"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@wantondestructionandsuch
I’m Living
The moon yassified light under dark of night Hunty queens basked in its motherrrly glow It gave tea, no shade, warm to the touch Serving ginseng campfire pit realness A beacon for the squirrel friends to dance Walk the duck house down boots, besties
My publishing project started in 2018, and perhaps aptly set out in a poem…
I have managed to amass tangible evidence of project execution:
Ghosts frequently haunt the places we desire the most in our search for solitude: our memories. Our ghosts are personal, intimate, and often
Imbalance is a modern poetry collection for the seated generation. Poems to help deal with sitting down, being seated, and the frequently fa
Bumblebee is a poetry collection for dark times. Poems to help deal with fear of being still, combatting the urge of constantly being on the
Five years later and with these three poetry collections completed I am now at a crossroads. Where do I go from here?
I am grateful to everyone who has supported me so far by purchasing my books and promoting them on Tumblr and elsewhere. Your continued support is much appreciated 💜
Read to Filth
It’s the dead skin torn apart From glossed pink lips Impaled by gnashing teeth The taste of bloodied glitter Draws my tongue to drink A taste of the feasts to come
Mascara-laden eyes trained To blend shadows in its periphery They have walked the libraries past And blinked when Paris burned Years have built a city on my face Roses upon hills to rest the child That no longer sees what I see
I float on pillars upon my feet Daring enough not to fall Nor to fear the ground I stand We drag our studded gowns Two starlights on the fields Pulled to each others knives Patient for the grass to burn
Laughter ensues and we bow Before our loving audience Read to filth for vicious sport Yet royalty must straggle on Crumpled gold in hand Spines stiffened by whales The heels are ready to click Lips pursed, eyes ready to read
What is your favourite or something you find most inspiring topic wise to write about.
I find that I'm really drawn to the idea of worship and divines, especially when I write poetry. Even when I don't mean to, it feels like whatever topic I've written about, I'm on the church pews trying to visualize the little details of a piece of art or smell the mildew under carpet floors. All for the purpose of rejoicing the idea of all those things.
Whether it's writing about the love for a skeleton I never met before or the isolation of living in a lofty stone box, there's something so transcendental about how we end up in these circumstances or how we come to evolve from those experiences. I like equating all of these things to heaven or hell or something more abstract than those ideas.
Personally, I think the challenge that comes with writing about the abstract is balancing it with the concrete. It is why, lately, I've been working on drawing inspiration from more typical, everyday events when usually I would write about the nature & the arts. I would love to be able to blend all of these aforementioned elements harmoniously but it's a work in progress!
Hope that answers your question! ^_^
Sino Ka ‘Pre?
The nocturnal tongues seek the spice To stir the dull senses against sleep When all else have fallen onto their backs So I crack the kaffir leaves with fire A solitary light condensed into smoke While the breath of earthy citrus exhales Wiccan embers muted by the need to hide Towards the shroud of after-midnight sky
It shatters into exhaustion of the eyes Both windows left open for the Curiosity in the shadows In the shadows that I do not own Another puff, another hour For the watcher in the rough
Behind the shades of the banyan My solitary binge begins and ends As long as Man subscribes to their nature There’s always more to see, more to miss
I have a book I’ve self published it’s called The Morning Dove Blues. This is my first book I’ve ever published at the age of 28. It’s a 56 pages of poems I wrote during the start of COVID lockdown.
It’s just a way to begin a step towards publishing.
https://poetizer.com/book/b8be3cd7-e87e-4a7e-9380-2f2f9534ada5
It would mean a lot to me if you shared it and gave it a look.
Thank you
Beatification
They told me you were more than bones Pieces of a picture that used to be whole It just happened suddenly - life then death You were never finished, just left behind
I held your skeleton and laid it to rest On a fresco where heaven became home Broken had lost its translation in the art You were more than disturbed hollows
Our eyes now look up to your vibrance The way we can see your bright eyes Shining through to wonder at this new life You were always more than just bones
Brutalist
I lived in stone boxes perched Cut with butter knives Concrete spread on a surface Palaced in perfect slices The bones that cradle the crib They shake in grey tones Walls that sing in gravel A home made for the grounded
Still I walk barefoot A shy rendezvous to the bedroom Before I can dance in my box We still listen to muted notes The stone whispers close by God forbid a stray sigh A taste of warm breath That fell to the floor
Soon I’ll leave the nest Every last gasp a drop That kept falling onto A crack whipped into a shape Hugging the heartlines On the soles of flat feet A taste of warm breath That softens the song
The Founding
We sketched our borders Into cornerstones Against a bleak canvas An outlined terrain To offer refuge From routine unrest
Between four perfect corners, There settled our freehold state Of polychrome characters Of manmade background layers Of which I could not tell if We ourselves were still concrete
I saw where the roads went Veering away from the colorless tyrannies We reclaim our nomadic roots And venture between the flat surfaces Of the bleak real and intangible surreal
Against the Wall
We kissed within those few seconds Behind a cobblestone alleyway The grit beneath our toes a reminder Of the prying eyes that take moments away From an attraction heterogenous from theirs
He put me against the wall, held my cheeks Warmth under the shadow of the sun It was blood rush, I swear, and nothing more Just the color red making things feel like I like “like” him more than I’m supposed to
Now I’m back inside where I should be My sleeves returned to the closet No one would think it is anything else Other than a costume for Halloween After all, what power is in a jacket Made to hide the hollow in your heart?
Night under Blood Moon
There is an ancient hunter roaming Your silent forests and fields Armed with a knife on their tongue And burning sage between teeth The Trail Of Smoke And Spirits Dance
They skin the vices of their prey Harvest the flesh of the sinner A ghastly beast untethered Its corpse a mangled mess to return The spirit to be sacrificed For repentance and renewal
Listen to the rustle of the wind You might hear curl of the blood moon Remember to bar the doors Watch your windows for eyes that stare back
The EDSA Highway Ruby Ford
I sat before the dull allure of the red glow Equal to a bass bellow seeking attention From the sleeping eye in the sky Who switched off the sun for the night
The path was made flat and boring Grey pavement bleeding bright rubies I was stuck, waiting to run from the river Surrounded by faces shrouded from light
Destiny has promised something beyond The ocean of Exodus from the Nile I dream of the momentary blink of dark To rest my eyes from the horizon’s bleak sight
obligatory sadpoeming time
(sorry i don’t have a better way to phrase it, i’ll think of a better title later i never will)
I’d like to be somebody’s dream boy With a face that could ignite a shy smile And Sharpie stains on my fingers When I feel like doodling on your arm
We could talk like goofy kids About unfinished homework The sun being our worst enemy How you feel like you’ll never make it Who we think is the hottest Tele-tubby
Then you can wake up With happy wishes On the tip of your nose You breathe imagination And it will stick with you Until you breathe again
I don’t want to be real I just want to be part of a dream Where sleep is my existence And I live when I am wanted
Pareidolia
How do I know I’m being watched? Every single eye not pointed to me is Latched onto my twitchy mind Like the shaking leg bashing the wood Of the floor beneath me as I wait
I (can’t see you)
Care to reveal yourself yet? Or Am I your guilty pleasure to be followed Nightly? Incognito under dark mode
Second after second of illumination Exacted upon my character, stored in an Enclave of supposed truths I hide
You remain blind to my most basic fact: Open the book with my name and receive Unto yourself a story everyone already knows
Cold War Crisis
Agent Kursk was decommissioned While on duty to intercept a cipher
The border beyond the heartland Hid many sentiments under our noses
The dogs shall chase after them A trail lukewarm enough to trace
We found some crumpled up secrets More words to read between the lines
But none of which could say the truth About what you really wanted to say
Of all the things we could hide Why did we keep ourselves In a state of secrecy
https://archive.org/details/bitsavers_decBooks10Mar75_26006648
https://archive.org/details/basic_computer_adventures
https://archive.org/details/More_BASIC_Computer_Games
https://archive.org/details/Basic_Computer_Games_1978_David_Ahl
Found a few versions :)
For Whom Does Notre Dame Toll?
The humans have abandoned their temples And retreated into their personal sanctuaries Where escape is sold at a cheaper rate than The charity of mercy or judgement God rents His hallowed grounds to the druids A deed signed with berry blood in good faith
They seemed curious at the images before them Cathedral glass glowing the stories of the Christ Venerations of saints and gospels of two millennia How did worship peter out into rigid religion?
A tribute was to be performed for the life Of the man who died for the humans’ sins Throats humming deep the hymns As the moss crept in silent footsteps The flora recognised the old masters’ home And bloomed a beauteous sorrow To mourn the necropolis across His Kingdom
They were not of the same ilk or clan Nor did they share the same supper But life was sacred to all who walk the dirt Evident was the nature of decrepitude For those pains, they kneeled to the floor And chanted songs to resurrect the hallowed grounds
O Heavens! O Sky above! Your Earth loves you still! O Heavens! O floating Sea! Kyrie eleison, kyrie eleison
