smothering themselves in sorrow, they witheringly curl inwards. I urge to shake them, uproot them from winters glaze.
-Answer her! Answer my daughter.
Instead, Gran succumbs to a puddle of wrinkled tears, mechanically Ma gets off her chair, attempts to console Gran and naturally it’s up to Eddie to mediate. My calm, rational Eddie. His eyes read as vacant –his beard is wild and unkempt. It’s impossible to read his face. He clears his throat,
‘We’re gonna see Mummy when we give her… say a proper goodbye.’
Gran flounders in her anglers net of remorse. Great splotchy splashes of grief escape. She wails,
‘She’s with the angels –looking down at you, darling!’
I roll my eyes. Of course I love her! Lately, she grates my skin more frequently with her, melodramatics.
– Confess how you truly feel. Relieved!
I’m so fixated on evoking a response from Gran; unnoticed, a light flickers with an intensity to match my own. Eddie carries Poppy over to the sofa, sits her down to watch a cartoon. He covers her with a blanket then kisses her forehead.
‘We’ll see mummy soon? To say goodbye?’
Eddie nods his head, his voice cracks.
‘When will mummy come back from saying goodbye? In spring? My teacher says it’s winter – everything goes to sleep like her?’ Poppy points to ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on the television.
Eddie focuses on the image. The Prince is just about to kiss Aurora on the lips. He turns his head away from the television before he can see Aurora wake up to her true loves kiss. He grinds down on his teeth. Poppy’s eyes remain transfixed on the television. Eddie gets up, crosses the dining room table; I’m compelled to follow him, I have to stop him. Tell him I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve so much to tell him.
-There is no God! We were right all along. Religion is for people who can’t think for themselves. We were right to take the piss.
Eddie flinches, puts his hands in his jean pockets. I follow him down Ma’s hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door on me. It doesn’t ever close fully. I slip through the crack of the door that is always ajar.
Head down. Still. He sits on the toilet seat. I kneel down before him; go to lay my head on his knee. He flinches again. Hits himself in the head. Bangs his fist on the wall screams out:
‘Why? We could’ve figured it out, you fucking stubborn mare’ I bring out the best and worst in Eddie. Till death do us part. What are the chances?
He still refuses to let me go. Stubborn.
My symptoms intensify in the days leading up to the funeral. Everything‘s heightened especially emotions that seemingly walk precariously on stilts. I can’t walk through walls or levitate. Nothing like any of the horrors Eddie and me used to watch together, on the sofa.
Unheard, I bellow continuously,
-Just let me go!
Every time I hear my name called reflections of nostalgia flash and beam over and around me. Prompted, I gravitate towards the source. Someone needs me. These past three weeks, I’ve been teleported from one conversation to another. I find myself in a room; familiar or not familiar, with people I know and people I don’t know.
Today I’m summoned to the usual bickering between Ma and Gran. The familiar sound of Gran’s kettle boils in the background.
‘I want that picture of her on her graduation day and flowers- blown up .With azaleas. And roses – she loved roses- pink.’
‘She hates that picture! And she loves- loved yellow roses…’ Ma’s wobbly voice mirrors her jelly struck legs propping her up in her work shoes. She staggers backwards. Like the black dog with a bone, Gran won’t give in,
‘No, she’s my eldest grand daughter and I know her – it is… was pink!’
Ma sits down, doesn’t speak. I go over to her to put my arms around her then she dissolves into tears. Gran bulldozes her way over to us. Intimidated, I move out of her way. Gran holds Ma and Ma lets Gran hug her. Ma calms down, mentions something about pink and yellow roses
Vexed, I shriek
– don’t back down Ma, I love yellow. Yellow roses. The kettle whistles for attention. My voice is lost to an object.
‘I’ll go make that cup of tea’ Nan retreats to her kitchen.
Another opportunity to get close to Ma again. I need to hug her, give her some of my energy. As if on cue, Mum’s tear-stained face crumples just like my heart. A poking hot iron burns a hole right through it. Gran re-enters the room I scarper.
‘Here you go, love. Lost three of my own …, as you know, mind, they never got to Angie’s age. Yellow’s more of a quirky colour like our Angie… was.’ They smile at each other. I move back, the distance seems to illuminate their smiles.
Tonight, I beg for there to be a heaven. This has to be hell. The familiar, incongruous, gravitational pull lures me out of my cavernous abyss. I blink my eyes several times to focus: orientate myself. Hung up around the wall are vintage Disney posters. My eyes settle on Poppies bed. Eddie bends over Poppy and kisses her goodnight,
‘Mummy loves you just as much as I do.’ He tucks her in.
He switches off the light before walking out. I stand and watch my worn out daughter in her bed. She sings herself to sleep just as she does every night. She sings our song: twinkle twinkle little star. With each inflection of her sweet singing voice, the words serve as a needle. Each word stipulates smelting hot ink into my flesh. My neck is ablaze. Before closing her eyes, she whispers,
‘I love you mummy.’
When I reply, scorching chains wrap and lasso me around my neck. My skin swells up in blisters. The familiar sound of her breathing evaporates the pain. I need to be close to her, I need to smell her, kiss her. Carelessly, I run over to her bed to touch her sleeping head. Startled I lunge backward as Poppy instantly wakes up screaming.
– I’m powerless
. Eddie barges into the room, throws on the light and takes Poppy into his arms. I watch her body stiffen; then relax. I watch him settle my daughter back to sleep. My hands ball into tight fists.
-She must know I’m here.
Before I can touch her face, she wakes up screaming like – like she has seen a- ghost.
-I’m that Ghost! I put my hands to my mouth in horror.
Envy bubbles inside me as I witness Eddie consoling Poppy again. I’m half hoping he won’t succeed.
What kind of a mother am I?
I’ve been telling everyone to let me go.
Where will I go?
I can’t drive, no one can see me. There are no other lost souls wondering about telling me to join the dead community!
I won’t give up on my daughter. She needs me. I have to be here.
The stroke of our clock announces its time; a primitive realisation slithers down my very core. Nausea spirals up into my throat. I run into our bathroom, heave over the toilet, nothing comes out. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror; I see vicious V-shaped welts where the noose of the rope has cut into my neck. This is what Eddie came home to.
The cloying black dog of depression haunted me. Its delivered dose of pain was exquisite- nothing took it away. Not drinking, overdosing, drugging myself, talking-nothing. Eventually, I told it to sit down. I told Eddie repeatedly,
– I just want to disappear.
– How can I help you? His eyes pleaded for an answer. I would always lash out,
-Unless you help me disappear, you can’t!
I remained imprisoned in our bed and he would go back to work and look after Poppy and the house. He could walk away from me. I couldn’t. I resent him for that. I can see myself now, googling the various ways people commit suicide. One article struck my eye ‘Men are more successful at committing suicide’.
-They don’t mess about with poisoning themselves –they resort to more violent means.
That is the moment I reached out to the wrong Alpha.
The black dog and I began sleeping together. It became my obsession. Up-close, I could analyse it, experiment with it. As a couple, it didn’t take much to find that Alpha rage. One phone call from Ma,
-Just snap out of it. If you’re going to do it, get on with it.
-Fine, I will! I hung up on her before she could hang up on me.
My impulsiveness finds me trapped within this mirror. It’s cold. Everything I read is back to front. Everything I do is back to front. It doesn’t reflect my true intentions. When I reach out, in fact, the more I reach out the more pain I inflict. I back away from the mirror until I’m pressed up, with my back against the bathroom wall.
What have I done?
What right do I have trying to tell my family how to deal with their loss?
Eddie will never know that I was messing about; I didn’t know if I could actually go through with it. From a great height in a corner of the bathroom my body feels cut loose from itself. I can see it happen in front of my eyes. Like a rerun episode, I can’t pause. The noose around my neck, in the shower. Steam shrouds the mirror, with slippery feet, I accidently knock myself off that chair and in that moment I realise,
– I don’t want to die.
I can’t scream and tell anyone. I made the decision when I decided to sleep with my enemy. I’ve interrupted the natural course of life. A lost soul in life: a lost soul in death. There are no bright lights to come with this epiphany. I exit the bathroom, stumble down the staircase, out the front door, and walk aimlessly down the street. I sense a familiar pair of eyes examining me; I look up and see the black dog in its true form. It waits for me to catch up. We walk side by side. I don’t look back. I am the one preventing people from moving on. I have to let go.