Filigree

I couldn't let the month of September pass by without posting at least once. I have never missed a month yet.
Starting back to school has been a huge effort. It's getting to be too funny how many people tell me they had no idea what it took to become an RN.

I'm having a bit of trouble typing because I sewed through my finger earlier this evening. hahhaha...it happens. Watched Captain America last night on DVD. Yawn. Visually stunning, though.

I have thought all month about things I wanted to write about, but honestly haven't had one spare moment.
Between class, clinicals, reading, studying and assignments, I believe I am not exaggerating to say I am putting in 14 hour days.

I always post about Dragon Con, which was over Labor Day weekend. I did not break anything this year thank goodness. Security was tighter there this year, which means there were far fewer real freak shows. What a shame. Freak shows are what make Dragon Con a blast. Ok, I'm exaggerating.

I just wanted to say I am not gone. It's important for me to keep up with this.

It's nine pm. I've been studying all day. I feel like I should keep at it till I get my clinical journal done, and I need to look at dosage calculations for insulin. I'm trying to keep balanced. I still do creative things...bake things. On that note I should attempt a poem. It may be awful. I'm just going to let the chips fall and see.
Who can it hurt? Indeed.



Filigree

"Does this hurt?" she asked and asked sincerely but the reply was muffled.
Muffled by the sleeve of a dusty olive sweater,
muted by the passage of time in diffuse pain undocumented,
an erosion of what were nerves at the ends of appendages that used to connect
to something that recorded this and cried out, but no more.
She passed him a paper cut out puppet, a flat lacy man on a stick
reminiscent of black Thai shadow shows and all the humanity they portray
with only a simple filigree human on a stick.
"Show me where it hurts...show me with the figure." She wanted to help, would have helped
but a truckload of eiderdown had grown in his throat,
and binders the weight of a hundred books kept the sounds under the quilt.
He ranged his gaze through a routine of pleading to intense disinterest,
It was all he could do, after all.
Sometimes all she could do was hold him in her arms.
"I know, baby."
I know.


-Tara Sylace

Aries Full Moon September

I Swear

time removes what stands in the way,
obstacles melting to stains of forgotten origin,
dung-beetles marking the passage of the hours
in circus rolling mnemonic pantomimes.

nothing moves so much at once as
nothing moving for so long,
then titanic length spasms down the fault lines,
and the landscape is unrecognizeable

to anyone who ever passed this way before,
feeling the disorientation that proceeds a leap,
the dislocation that follows a landing,
I swear time knows more than we do.

A Star is Born

There are no words for how I love etymology.

Isn't that ironic? The very definition.

Play on words doesn't even begin to paint

the joy of a medium with no boundaries,

and no drying time- only the constraints of 26 letters,

which is none at all really, just switch to another language,

other sounds, an entire galaxy of words, more words than stars

for look at what it takes to create a star, but I can create a word

instantaneously and effortless to boot.

I wonder if you wanted that to say effortlessly...if your desire for symmetry

drove you somewhere a tiny bit off,

for once I do not have to care; this is mine.

Packed up in and amongst a catalogue of whys

and roots and prefixes 

connotations, allusions, questions always of where 

did that word come from,

whose mind, whose need- whose need to express something 

never before expressed, to someone listening

and in that moment

a star is born.

Over Coffee

seen from the corner of an eye,

maybe past a few wrinkles,

is a long view into the past.

the mind thinks

but it sees forward, and backward...

obsessively backward...

how often is one moment relived,

rethought,

reimagined.

the mind forgets the periphery,

all the eye takes in besides,

all the meat of the world unchosen.

not selected for memory, out on the fringes,

but the more real perhaps,

for all its solidity, in never being questioned, at all...

Spice

my kindle fire did it to me again...reformatted my poem. So here it is again in proper form...

 Spice

 So I lay burdened
 With myriad alternate realities in which I make other choices,
 Dreams of shining salmon, corset strings just a pinch too tight,
 Fear fierce like Turkish coffee...
 Gold and trinkets for sale in a Marakkesh market,
 Brass weights, brass scale,
 And measuring up.
 Genie or gypsy, Genie or gypsy?
 As the knife thrown to the pegboard by my head says
 This is what you are.

"Free Wish"

An eyelash fell in my teacup,
     as I wearily rubbed my eyes,
My free wish sank in the blackness,
     another auspicious surprise.
I took in the bleak situation,
     I took in the eyelash tea, too...

Regardless of which sort of sorceress you are,
Some potions you cannot unbrew.


......written while on another interminable, maddening call with Comcast.

The Last Comedian

Someone said I write of trees.
I am sure the last marksman in the woods is glad of my coverage,
for the news is untrustworthy
and days are dark.
No scandal lurks under the bark,
save a beetle avoiding my wrath
since he chewed a path directly through the center of my strawberry.
The resident genius here says it smacks of pioneer living,
reaping the fruit of the land, swilling it down, seeds be damned.
Tall as a tree himself,
the last comedian in the woods
is amply supplied with marshmallows...and sticks,
wanting only for his company of fellows,
to start the show.