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flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem

My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers
of my palms tell me so.
Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish
at the same time. I think

praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think
staying up and waiting
for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this
is exactly what's happening,

it's what they write grants about: the chromodynamics
of mournful Whistlers,
the audible sorrow and beta decay of "Old Battersea Bridge."
I like the idea of different

theres and elsewheres, an Idaho known for bluegrass,
a Bronx where people talk
like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow
kind, perhaps in the nook

of a cousin universe I've never defiled or betrayed
anyone. Here I have
two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back
to rest my cheek against,

your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish.
My hands are webbed
like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed
something in the womb

but couldn't hang on. One of those other worlds
or a life I felt
passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother's belly
she had to scream out.

Here when I say "I never want to be without you,"
somewhere else I am saying
"I never want to be without you again." And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet

in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
Where is my policy wonk, resident
Forward, dyed-in-the-wool die-hard try-hard?
We don't need this bully as president;
The job is rough enough. There's no reward
For circling around the world with lies.
His tactics aren't enough to fix his mess;
Aggression always fails where hard work thrives.
A steady hand can steer through most distress
And her hands at the wheel would guide us straight
Instead of into walls and slippery slopes.
She has proved every chance to validate
While he's imploded and deposed all hopes.
Madam President - she would understand
Every rock you throw must somewhere land.
-Feb 2017
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
 The you that doesn't talk but stays,
Calmly sits though joy and woe alike:
Perhaps this you loves me, but never says.
Against such love, silence would be no strike
If but our friendship weren't in languor writ.
Frustrated with words, I turn still to words:
Relentless verbal thing - always been it, 
And difficult like keeping cats in herds.
Meter and verse must have their game to play
If you'll not put your feelings into rhyme.
So must I judge your acts, not what you say,
And your logophobe heart must keep the time.
If with your words you will not pay my due
Then must I give a talking-to to you. 
-Jan 2017
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
 You've grown old, but in one way I'm older. 
When I talk of being dead your shoulders
Don't move down from there like it got colder.
Take comfort: it's not too hot or cold;
It's not at all like being sick or old,
Just darkness, peace, like nothing we've been told.
My deaths have been commas, odd ... pauses
In a winding sentence full of clauses.
Pardon me my claudicated causes,
They were not like what ends your sentence now.
The closing curtain falls and we must bow.
If you'd like to let go, I'll show you how. 

- May 2009
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
A vicious sense of fun's all well and good
But when you can't connect what good's it do?
Invulnerable and misunderstood
There's no one here to care about for you.
The first lesson is not empathy, no.
It's how to pay attention when you're bored.
Then fake empathy 'til no longer faux.
You have to see the people you ignored
As they really are, not the way you think.
Next, feel for the real person. Once you see
Feeling's logic, you'll be real. Lest you slink
Back out of this adaptive strategy:
People aren't furniture. No pranks. No lies.
Poverty of compassion is unwise.
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
I say a thing.
It is ridiculous,
but you pretend to consider it.
You say a thing.
I roll my eyes so hard I fall over on you.
It is the perfect opportunity for a
sneak attack.
Belly pokes.
I squish my fingers into your sides
but I’m laughing before you are.
Mutually assured destruction:
Friendship.
flamingsword: None can take the stars who do not reach. (Take The Stars)
I am tired,
I think
of postcards, season’s greetings, mementos.
I will put by the way
scented candles, pot holders and cozy household touches
that mean little to me, having grown so tired.
Do I need this poster? That lamp? A box of papers five years out of date?
I feel ill to think of how much the whims of the past sway me presently, and I am sea-sick and tired.

I am tired.
Let’s see if we can throw
being tired away,
too.
flamingsword: None can take the stars who do not reach. (Take The Stars)

It is not enough to be just two ways:
Humanity means striving for too much.
I won't give up complexity, won't laze
About in Simple's hallways all my days
Because I want to know what I can touch.
How can I reach, how can I know what's real
Unless choice changes me? I can't just watch
Others have holds on life and reach and clutch
At ev'ry straw that they can grasp or steal.
I want to want the things I have and seal
That bargain by having a want that stays.
I need to want things I can't reach to touch
To test the limits of what I can feel.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Sunshower)
It's been too long, flist. Let us meme together!

You know the rules.

When you see this, post a poem.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Aeon sad)
I have weather veins.
They are especially sensitive
to dust storms and hurricanes.
When I am nervous my teeth chatter
like a wheelbarrow collecting rain.
I am rusty when I talk.
It’s the storm in me.

- - Andrea Gibson - -

* I used to be so afraid to talk, so afraid that I would say the wrong thing, and try to fix it by saying another wrong thing, say all of the wrong things inside me, dams against the words I meant never to say all bursting across the silences that I cultivated between me and everyone who absolutely was not allowed to know how broken and horrible I was. Words breaking in and giving meaning to the silences I walled in around my ability to care about my inability to see myself. Eventually the humidity would get too high, and there was a slow condensation that dripped bits of my truth out to me safely, but I knew that disaster was never far from the first word. I feared the power of words, because its hard for me to lie, and because the act of speaking calls up the truth in me. Erica Jong says, "How can I know what I think until I see what I say?" I feel truthsome tonight; I'd better start talking and let my words out before they backlog. )
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Yule be sorry)
When you see this, post a poem.



Every morning the maple leaves.

Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts

from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big

and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out

You will be alone always and then you will die.

So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog

of non-definitive acts,

something other than the desperation.

Dear So-and-So, I'm sorry I couldn't come to your party. )
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Harley Quinn)
There's a fandom meme going around, and like a sheep I am going with my fleecy, adorable herd. In no particular order except when I came up with them:

1. Kaylee and Inara from Firefly respect and support each other, and do not try to enforce social norms that would imply a lack of approval. They're okay with having wildly different backgrounds, personalities, prospects and social status. They just admire each other for their different talents and offer support and encouragement. I like how simple they are together.
2. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy from the Batman animated series. They fight commit crime! Shenanigans ensue!
3. Sophie and Stacia from Promethea are snarky, catty, they have conflicting goals, and they STILL support each others rights to bang ancient hippies and talk to imaginary people and fight demons.
4. Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax from The Discworld books. Have you ever read The Sea And Little Fishes? Our true friends are the ones we rely on to keep us the kind of crazy that doesn't involve pitchforks and angry villagers.
5. Francine and Katchoo from Strangers In Paradise are complicated and simple, and they are the best friends In the whole of my Top Ten. I've always wished I had a friendship with any girl that was that enduring. Maybe I will, someday.
6. Deety and Sharpie from The Number of The Beast by Robert Heinlein are strong, independent women who don't let being step-mother-and-daughter interfere with being good friends, good captains and having the kind of solidarity you could bounce a quarter off of.
7. Sally and Gillian (yes I had to look up the spelling, stfu) from the movie Practical Magic. Now some people might be purists who say that sisters don't count toward a list of friends and to those people I say LA LA LA FINGERS IN MY EARS I CAN'T HEAR YOU. :P
8. Bonnie and her cousin Sylvia from The Wolves of Willoughby Chase because they were my first adventurous-girl-duo. Pushy, headstrong Bonnie and cautious, thoughtful Sylvia were my early pattern for what female friendships were supposed to look like.
9. Sara and Ermengarde from A Little Princess were like two sides to the same coin: one had all the cleverness and the other had all the luck. But they weren't jealous of each other, they just shared fortune and misfortune as though it never occurred to them not to pool their resources. I always thought that was how friendship should be.
10. Susan and Sally from the BBC TV show Coupling are not perfect people. Susan is sometimes suspicious and irrational; Sally is jealous, neurotic and vain. They understand and accept each other without recourse to self-deception about the other's faults. They love each other and rely on each other and while they have men in their lives they are more honest and trusting and solid together than with any man. Their characters are much more strongly defined by their friendship than by any of the romantic entanglements onscreen.


And to finish off, a poem for those of you who haven't seen it:
A Monstrous Manifesto by Catherynne Valente

If you are a monster, stand up. )
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
I'M IN UR LOUIZIANA, WATCHN UR OKE TREEZ GRO

In Louiziana I seez a oke tree growin,
All alonely wif moss, I saw what it did there,
Wif no companionz it growed there, leavz liek jazz hands,
And the waiz it has a flavor, is amused, pwning teh noobs, MOAR GAI, is liek a mini-me,
But I wonderz how can be liek Happy Cat all alonely there
Wif no kittehs, cuz I no can do dat,
INVISIBLE FRIENDZ!!1! O NOEZ!
So I brokes offa twig wif leavz relevant to mah interest
Rolled in moss (liek serious thread),
And bringed it hoem, and I has watched it liek Ceiling Cat,
I'z not tarded, no needs it to remind me of mah own kittehs,
(IT'S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE! TAKE THIS.)
Yet curious token is curious, makes me think of buttsecks;
Akshully, tho liev-oak sparkles there in Louiziana,
Alonely and won't get offa my lawn,
Makes leavz liek jazz hands 'til Caturday wif no kittehs near,
That I no can has.

was originally I saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing.
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
Buddha's Dogs

I'm at a day-long meditation retreat, eight hours of watching
my mind with my mind,
and I already fell asleep twice and nearly fell out of my chair,
and it's not even noon yet.

In the morning session, I learned to count my thoughts, ten in
one minute, and the longest
was to leave and go to San Anselmo and shop, then find an outdoor cafe and order a glass

of Sancerre, smoked trout with roasted potatoes and baby
carrots and a bowl of gazpacho.
But I stayed and learned to name my thoughts, so far they are:
wanting, wanting, wanting,

wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, judgment,
sadness. Don't identify with your
thoughts, the teacher says, you are not your personality, not your
ego-identification,

then he bangs the gong for lunch. Whoever, whatever I am is
given instruction
in the walking meditation and the eating meditation and walks
outside with the other

meditators, and we wobble across the lake like The Night of the
Living Dead.
I meditate slowly, falling over a few times because I kept my
foot in the air too long,

towards a bench, sit slowly down, and slowly eat my sandwich,
noticing the bread,
(sourdough), noticing the taste, (tuna, sourdough), noticing
the smell, (sourdough, tuna),

thanking the sourdough, the tuna, the ocean, the boat, the
fisherman, the field, the grain,
the farmer, the Saran Wrap that kept this food fresh for this
body made of food and desire

and the hope of getting through the rest of this day without
dying of boredom.
Sun then cloud then sun. I notice a maple leaf on my sandwich.
It seems awfully large.

Slowly brushing it away, I feel so sad I can hardly stand it, so I
name my thoughts; they are:
sadness about my mother, judgment about my father, wanting
the child I never had.

I notice I've been chasing the same thoughts like dogs around
the same park most of my life,
notice the leaf tumbling gold to the grass. The gong sounds,
and back in the hall.

I decide to try lying down meditation, and let myself sleep. The
Buddha in my dream is me,
surrounded by dogs wagging their tails, licking my hands.
I wake up

for the forgiveness meditation, the teacher saying, never put
anyone out of your heart,
and the heart opens and knows it won't last and will have to
open again and again,

chasing those dogs around and around in the sun then cloud
then sun.

~ Susan Browne ~
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (girl on girl)
It must be time to post more links!

News, Science, and Items of Interest:

How to Destroy the Book, by Cory Doctorow
"It’s basically a way of saying that copyright is nonsense, and that readers should stop paying attention to it, and only agree to these crazy, abusive licenses."

Celebrity Impact Rankings
"Justin Timberlake’s support for his favored charity is worth $9.3 million. Paris Hilton’s? $538."

True Love Waits... And The Rest Of Us Get On With Our Sex Lives
"I want to express my gratitude that in my world, having sex with someone, lots of times, before you settle down with them for the long haul, is generally considered, not only normal and acceptable, but sensible, obvious, and even self-evident."

Traffic Accidents As Social Interactions Gone Wrong
"The single biggest predictor [of driving-related deaths] was not statewide alcohol problems, safety belt use, number of older drivers or wealth, but the murder rate."

Poetry, Music, and Art:

Deadline - vid - technopop, fun with post-its, geekery

Beyonce vs. Michael Jackson - vid - Single Black and White Ladies

Bangarang - vid - found-sound mix from the movie Hook.

Beardyman - vid - 10 minutes of beatboxing AWESOMESAUCE.

BUIRNT NORTON by T.S. Eliot - poem - "At the still point, there the dance is."

The Funny, The Sick, & The WTF:

DC cops can arrest a woman for carrying more than two condoms. GenderFail * SexPositiveFail * STD-Fail = CDCFail.

Guerilla Gardening: did you know that most cities don't have ordinances against people beautifying their unused medians and marginal spaces by gardening in them?

Two Gentleman of Lebowski: if The Big Lebowski was written by William Shakespeare.

Poor Children Likelier to Get Antipsychotics
"New federally financed drug research reveals a stark disparity: children covered by Medicaid are given powerful antipsychotic medicines at a rate four times higher than children whose parents have private insurance."
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
Do anything to keep each other safe:
We'll sing better; we'll make sound hum like light.
And if you get lost in the lonely dark
Then I'll sing you a starry, starry night.

Happy Friday the 13th.

love

Sep. 3rd, 2009 08:11 pm
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Default)
Realize that when I say I love you, I am always speaking in the plural. I love all of the you's that you are and have been and will be. All [livejournal.com profile] rens_sanctuary's, all[livejournal.com profile] ultimatebryan's, all [livejournal.com profile] elucreh's that say the wrong thing, or the right thing, or don't know where to start and say nothing are loved by me.


Edna St. Vincent Millay. 1892–
God's World

O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

http://www.bartleby.com/104/130.html
flamingsword: None can take the stars who do not reach. (Take The Stars)
My week has been a winding road of lies
That I tell to myself when I'm asleep
So my mind, fining nothing to do, tries
To occupy itself while minutes creep.
But lately my sweet dreams don't stand a chance
Against my nightmare spirit, foul and mean,
And having no recourse but somnolence,
Must witness things horrific and obscene.
I've used insomnia for fun in past-
Done sleep dep like a drug to keep me wired.
If my good dreams are where I find true rest
I'd sleep a century to wake still tired.
Exhausted now, I'll turn the corner soon,
And leave caring behind to pass on through.
My unconcern will swallow up the moon,
And any light to guide my way to you
Will fade like the world's last dying ember.
How does slumber work? I can't remember.
flamingsword: None can take the stars who do not reach. (Take The Stars)
by Wislawa Szymborska



We have a soul at times.
No one's got it non-stop,
for keeps.

Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.

Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood's fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.

It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.

It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
or forms have to be filled.

For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.

Just when our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.

It's picky:
it doesn't like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.

Joy and sorrow
aren't two different feelings for it.
It attends us
only when the two are joined.

We can count on it
when we're sure of nothing
and curious about everything.

Among the material objects
it favors clocks with pendulums
and mirrors, which keep on working
even when no one is looking.

It won't say where it comes from
or when it's taking off again,
though it's clearly expecting such questions.

We need it
but apparently
it needs us
for some reason too.
flamingsword: Aziraphale, the flaming sword, and Crowley (Sunshower)
My head goes through wormholes to foreign existences and some of the places I wind up can only be quantified in rhyme. I'm not sure what this is, but I'm not sure I'd call it a poem. Whatever it is, it came from my brain. When I figure it out I'll let you know.

This Is Not A Love Song For P. Lewis Kingston )

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