Sisterlock

Her face was green. Like an olive skin oxidating on the early morning sun. She screams as I was stared. Nothing is ever enough. How did I dare to…mess up my brain? I all made it up. She thinks. The rattling in my head is real. The white lights on the red stage are real. The occipital stane, in the third, right up corner in the coordinating system of my life is real. Still. How did I dare?… To wake up at 7 and exercise. Lift my legs. Squat. Launch. She does pilates. Like a thread in a needle.

How do I know I feel worse than her? Her face is now blue. Blue like a fried eggplant with shiitake-mushroom cheeks. How did I dare?

My life is worth 15 000$. And an airplane ticket. One direction. No more than that. And her hand around my neck. Teared pink shirt.

Every word pierces. Boils blood. She bends like a nimble serpent toward the elevator. Short in the middle. Wide in front. She steals the stealth wings. In a two-folded street.

My hair falls down in remembrance.

I call my father. Mutation is on her way.

The Wind is still Strong

The container of time lost by the wind. It escapes the boundary, as I float towards my culmination. Twists and turns in red lights, no floors in between, bends at her own knees, lovingly seeing true colors of the day. The morning has the smell of fear, the one that sticks to your nostrils, and as much you try to exhale it, it plaques stronger to your bones.

The say resilience is the savior, many moons looked after. And I miss, like a Halley’s Comet I miss, once, again, just like 40 years go, to be fully me. To accept myself. To value myself. To honor myself. Fear is ever-present, it’s my new air. I don’t know of anything else.

I try to remember in my own container of space how can I collect myself and knot the peace out of pieces of my broken soul. My head was bowed for too many suns and my back only recognizes heaviness and disappointment.

I often write of happiness, of that meeting, collided opportunities, where your true self shines, as you embrace your shadow. But nobody tells you how to tumble in the dark in the meantime. How to find a meaning in rhythms, as you try to fathom repetitive cycles of lessons you refused to learn – or your teachers were simply lousy?

I laugh at myself often, as the wind kicks me in the chest, still I swallow my fear, cannot spit it out fast enough. In the remnants of what I would like to be my old self, I find trails of never-forgotten childhood stories and anecdotes, so finely wrapped in the middle age tears and regret.

I lost my gravitational tides, I recognize only one e-motion, as my moon has dissipated far away. I don’t know how to rise again. As everyone around is so neatly pulled together, I break, once again, I break and there is no end.

I am a bat, carved in my cave, there are no senses except for my heart that beats so loud and relentlessly in hope it will frighten my fear. Will it ever run away?

The wind is still strong. Maybe if I hold on tightly for just a second will I become more resilient. More real. More me.

Research at University of Wales: Poets living with a sky – follow up review

This research started several months ago, and I use this opportunity to once more express my gratitude to all poets who kindly took their time to participate and answer the questionnaire. Unfortunately, the number of participants wasn’t sufficient for deriving credible results so at the end we needed to go with different focus group. I was really looking forward to examining results, but as it comes with any research in social setting, the outcome can go either way.

I hope you enjoyed these beautiful poems, inspired by sky and that they gave you additional ideas for your own writing.

Maja

 

 

Poet and the sky: Poem by K. Morris

Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind (an excerpt)

On seeing the stormy sky
The poet thinks “man must die”.
He sees the young girl bloom
And says “she is destined for the tomb”.
Oh let us gather wild flowers
And not waste our powers
Trapped in ivory towers.
Beware the scholar’s domed head
For we are soon dead.
May our spirit fly

Ere we die
And are lost in endless sky”.

For more beautiful and inspiring poetry visit newauthoronline.com

Poet and the sky: Poem by Charu Sharma

THE NIGHT
Sometimes scary,
Sometimes lonely,
Sometimes quiet,
Sometimes filled with,
Voices and noises,
That exhaust,
The impatient mind.
Sometimes hide the pain,
Sometimes highlights,
Low points of the game.
The fairy lights shine bright,
In few buildings,
In our lane.
The stars twinkle in sky,
Everything pauses,
Silence becomes the voice.
Judgement declines,
Creativity heightens,
Many lone hearts,
Comfort themselves,
By saying,
It’s not just them,
Every one is waiting,
For the sunny life.
The neighbor beats his wife,
A teenager in another one,
Watches a romedy film,
Wishing for a rosy life.
And the wife thinks,
Life is nothing,
But just a lie,
And we have to survive,
The night.
The night,
That stretches,
This night,
Next night,
Every night,
Till we breathe,
Our last.
Into a new day,
Into a new life.
For more beautiful poems and stories visit her blog at https://shewrites170.wordpress.com/

Poet and the sky: Poem by Charlotte Amelia Poe

As part of mentioned research, here will be featured poets who agreed to participate.

This poem is an excerpt from Even those some Flowers only bloom at Night:

and i know my light
is dull compared to yours
you are a flower
you are a sunrise
you are both delicate and powerful
the source of your own strength
and i wanted you to know that
because it seemed important
and your light allows me to reflect
and turn my own light back onto the earth
and i can’t make flowers grow
(even though some flowers only bloom at night)
(i don’t know why that is, do you?)
but i can make sure that you know
we may be a sky apart
but sometimes, you know, during the afternoon
you’ll see them both in the sky

Charlotte Amelia Poe

For more, visit her blog here.