Eight

This is my eighth post in november and this now beats my previous posts per month record - set back in february when i first started this blog. Being 8, i decided to check wikapedia for any interesting information regarding said number. The most interesting bit, to me anyway, was the part about the tarot card. I don't know much about tarot cards, but according to wikapedia the 8th card is the Strength card (in some decks it's 11, but we're focussing on 8). Other key words related to this card are:

• Self control ----- Being solid ----- Patience ----- Compassion

• Composure ----- Stability ----- Perseverance ----- Moderation

• Kindness ----- Gentleness ----- Slowness ----- Softness

• Serenity ----- Comprehension ----- Discipline ----- Inner strength

If you're interested in reading more about this, just click here.

So, i decided, being my 8th post this month, and the first time i've made it to eight posts, i should keep these things in mind. So here is my "Strength" post . . .
dum da dum! and my mind goes blank. apparently i can't take the pressure.

Listen - jazzy mario music in the background. rustling papers. my computer hums. mouse bottons clicking. Chair rocking. Footsteps on the wooden floor. keyboard keys clacking. fingernails scratching scalps.



She stands at the top of the stairs. Hers is the power to hold all eyes in the room.
But all she wants is to cry alone.
Now is not the time.
She has an audience to address. A crowd to entertain.
She must persevere with a fixed, painted smile. She slowly descends - carefully, quietly placing each foot on the lower step.
She jumps. She spins. She smiles.
And the crowd is entertained.
They clap. They cheer. They laugh.
She reaches her hands to the lights overhead
and twirls on pointed toes.
Her long flowing black hair spinning 'round her as she does.
Creating a circular boundary - protecting her from the crowds gazing eyes.
She imagines she is dancing across the clouds.
Whirling high above the earth.
and she is FREE.
Free at last.
free for now.

languishing

Red nails and red lips
with a business suit jacket
and a red tank top.

distracted green eyes;
Curly hair and pouty lips.
listless and lifeless.

gray, unmoving words.
fake smiles and conversations.
uneventful days.

Chipped red nailpolish.
Dry cracking red lips.
stretched out red tank top.

Wii, why have you forsaken me?

I'm too upset and drunk to be poetic.
Which is strange, because lately, most of my posts
have been written while i was pretty drunk.
I thought i would have a nintendo wii three days ago,
but alas, i still am without one.
sold out within two hours, and i was in montreal at the time.
So now, I am Wii-less.
Nintendo! you promised me a wii on the 19th day and
you have broken the promise!
Lies; lies.
Why did you restrict your units?
Where is my fucking Wii?!!

Nintendo, I have stuck by you all these years -
forever faithful. The only gaming consoles i have ever
owned are yours. the only games i play are nintendo brand
and yet, you leave me, a devoted fan with nothing.
Why did you not manufacture more?
Why did you barely send any to Canada. We love nintendo.
we crave nintendo.
Where are our Wiis?!!

this is dedicated to the one i love

You.

You make me feel sexy - even when i'm not.

You are the lilly pads apon which I dance
and you are the sun shining down on me giving me strength.
You are my umbrella blocking me from the cold rain drops
and you are the comforting arms which lift me when I fall.

The only thing I'm sure about is you.

As we wrap each other in a never-ending embrace,
I know you are the only one for me:
my stream and my sea -
my hill and my mountain.
I long to forever drink from your fountain
and lasciviously gaze up at your beautiful face.

waterlogged

"It can't rain all the time."

But it sure does seem to be.

The forecast for this week:
rain, rain, and more rain.
Rain every day.
The world is trying to wash us away -
to start anew.

The world is cold and gray. strange and unfamiliar.
The clouds have fallen from the sky - laying low on the ground.
They surround us in fog.
I cannot see my outstretched hand.
My finger tips have blended into this haze.

wet . . . dismal . . . numb.

Where is the sun hiding?

She that treads on Water

Petals float gracefully from her extended hand to the water below.
Sprawled out on a branch above the lake, she stares up toward the sky
wishing for the sun to warm her frigid frightened limbs.
She waits. She hopes. She dreams.

Glowing innocence flashes upon her bare skin.
Her melancholic reflection beckons her.
Snap. The bough breaks.
Down. She tumbles.
Splash. She sinks.
No struggle - no crying.
Eternal peace.

"There is a willow grows aslant the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; here with fantastic garlands did she come.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke.
When down the weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook."

Red Irritations

Glass shatters across the wooden floor.
Tip-toe between the shards.
One less wine glass. . . . Soon we'll have none.
Red liquid seeping amongst the cracks - the wood bleeds.
One uncertain step. Red flows from my foot. Another scar to remember.

Discarded wax sheets strewn on the ground.
Tip-toe between the strips.
Black, brown, blond - all ripped from the source.
Some refuse to move; Grasping to the skin.
Bruises appear on the surface and Itchy red splotches begin to show.
One quick pull. Red stems up my leg. Another rash to scratch.

you never can tell with Bee

"a Tigger who bounced, if he bounced at all, in just the beautiful way a Tigger ought to bounce."

Super hero Boots
with daisies and red lipstick
fiery goddess.

The strength in her smile
the love spread across her lips
perfect innocence.

She's fractured and scared
painful vulner'bility
Waiting for succor.