momentum

I feel like it’s fairly obvious that I’m obsessed with love…

April Resistance
Untitled #14

love is so slow, it snails
til it can march, til it can spring.
the sky flings endless cloudscapes
under which birds still sing.
another word for chord is
context, notes worth fingering.
quarter century on and still
believing anything.
ever onward, two or one,
pentacled knight and king.
another word for love is
patience, green sprout uncoiling.

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am writing.

just a short piece today.

April Resistance
Untitled #10

there’s a quiet purr, to a library.
that mumble of unchecked books,
words timidly mewling plus
the purr that rocks out of one’s
own chest, from quietude of work.
so what is work? the knowing
of what needs to be done, what keys
to be tapped, what mice to be caught.
and how they squeak! read me, read me!
and how the purr responds, I long to.
first let me pay my fines.

heavy-wanded

I missed a couple days of the challenge, with work and low energy and life in general I haven’t been capable of writing. but that’s okay.

I wrote today’s piece thinking about a lot of different things. my tarot pull, for one.

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I’m a little confused about how the first card applies, but the Page of Pentacles and Ace of Wands have similar messages for me: to believe in my creative abilities and ideas, and to keep fighting for the right to use them. even if fighting just means surviving one day at a time.

I’m also listening to the Romeo+Juliet soundtrack, which I’ve been vibing with a lot today. there’s a part of me that is ready to look for love. there’s a bigger part of me that’s afraid to seek it. my record of love is long and jagged and disappointing, and I’m trying to break out of those trauma patterns. trying to step away from my old vision of love and be ready for equity and communication and respect and care.

April Resistance
Untitled #9

give us this summer. body been shredded.
just a nut (enclosed). a note. barred.
i’d barf. be held. a constant ringing.
the service injury. dark sparkler. impinging.
watch the shadows. or watch their edges.
i will no longer be minor unless it’s Bm.
scrabbling spiders, fretting over squires.
now i’m the spider’s web. shredding.
let me be made again, heavy-wanded.
linger over fenders. 80mph fingers.
the bellying out. the baby’s breath bouquet.

(this poem doesn’t feel done. missing something. a final line. maybe. hmm. but that’s why i love this challenge. i’m not going to come out with 30 poems, but godamn am i going to come out with a shit load of drafts i can continue to finetune for journal submissions in the future)

for anyone who reads my blog, how do you feel about integrating my poem posts with ‘blogging’ about my life, including how my mental illness affects me? also, including my tarot pull is new. I want to use this blog to talk about tarot more in the future, this is sorta a test run!

if you follow and leave a comment I will probably follow back! especially if you blog about: poetry, nature, tarot, mental illness, queer life, and/or nb/trans issues.

breathe

dear blogging world, today was a really hard really dark day. I’m back to work after a month and a half break, and though it’s only part time, I’m dealing with both a hand injury and battling depression and anxiety every day. it’s been a struggle. I didn’t write a poem today. but while browsing through old notes I found this piece… I have no idea when I wrote this, but I really needed to read it, tonight, right now.  thanks, past me. remember to thank your past selves for getting you to wherever you are today.

April Resistance
Untitled #5

Give me back to me
Unbind my sick brite eyes
Dampen the tip tap of typing fingertips
Feed my skin the sun it hungers for,
I am my only god/goddexx
Give me back to me
Froth like freed unicorns from a raging night sea
Under Haggard’s castle
Give me back to me
Quiet the din of men’s voices, men’s wants
Chop them down at point blank day one don’t flinch
Don’t give an inch
Give life back to me
Bend at the knees
Untuck chin
Extend musculature
Lift with the core
Breathe
Give me back to me
Give me my femininity
Give me my masculinity
Let it all be pink
Let it all be me

 

thanks for reading.

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o.k., cummings:

took me awhile to feel motivated to poem today. this was inspired by a line from e.e. cummings, #46 from 100 Selected Poems, which begins, “love’s function is to fabricate unknownness”. I’ve included his poem in its entirety after the cut. cummings was one of the first poets I ever read, and I still have a hard time finding concrete meaning in any of his poems, but I always appreciate his obsession with love.

April Resistance
Untitled #3

the deep shallow of apocalypse may still be avoided,
love or no love; we may yet heave
our great accomplishment, that trash tectonic
from the spin of the pacific’s gyre, clean the sea;
it might not be too late to undo the hate
gargling and stewing in the gullet of the White house;
we may yet make meaningful room in our headlines
for trans accomplishments and not just our deaths
as afterthought. that may be. love or no love.
but if    love’s function is to fabricate unknownness   ,
then try me. let us unknow the unfuture. let us
fabricate our own, beyond the wingtips of vultures.
let us resist like the ocean, squeamish, momentous;
let us prism like crystals, resilient stones.

Continue reading “o.k., cummings:”

Correspondence

April Resistance
Untitled #2  

an envelope
is natural, an enclosure
like a hive.

lips fold over reams
of exclamations,
lick the seal.

a roomy home for one
so small. a bee could
brew there

pollinating verbs,
crossconjugating miles
into meaning.

it’s sweet, the black yel
low black yellow spiral
and the sting. pollen

is patience and high
expectations. yellow,
pillowy, sincere.