tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69286848366347021082024-03-14T01:54:24.077-04:00Sylace Says YesSylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-81238514640474000122019-06-11T22:58:00.002-04:002019-06-11T22:58:30.676-04:00What Witches WeaveTake what you need and leave the rest,<br />
I sat barking like an aged crow,<br />
an Angel to my left asked my forgiveness for blocking what was right,<br />
and I had to think on that a spell.<br />
<br />
Bickering in the tongue of human nature,<br />
ten swords offered cuts at your choice of depth.<br />
A petty bargain to make when there is no escape,<br />
no limbo, harrassment, or bloodletting crafty enough,<br />
no, sanguine enough,<br />
to purchase a passage away from the slander.<br />
<br />
Bark, caw, pecking in the dirt like a dog unto my own errands of absolution,<br />
I did not choose to leave peace behind,<br />
but only picked a path through the fire, weaving a rope of straw pickings,<br />
Harping on the lessons you'd need,<br />
should anyone else bless the path to freedom.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-51298390814096313072018-11-16T17:34:00.000-05:002018-11-16T17:42:35.455-05:00Disney's The Nutcracker and the Four Realms: The Song in Clara's Music Box Egg I haven't posted in over a year. This last year of grad school to earn my MSN and APRN certification as a PMHNP has been all I could handle. But I have finally finished, shy of a few minor details left to wrap up. I graduate Dec. 7th and I am catching up on all the holiday spirit. I know that this will be one of my best holiday seasons ever.<br />
Today I went to see Disney's Nutcracker. I really don't understand why the critics aren't liking it. It is lovely, the costumes are just incredible, and the incomparable Misty Copeland dances a few short ballet sequences. I have never had the chance to see Misty dance, so I was thrilled to see her. The camera work on her feet at times allowed us to the the incredible precision and artistry.<br />
Morgan Freeman makes a wonderful Drosselmeyer. I like to think he is a magician who ended up working for Batman at Wayne Industries labs later on, continuing his inventions. Clara is given a Faberge' egg type music box by her mother, which plays a song. Later her father says it is the first song he ever danced to with Marie, Clara's mother. I knew I recognized the song, but could not call it to mind immediately. Google was no help at all, which is unusual. I did see that others are asking the same question that I did: what is the song in Clara's egg?<br />
There appear to be no answers as yet to anyone's queries. But I was sure I could find it because I knew I grew up hearing the song. My mother loved The Nutcracker. We had a 33LP album of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite with cover art which entranced me, and I would play it and dance in the living room. It made sense to me that the song in the music box would be from the Nutcracker, so I started listening on YouTube. I am sure I have solved the mystery.<br />
The music box is only played twice in the movie, so I can't be 100%. Leave me a comment if you think I am incorrect! But listen to this- and I think this is the song. It would make perfect sense...<b>The Pas de Deux</b>...the Dance for Two. A dance for two that she dances with her father.<br />
<br />
I hope this helps clear up the mystery if it is driving you crazy. Have a wonderful holiday season!<br />
<b>Sylace</b><br />
<br />
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<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-27505635110748927712017-09-17T22:06:00.000-04:002017-09-17T22:06:04.412-04:00Bigger by Far<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
As I leaf through the pages of
the swamp<br />the crocodiles have set their
gantlet teeth in rows<br />and watch.<br />Had I not read this book a
hundred times at night<br />through the bare threads of an
aging muslin sheet,<br />I should be lost<br />to their snap, and the slither
and roll to the death,<br />coming early like autumn this
year.<br />But this is not my first bedtime
story, and not my<br />first, nor second, mapping of wet
leaves on cracked pavement<br />which none will come to repair in
this life<br />and watching where you step is
tantamount…<br />to nothing…<br />but an inevitable buildup just
the same.<br /><br />The frost at the edges of your
mouth<br />bit me sorely, in times when what
I needed was a whiskey, or a kiss, or<br />a kind word<br />or really by god anything with a
slight tang of humanity<br />that one person might offer
another,<br />much less a beloved, so shrunken
and losing essential particles every hour.<br /><br />Madly and passionately, I am huge
now,<br />bigger by far than anything you
never saw and never looked to see,<br />and I am enveloped in an unending
kiss, and the intoxication of a love<br />I never dreamed,<br />consumed by sighs of relief and
joy so often that<br />I have to catch my breath. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-91052461975869541672017-01-23T11:54:00.000-05:002017-01-23T11:54:08.317-05:00In Greaves and in ArmorShe would like to say she has outgrown this armor<br />
but in truth it was never made for her at all,<br />
sheaths of beaten steel she polishes-<br />
a timeless ritual of women,<br />
in thoughtless anticipation of battles to come.<br />
<br />
She would like to say she can lay down this outsized monstrosity<br />
and find a clear stream to wash off the dirt,<br />
sweat of fear and unending exertion-<br />
but it cannot be laid down, not now,<br />
it is hers to carry even when she cannot recall where it came from.<br />
<br />
She would like to live in her own skin,<br />
or at least choose to make her own armor,<br />
designed to mold to her and move like water-<br />
responsive to her own call for protection,<br />
so unlike this ugly ruin of mail and grief.<br />
<br />
She would like to sing instead of cry, and smile instead of hide<br />
as she fights and she dreams for the right,<br />
to exist as she is, in the way that God made her-<br />
while so many other beating hearts tell her, <br />
that her battle is not real and her pain a cruel sham.<br />
<br />
She would like to be unbound, and know for sure<br />
if the armor is the problem,<br />
after all, it was not hers-<br />
does it work to keep her lost through the misadjusted visor,<br />
all a trap that's sprung inside, so she never sees the truth and flies away. Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-13927566151827999592017-01-01T21:51:00.000-05:002017-01-01T21:51:30.447-05:00Painting the Roses RedAs descents go, this was effortless.<br />
Each foot placed in a hold<br />
as sure as walking the pavement.<br />
Unexpectedly Alice tumbles,<br />
teacup over kettle,<br />
only to find the cake finale<br />
an indeterminate mystery.<br />
<br />
Our hearts won't be ruled.<br />
I imagine<br />
it is up to us to govern ourselves<br />
in the garden we were given, and<br />
the games will end<br />
when we tire and walk away.<br />
<br />
I don't want to forget this journey,<br />
the taking of this trip<br />
entirely by accident, as if I<br />
did indeed merely trip<br />
and fall,<br />
as if I<br />
could pick myself up and skip away-<br />
chalk paintings done in magic,<br />
bleeding color into the background.<br />
<br />
I don't look back. I can't look back.<br />
Like the leading man leaving the explosion,<br />
I stare ahead behind rose glasses.<br />
Every descent is not a disaster.<br />
Some are just epic daydreams,<br />
where white and red are both love.<br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-54533761025047862142016-11-07T19:27:00.000-05:002016-11-07T19:27:27.763-05:00The Lie in the Candle<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She bends at the waist and</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">False sprigs of cypress curl smoke </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">From the mouth of the oven, the brick cherry red</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As she smiles the two smiles that she has, maybe one, maybe
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Lost in her howl. </span></div>
Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-7210275990674104832016-09-09T20:31:00.000-04:002016-09-09T20:31:38.418-04:00The Dealwho made this deal that I would be in this skin for this life<br />
thin lines of grease paint ran off my fingertips into the cracks in the concrete<br />
as I sat there with my overpriced tea and orange confection of unhealthiness<br />
overhearing, no listening openly,<br />
to the sales pitch of an acting class hustler,<br />
guaranteeing this poor bastard he would be a star,<br />
dropping the Denzels and the Tom Cruise,<br />
talking Walking Dead and Lee Daniels.<br />
It was a great moment when he dared to correct her...<br />
all wrapped in her uninformed costume of middle age<br />
and he all of 20...<br />
but he knew to correct her when she said<br />
say the script says you play a preacher,<br />
are you going to be an Al Sharpton,<br />
are you going to be a Jesse Jackson,<br />
or a Martin Luther...<br />
he said, Martin Luther King, Jr?<br />
Honest to God did she not know the difference between the two?<br />
Honest to God did she not see he could play whomever he wants,<br />
if he wants,<br />
not just black preachers. I was appalled for him,<br />
but that's just me thinking I have any right to think anything,<br />
when I don't,<br />
because all I have is this skin I am in...<br />
but I do know better than that.<br />
When she told you to get over yourself<br />
about roles you said you would not take,<br />
I had to leave<br />
before she turned you completely into a whore.<br />
Keep your morals, keep your dreams,<br />
Best of Luck to you, kid.<br />
I'll buy a ticket...<br />
hell, I already did. It's called Starbucks. Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-49218535190815024922016-09-08T21:14:00.000-04:002016-09-08T21:14:43.303-04:00Vintage<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In ruined vineyards,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is possible it is better to be alone,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Es possible esta mejor ser solamente uno,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hiding insecurities and unchanging lacks of judgement,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">beneath the heavy hair of wanton vines,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">between the sighing rows of perspiring leaves,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">escaping the lucious desires of grapes begging to be picked,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">mingling inside the mouth- the jaded</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">richness of old wine and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the bitter sour of new wine that will never be pressed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nothing is beyond the imagination of tastes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Even the dying man- condemned-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">salivating his solitary last moments away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">in recall of divine repasts,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and vintages too pregnant with joie de vivre</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to be forgotten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Acres of sunflower heads</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">dried of their crowns and beauty,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">food for crows and old women,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">fit companions enough for the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">shadows that stalk the sunset,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">lengthening their presence toward the silvered olives,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">sinking low into soft chairs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">in the days when</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">nothing is left to be done,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">all consigned to the care of the seasons,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Es possible en la nieve lavarse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Es possible en la lluvia dormir. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sylace</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">July 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This was written on the train between Rome and Florence, as we passed miles and miles of vineyards and sunflowers in Tuscany, and one vineyard in particular was left in ruin...which I only glimpsed for seconds at 225 mph. But that is life, after all, going by so fast, and some of it in ruins. </span>Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-9509888089918710362016-05-12T20:19:00.001-04:002016-05-12T20:19:33.684-04:00Every Day That is Left<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Showered with dust</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">from fleet bee left-behinds-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">his crop-dusting feet,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so unwitting and wild,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the field a mad riot,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">sowed at last year's tea dance,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">floral progeny bow to the wind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and make pacts,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to live full this one Summer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to bloom bright until death,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to make love,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">like a flower and bee-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">every day that is left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">for Melanie A. and her bees</span>Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-5808817572849297332016-04-03T14:20:00.000-04:002016-04-03T14:20:47.791-04:00WheelI have bled in all the colors,<br />
Black disaster, glory green,<br />
Red ribbons on the church doors,<br />
Yellow ribbons on the trees,<br />
and Blue ribbons for the winners,<br />
few and far between.<br />
<br />
I have bled the same for ages,<br />
petty highs when life was sweet,<br />
orange shirts to mark the abject,<br />
violet bruises on their cheeks.<br />
One white sheet to lay your head on,<br />
rescue comes in sleep.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-82313871913482325582016-01-03T14:25:00.000-05:002016-01-03T14:25:03.765-05:00MarvelWe would like to think we stride through life,<br />
but for the most part we crawl,<br />
dragging ourselves daily<br />
through force of will,<br />
seeking to generate enough lift<br />
to overcome the gravity of our situation.<br />
<br />
We have all flown at one time or another,<br />
pervasive memory<br />
imprinting us with soaring beliefs<br />
we wear like black and white tattoos of lines,<br />
written in the script of ferocity,<br />
the block print of survival.<br />
A graphical representation of times<br />
our fathers tossed us high in the air,<br />
our mothers hugged us near and laughed<br />
at our antics,<br />
and all the times we won-<br />
<br />
The anxious battle within...<br />
The tedious battle without...<br />
<br />
The absolute marvel of the human mind's capacity to endure.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-3347292763140472452015-12-28T15:29:00.000-05:002015-12-28T15:38:39.141-05:00The Lineup of GhostsChildhood prepares us for this,<br />
The wet, the grey,<br />
The last heartbeats of December,<br />
The sound of wind and water<br />
through barebranch and pinetop.<br />
<br />
It need not be said<br />
To hold tight to what you love,<br />
Only to be added<br />
That we will all be called to<br />
The lineup of ghosts,<br />
To pick out the saintly from the slothful<br />
and take our own place,<br />
With only ourselves to know<br />
Where we belong.<br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-58438190408274527032015-11-20T14:48:00.000-05:002015-11-20T14:48:51.262-05:00Lost MermaidIt is hard not to go where the world takes you,<br />
the blood in the water is compelling,<br />
lustful,<br />
maddening,<br />
and full of frenzy to be a shark,<br />
voracious feeding is obligatory.<br />
<br />
I have lost my taste for chaos,<br />
I wish I could swim for the exit,<br />
but all signs point to the roundness of the globe.<br />
I am swimming in circles,<br />
making water angels with my arms,<br />
singing songs to myself and to those<br />
who would listen,<br />
stroke after stroke,<br />
mile after mile,<br />
until my eyes fill with waves no longer.<br />
<br />
<br />
T. Sylace<br />
praying for all people who are threatened in this world,<br />
may you never know what it is like to be terrorized.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-91543703561459881452015-08-05T10:12:00.000-04:002015-08-05T10:12:23.844-04:00ArizonaAcid tears once scoured my face<br />
the way only water and pain can-<br />
Deserts are beautifully dry,<br />
alive with death.<br />
<br />
Teeming with naked quills<br />
you fall upon in spite of yourself,<br />
scorpions who scuttle away<br />
even as you run after them<br />
begging for even a tiny sting<br />
to remind you there was once something<br />
so much kinder.<br />
<br />
Even the sand is red and coarse,<br />
my chapped hands stacking stones<br />
so stunning, their sunset striations<br />
fool me into thinking I am home,<br />
when what I want is rain-<br />
of all things to hope for in a desert-<br />
as these blisters and burns<br />
take the shapes<br />
of everything I could have been,<br />
and everyone I ever was.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-43357524179074888782015-06-18T04:29:00.000-04:002015-06-18T04:29:03.986-04:00DreamcatcherI don't know why...but I'm thinking of the amazing Dr. Libby tonight. A wonderful friend, teacher, and health care professional of dedication and devotion to her healing arts. This is for you, Libby!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dreamcatcher</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
What lies we tell ourselves,<br />
Crafted for this situation and that occasion.<br />
What bastards we are<br />
denying truths,<br />
obliterating beliefs of those before us<br />
as if we were the only ones<br />
who ever lived here.<br />
<br />
This place is not ours,<br />
We cannot hold it-<br />
only grow it-<br />
or be buried underneath,<br />
and THERE IS<br />
a whole world<br />
outside ourselves, that does not know<br />
nor care<br />
that we exist.<br />
<br />
I dream of millions,<br />
laughing, happy, enjoying the<br />
company of love.<br />
At peace with what they have.<br />
In harmony with where they are.<br />
<br />
A place where it is okay to be silent,<br />
it is okay to know<br />
that there is joy in everything-<br />
even death.<br />
And that the beauty of ruin and re-birth<br />
are one and the same.<br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-2954320478382357112015-05-20T06:03:00.000-04:002016-11-01T21:27:39.662-04:00At War in AmericaI just realized that my oldest son was born during the end of the Gulf War, "Desert Shield." I got pregnant some time in there obviously, and Guy's Dad was deployed in the aftermath during part of my pregnancy. Guy was born into a nation at war again, and which we have never stopped pursuing since then, in whatever guise we hawk it to the world. Under whatever invisibility cloak of "terrorism" it is thrust upon us. It doesn't matter what you believe after a while. You just have to come to see that it's all part of some big orchestration on a global scale in which you can neither see the conductor nor the instruments; all you can hear is the music- whether you perceive it as rancorous or sublime to your ears.<br />
<br />
Reid and Guy, my sons, have never known a world where America was not "at war" or deployed in heavy actions somewhere. Now all I hear on the radio from both sides of the media (as if there is anything but one side for the media which is the side of sensationalism and obfuscation) is how the Federal government's move to cut militarization of local police forces by limiting "surplus" military supplies and weapons provided to local forces is going to COST TAXPAYERS!! to "properly" arm our police and sheriffs.<br />
<br />
I rarely get political. There doesn't seem to be any benefit and all it brings is hopelessness and haters to the forefront. I vote. I practice politics as an ethical, responsible citizen. But as part of my profession, Registered Nurse, I have to stay out of most fights. Love all, Serve all- as the Hard Rock Motto goes.<br />
<br />
This time though, I just want to vomit. POLICE FORCES DO NOT NEED military grade weapons, helicopters, armor, etc etc etc. This escalation will never end. I see no end.<br />
My son is in the military. I was a military wife long ago. My sister died in the military. Some of the most important people in the world to me are serving. I support the military.<br />
<br />
I do not support any city or state police force belief that they need these armaments against the American people. I do not support taxation to arm our police against us. I would rather be gunned down in the street by a "criminal" than give up my freedom to feel that my police force is not my enemy. Yes, the police must be armed in appropriate, non-militarized fashion. Duh. And if you think crimes upon my person have not been committed, and I don't understand as a victim of crime, you would be terribly wrong. I have been victimized by criminals several times in shocking fashion.<br />
<br />
I am a normal mom professional female and I can attest to you that even 24 years ago I was assaulted by a police officer giving me a ticket. He actually hit me, and he got a way with it, even though my then military husband and I registered complaints and tried to pursue the issue. I have had great friends who are police. I still cannot support the militarization of our police forces. I have to stand up against what even the FEDERAL government can actually see needs to stop. I have never owned a gun, but in two weeks I am taking training classes and MJL is buying me a weapon that I will be properly trained to use. I will protect myself, I hope, and I respect what police do and what they sacrifice. But I do not give them leave to beat people to death in my name.<br />
<br />
So here's my poem of thoughts. A bit on the preachy side and overly rhyming, but I like it anyway.<br />
<br /><b>At War in America</b><br />
Wrapped in a cloak of chagrin and champagne,<br />
a whirl and a whisper<br />
a brief mist of fame,<br />
old sins, new wine, just to hide what is plain.<br />
<br />
There is no grief too deep<br />
Nor too wide for the slain.<br />
<br />
Aged in oak casks, rarer whiskeys are sought.<br />
Hammer stout nails,<br />
seal the treasure you bought.<br />
Indispensable masks to conceal honest thoughts.<br />
<br />
Watch your flanks, guard your rear,<br />
You're long dead if you're caught.<br />
<br />
When the price gets too steep,<br />
For the bullets we rain,<br />
Will we crumble in tears-<br />
Or revere- what we wrought.<br />
<br />
-----TSL- 2015Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-10640863668575536942015-05-14T05:01:00.001-04:002016-11-01T21:28:29.262-04:00BudapestI don't know if you all have heard of George Ezra yet. I hadn't till I saw him on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago. Well actually, I had heard the name, but had never heard him sing. I thought his performance of his song Budapest was so unusual and captivating, even though I could not exactly understand some of the words.<br />
<br />
They started playing the song on local Atlanta radio lately and I finally figured out the words I could not get..."I'd leave it all." And then once you understand them, it's like you can't see why you couldn't before- except to say that his English accent is so different than anything I am familiar with. I think this young man is tremendously talented and I will be following his career and music.<br />
<br />
I have some incredible memories of Budapest, and of thinking it was really the one place besides Berlin that I could see myself living in Europe- of the places I have been. I find it hard, for all my ability to describe things, to convey the sense of being truly unseen in that city. I explored on my own while Mike took a nap, until later in the evening when we went out together. It had been a long, adventure packed ten days already. As I was wandering, no one looked at me- no one appraised me and no one was "people watching," really. The residents of Pest seemed to simply mind their own business with a focus I never encountered before in Europe. I have to believe this is the result of thousands of years of Hungarian history, being conquered and subject to centuries of oppression- only the latest being the former communist regime.<br />
<br />
All I can tell you is that I have never felt so deliciously invisible in my life.<br />
<br />
Once I woke Mike up and dragged him out for some nightlife, and way too much strudel and shopping into the wee dark hours, the city took on a more usual bustle and joviality. The food vendors were jolly and the huge Christmas trees came to life with lights and all the shadows and sadness were dispelled.<br />
<br />
I think that's it- Pest that day was like a ghost town full of walking ghosts going about their business. I was just passing through like thousands of years of invaders. Just a new kind of invader, with a bunch of Euros and shopping bags.<br />
<br />
Either way, I really like George Ezra's song Budapest, which he wrote after missing his train connection and never actually making it to Budapest.<br />
I'm not sure I ever made it to Budapest. Maybe no one does unless they are born into it, for so much is hidden- you can just feel it. People come and people go, and the Hungarians just keep going on with their lives. I certainly tried my best to get off the path of others and make my own.<br />
<br />
<b>Budapest</b><br />
<br />
while you slept on the river<br />
I, alone, roamed the city<br />
a thrift sale of garments<br />
and music<br />
and strudel<br />
<br />
unseen and unknown<br />
just another white woman<br />
examining signs to<br />
lose myself deeper<br />
down the flat, narrow streets<br />
of Pest.<br />
<br />
your dreams were all torn, all<br />
tossed up and muddled,<br />
and dreams I was gone,<br />
you were lost back in time.<br />
<br />
My feet found the cafes, apples, sausage<br />
with coffee, people<br />
laughter, snowflakes-<br />
two people just freezing<br />
a moment for memory-<br />
those days on the Danube,<br />
Budapest.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-88999680647383881252015-05-09T04:50:00.000-04:002015-05-09T04:50:42.044-04:00Dinner DateBeasts of desperation<br />
assaulted her in her lilac dress,<br />
she may have worn it to just once feel pretty<br />
she may have worn it because she had no other,<br />
or in hopes of sharpening her skills at tragic avoidance,<br />
but his words came at her either way,<br />
carrying freight and fury,<br />
things held in too long or stories made up entirely,<br />
from a man who never intended to love her<br />
in the first place.<br />
<br />
Lovely and sad and beaten down,<br />
she ate her dinner anyway,<br />
maybe the hunger of anger consumed her,<br />
maybe the ages of missing were over,<br />
with freedom displayed on her plate,<br />
but he would buy her this last meal,<br />
while she meditated on Ephesians 5:25,<br />
and he broke the bread with her<br />
for all time.<br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-20009192647162780132015-05-04T03:33:00.000-04:002015-05-04T03:33:36.490-04:00Proof of LifePictures are proof that memories happened,<br />
I am in love with this picture of you.<br />
I have so little faith in myself sometimes,<br />
that everything must be captured.<br />
Bubbles of fear in golden champagne<br />
ants in the graveyard pocketing breadcrumbs,<br />
cherries awash the ground, laden the trees.<br />
I am so fearful I will not remember,<br />
or worse, that I am not real at all,<br />
nothing more than evaporating pixels<br />
in a wasteland of selfies.<br />
There must be more to recall than<br />
this is where I was, this is what I wore,<br />
this is what I ate, who I loved, who I miss-<br />
who was there when I was present,<br />
proof it happened,<br />
proof of life.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-62860239940888849152015-05-03T17:05:00.001-04:002015-05-03T17:05:56.181-04:00Baltimore<br />
Smash the pots, then stomp the flowers- a dozen<br />
tired and tawdry hours, in tens of lots,<br />
all mine,<br />
all ours.<br />
<br />
Drink it eat it, grow in size, one man's<br />
detritus burdens flies, a fly's conceit<br />
over man's demise.<br />
<br />
Death may be blue, in uniform- or maybe<br />
not, this roiling storm, obscures what's true,<br />
or truth,<br />
in any form.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-25672683149588608372015-05-03T03:14:00.000-04:002015-05-03T03:14:03.422-04:00MaydayMayday<br />
<br />
In better times, when love was fire,<br />
I held the reins, I leapt the mire.<br />
Cold was cold; it could be felt,<br />
but had no sting, and left no welt.<br />
<br />
So western now, so lost and loose,<br />
my heart and mind have called a truce.<br />
The cold is cold, the wind like ice,<br />
All fools get taken- once or twice,<br />
and need be shown their own device,<br />
<br />
For fools be known by their advice.Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-27057401119465397732015-05-02T04:47:00.000-04:002015-05-02T04:47:07.128-04:00BeltaneFor friends who help remind me of things to be done, and for Eva especially and forever.<br />
It's a full moon, and I have cats. ;-)<br />
<br />
<b>Beltane</b><br />
<br />
Willow sprigs and apricot<br />
a twining forth of<br />
smells like harping<br />
roses<br />
<br />
Fog so blessedly thick<br />
makes shoes unnecessary<br />
nothing can be felt<br />
between these worlds that touch<br />
<br />
It's only the door<br />
and the sea<br />
and the shadows<br />
<br />
Smell or no smell, heart or no heart,<br />
runes that read- cross the ocean<br />
bones that say- gamble not, gamble not.<br />
<br />
Time and her sceptre<br />
bask in this age of loss.<br />
Humanity spinning-<br />
Mortal, Immortal- immaterial and<br />
all<br />
of a piece together.<br />
<br />
What would be asked of the oracle<br />
if even a question were prompted-<br />
For in this she stands always at ready,<br />
Bathing in tales of the crises,<br />
with fortune for those who will come.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-89757059998876498902013-10-27T17:48:00.002-04:002013-10-27T17:48:31.076-04:00Ice Winelong past time to go<br />
the wind still whips past me<br />
my hair sticks to my lips<br />
even though they are dry<br />
like the leaves in the frost.<br />
<br />
a concert of ancient instruments<br />
forged from metals I can't name and stripped<br />
trees pared to nubs, calls to me,<br />
music I am hearing in between the soft beats of<br />
hearts- I feel responsible for people<br />
who do not care what happens to me.<br />
<br />
I dream of endless acres of grape leaves<br />
undifferentiated save their hypnotic undulation<br />
from the heaviness of their fruit and the<br />
pressure of the wind upon them,<br />
so little time before the freeze.<br />
<br />
time to pick, time to capture,<br />
time to choose<br />
and then forget. Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-4120535974961093712013-10-07T15:39:00.000-04:002013-10-07T15:39:31.307-04:00Wire Wings and Punk Fairy CostumeHad to leave class early today because I have a tooth abscess. Not a happy camper, but my dentist was super nice and helpful. We have to get the infection out, then we will try to have the lil toothy hang in a few more weeks before he has to be replaced with Mr. Artificial Tooth! I need a super hero tooth graphic here!<br />
OMG I love the internet. Four seconds and I have a (um stolen kinda) super hero tooth graphic!!<br />
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If the picture is credited across the front, is that stealing a graphic? It's credited and you can't use it to sell anything. I am totally not sure on this one. Anyway! To the costuming portion of the blog, as I feel too horrid to study.<br />
<br />
I wasn't going to DragonCon this year, but Andrew talked me into it and Guy was willing to go. Neither of us had any time to make new costumes, so Guy was Mario again. People go crazy for his Mario, but he says this was the last year. I have this lovely corset MJL bought me and I always wear the purple side, but I've wanted to throw together a costume that uses the blue and silver side, and I've wanted to attempt to make interesting wire wings for a while now. So..blue and silver wire wings made in just a couple of hours.<br />
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Here are some pics then instructions:<br />
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These wings are delicate and kept getting squished by people who didn't see them, so Guy had to adjust them a lot, but if you are going to a party or Ren fest or someplace where people are not crammed in like cattle, or making for trick or treat, then they would be fine and are very very light.<br />
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I didn't know if I would get the usual great comments about my wings this time, but a lot of people told me they were gorgeous. You can't see how pretty the glass beads I used were. Really sparkly and each dangle charm moves constantly. I made a necklace and earrings to match.<br />
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Yes, that is colored duct tape I used to secure the centers. It worked perfectly and I covered it with felt. I use a system of two hair clips (for styling) layered within felt to secure them to my corset. This way there are no arm straps. I believe this is 14 gauge wire. Heavy enough to be strong, but flex easily. I just took a long length and brought the ends together, and it naturally forms a teardrop. No need to force it at all! Then used<br />
some 16 or 18 gauge wire in colors to secure the loops a bit together where they meet.<br />
<br />
I wove the top wings with wire and made dangles of glass beads placed on the longest length jewelry making pin heads. Look for these where jewelry supplies are in the craft store. I hung each dangle at an intersection of the wires and wrapped it around so the wires ended up very secure as they were wired at so many points.<br />
Added a couple of wire accents with extra wire that I just let uncurl from the roll naturally. These took me about three hours total. I think I spent longer choosing the beads! Put a premade crochet flower in the center and threw some extra beads on a wire loop. <br />
<br />
I like pigtails personally. I never have a lack of fun in pigtails. Hope this inspires you to see what you can do with wire, especially if you have more than three hours to work on them!Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6928684836634702108.post-56791460145922219752013-08-05T20:03:00.000-04:002013-08-05T20:03:17.467-04:00Post MortemAugust is wise enough to lie down and wait,<br />
like a dog panting watchfully for its master<br />
until the grass grows up around his paws.<br />
This year the master will not return- he sickened and died<br />
over the course of a short sweet summer,<br />
from complications of a broken heart and too many lies and sugar.<br />
<br />
Watching the lost dog is akin to feeling an old wound<br />
when the barometer is low, an ache in the feet or the hands,<br />
that brings memories- heat lightning and trellises made for climbing.<br />
She will watch the stars come out and the stars rise high,<br />
and she will watch the dog turn and go,<br />
and August will pass by kindly, awaiting its turn. <br />
<br />Sylacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07373458901709533786noreply@blogger.com0