Guest Bard: Kneeling

Kneeling

“I can’t go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” – Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Don’t blame the sinner

for the slow burn of memory.
Nobody asked you to excavate the past.
You, with your excuses,
and your mouth full of poems.
Your blame longs to curl its stained fingers
around something
that feels like truth.

When will you learn

that we are merely skin,
stretched tight
over a fragile tangle of arteries and veins?
We can bleed,
or we can breathe.
Every moment is a fleeting chance
for awareness.
It is nothing short of a miracle,
that we have learned how to cry over our bruised histories.

What will you worship,

when you finally allow your knees to touch the dirt?
An orange,
with its dimpled flesh, and bitter seeds
has a better chance
of knowing God.

Reality is always fiction.

Language is a trap.
The bones of this story
were whispered to the Black Queen
long before she hurled you into this extraordinary world.
But then she turned those jagged words
over and over in her palm,
until they became a fistful of stones,
smooth and round as plums.

Karen is the author of Fat Girl In Boxing Gloves, where she entertains her love of words and writing. She has won several accolades at Yeah Write,”a writing community for writers who blog and bloggers who write.” Kneeling won Yeah Write’s Speakeasy competition in February of this year. When not writing or creating safe domiciles for dispossessed felines, Karen works as a personal chef and manages her Etsy store – thesoupison. 


You can find her at: http://fatgirlboxing.blogspot.com/

Bard’s Verdict: Karen has a way of telling stories that are common to everyone of us. Each is a personal history presented with a level of emotion and reality that is almost physically palpable. While painfully honest, identifying with her words has always brought me to a place of insight and self acceptance, that comes from realizing we are not alone in how we experience our lives. Z~
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Guest Bard: The Shape of July

Your name, quietly spun
into a thread of conversation
those coffee colored eyes
I haven thought of in years

battered trailer west of Dixie Highway
July burning through checkered drapes
your hands printed their metaphor
of loneliness under my skin
the shape of a summer night
woven deep into the darkness

even now the sound of your name
slips over my tongue
rolls in my mouth like hard candy
temptation to bite
into the soft, sweet center of July.

Marcia Kester Doyle is the author of the humorous blog Menopausal Mother, where she muses on the good, the bad and the ugly side of menopausal mayhem. She is a contributing author to In The Powder Room, Humor Outcasts and What The Flicka. Her work has also appeared on Scary Mommy, The Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, Suburbia Interrupted, Midlife Boulevard, Generation fabulous and many others. She is the recent winner of VoiceBoks Top Hilariously Funny Parent Bloggers 2014 and one of the 2013 Circle Of Moms Top 25 Bloggers. Marcia has contributed stories to several books including The Mother Of All Meltdowns, Sunshine After The Storm and the Life Well Blogged series.  Her first book, Who Stole My Spandex, will be released by Blue Lobster Book Co. in July 2014.

Find her at:
   http://www.facebook.com/MenopausalMother
     http://www.twitter.com/MenoMother
     http://plusgoogle.com/113320616211668910891/posts
     http://pinterest.com/marciakdoyle/
     http://bloglovin.com/en/blog/3764454    

Bards’ verdict: Quite simply delicious, Marcia – you have a talent for transporting your reader with a few, so-simple lines, into the midst of something hugely fragile and emotionally complex…it’s mind-blowing. 

Vultures

Circling
Dark words on wings
Cruising in to strafe and batter
Propelling me to my knees
In the dirt
Hassling, hassling, screaming at me
Pointing out my flaws
With embedded talons
Ripping my inner self
To shreds
Those dark words

Stumbling
I see the light of your care
Like a temple woven of golden threads
A fortress of calm and beauty and kindness
In a landscape of bleak and cutting self-absorbtion
And I quaver, stilled
Wanting more than anything to reach out
Adoring you for the Good you offer so freely
Wishing I could accept
Wishing I was worthy
Pouring blessings on your sweetness
And knowing that your good opinion of me
Is insufficient to Make It So.

For in the light, you would see
The foulness that besmirches all of me
The ugliness that I in darkness hide
The pathetic mess I tuck away inside
Behind the mask
And yet your kindness would unveil me
So I stay
Beset by vultures
On my knees in the dark
And crying,
Crawl away.

Guest Bard: Slippery Nipples and Starry Nights

It was a clear and peaceful starry night
And I was bound by reflections of candlelight
He poured us both, one or two, avalanches
And we toasted several times to extravagance
My dress was a strappy see through black lace
Guaranteed, at the very least, to land first base
And when I saw his eyes, they were full of lust
I knew then the lacy number wouldn’t be a bust
In fact; I may have opened up the Gates Of Hell
Because I knew this flaming lover all too well
This devil must have served me liquid passion
Because I fell into a lazy haze in speedy fashion
I began to recollect all our Blue Mondays
And the Dizzy Blonde’s that got in our way
The Island Affair with that crazy Geisha Lady
And that Hellraiser that seemed all too shady
I must have begun to cry because he fell to his knees
I Love You always, I’m so sorry about all of these”
He was my first love and the first heart breaker
I admit I am a bit Old Fashioned and a bit of a taker
Often times I am Mission Impossible without a drink
 I am a Hurricane of emotion and hard to Tickle Pink
But he is my perfect love; I wanted to be his Hot Dream
So not to ruin this passionate scene with this twinkling horizon
We drank Long Island Ice Teas and talked about waking Poseidon
We moved inside Black Velvet dreams and practiced our sighs
In Between The Sheets of Heaven and filled them with fervent cries
And when we finished, side by side satisfied and aching …
We toasted: Cheers to Slippery Nipples and a night full of remaking
Hastywords is the author of two self published mixed media works.  She didn’t start out dreaming of publishing but rather to fight depression by listening to the voices in her head and letting them have their say. She writes with a hope that her emotional journey will make another person’s journey less lonely and she will find new pieces of herself along the way! She feels the most rewarding part of writing is being on a shared journey.
Bards’ Verdict: Oh my goodness, Pink Lady, I think I may have slipped down the Mudslide and fallen in WriterLove. I don’t mean to Flirtini but letting me Link Up with your words in this way *definitely* made me go “Woo Woo“!!