the koan of writing
“The significant story possesses more awareness than the writer writing it. The significant story is always greater than the writer writing it. This is the absurdity, the disorienting truth, the question that is not even a question, this is the koan of writing.” ~Joy Williams
from the essay, “Uncanny Singing That Comes from Certain Husks”
You for Muse
Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All), a depiction of the god of love, Eros. By Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, circa 1601–1602 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Love poems never suited
me. Too un-sentimental,
a realist, an artist. I
wrote of concrete moments,
never tried sonnets or
romantic poesy. One
must have unrequited
love for that — a permanently
present, happy love says
little. Lives content not to
speak — but, lost un-held
things demand words. Need
expression of absence. Loss
or broken dreams demand
a voice.
Love poems never called
to me. Too realistic, too jaded
for fairy tales. I need
to crave the unavailable,
must have gut-wrenching
deep-set pain to push
the words forward, out of heated
muscle, flesh, heart – the poet
in me found you for Muse -
this reminds me of Greek
mythology, love-hate
relationships with the Oracles.
You will be
like other myths, will
grow distant,
un-useable. With time
an old god no longer
believed to exist. Your
shimmering marble
covered in moss,
decay crossing cream,
old water stains and
some new graffiti
will color you unimportant.
April 2011
Related articles
- 14 Great Poets on Their Favorite Love Poems (flavorwire.com)
- Love Poem Links – Barrie (robertojuarez.wordpress.com)
- “The Me Bird” by Pablo Neruda: An Animated Interpretation (openculture.com)
Rembrandt and musings on modern man
Two weekends ago, two of my girlfriends and I visited the newest exhibit at the Frist Center for Visual Arts: Rembrandt and the Dutch Golden Age. It was interesting to see the influence of Protestantism on art after the Netherlands broke from Catholic Spain, and while still life isn't my favorite, there were lots of other pieces I really enjoyed.
Welcome 2013! Insights and Goals
Happy New Year to all my readers and a warm Welcome to the year 2013!
It’s been a busy few weeks in the world: we’ve all made it through another doomsday prophecy without incident, the US Government (finally) managed to reach a compromise to avoid absolute financial ruin, and a new year beckons with as much promise and hope as we decide to give it! I’m excited and looking forward to making 2013 a superb year and I hope you feel the same!
I don’t usually do resolutions, but I do want to share a few insights and goals for 2013 with you – some ways of being more mindful of the life I’m living that you might find useful as well.
Sometimes you have to take a step back from things to gain a clearer perspective.
It feels especially good to be back at the keyboard and blogging again after an almost six-month hiatus. I’ve always believed the saying that, “writing worth it’s salt carries meaning.” Regretfully, we lose the meaning in things sometimes because of the demands we make on ourselves. Life gets hectic, we get tired, writing becomes more about necessity (must keep posting on schedule, etc.) than it does about content and meaning. I’ve discovered lately that it’s okay to rest, think, meditate, and stop for a minute. I reached this point back in the summer and realized I needed to take a break from the hectic pace of my blogging and career. Actually, I needed to give myself permission to stop and sort some things out (which I’ll talk more about in coming posts). I want to continue to be mindful of my tendency to let the duties of life get out of hand. This year I’ll try to focus on slowing down and allowing myself breathing room. I’ll seek quiet, peace, and contemplation more often as part of my daily life and ritual.
Some prayers have already been answered. You may already have the answer you seek.
I have a habit of focusing on the “what next” so much in life that sometimes I forget the “now.” The idea of goals and future changes are wonderful, but it’s easy to miss the enjoyment and answers in the present moment if you’re always looking ahead. I want to be wholly present in my daily life and find that days beauty and joy. Each TODAY, in many ways for me, is an answer to a previous prayer – the gift of new awareness and growth I sought in the past come to fruition. I want to recognize and enjoy that as I move through my days, trusting that the next answers will one day come in a distant TODAY down the road.
Gratitude for the people in your life is a deep well of love. Remember to tell them what they mean to you.
I’ve had a sister since I was two years old. Our relationship has survived and flourished during numerous hard times and good times. We share a unique and special bond – a bond neither of us shares with anyone else on earth. We are the only sister we have. Now, in our 40’s, we understand how truly precious the gift of each other has been. We each have the other end of the rope, will be there for each other and love each other no matter what the future brings.
My sister is truly one of the greatest gifts in my life and I am grateful for her love and presence, for the beautiful and intelligent woman she is. I hope to spend more time in the coming year reminding her of that, sharing thoughts and conversations about how we are and where we are. I want “sister time” to be a priority this year, and I hope to plan a vacation where the two of us can take a break from it all and go have fun. I am looking forward to this new phase of our relationship with deep gratitude and much joy. I want to remind my sister more often in 2013 how special she is and how very much she means to me!
So, that’s it for now. A few insights and goals – I want to do my part to make this a banner year. What about you? Resolutions, insights, or thoughts? How do you plan to make 2013 a spectacular year?
Wishing all of you a wonderful New Year filled with joy! ~Marissa
Picture: Magic Window by Phatpuppy
We Once Knew Purity
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012, vis~a~vis on August 11, 2012
Like that elegant lily
white and tender — soul
bared in vulnerability.
We once were tender
white-skinned fragile,
our tiny souls groping for
and gravitating toward
all that was fresh and beautiful,
unaware of dark clouds
drifting toward us, storms
and deep-black-rain-caused
mud. Streaking, splotching –
baby-tender opaque skin –
our souls trapped in a
place of harsh-red silence
covered in deep-dark pain.
We once knew purity
and a place before sex,
lust, violence, rape. That old
white candle flickering
inside opaque souls, we
held the light tighter
with each day passing,
terrified always of a time
when lights were snuffed out.
Like that elegant lily
white and tender –
denied water under
a harsh orange heat.
The slow-burning death –
crinkled-black-brown
burning, until an almost
desiccated-withered brown flower falls,
from yellowed-drought-stem to ground.
We once were tender
white-skinned fragile
child-bodies. Bloodied
bruised to brown-purple,
rag-mouthed crusty blood
spilling across dollar store
dirty-worn sheets.
We once were like
that elegant lily,
white and tender souls,
and we sang, laughed,
cried, survived
that slow-burning death,
bled-out innocence marking
sweated-on, dirt-covered
dollar store sheets
in a virgin-red smear.
~July 2012
Artwork: Gladis110 at Photobucket can be seen here.
Other Reading:
- How Do I Write From My Soul? (smokyzeidel.wordpress.com)
Someday
Reblogged from survivingmiddleage:
Amazing how a song says everything in your heart when you can't say it.
"Someday"
You can go
You can start all over again
You can try to find a way to make another day go by
You can hide
Hold all your feelings inside
You can try to carry on when all you want to do is cry
And maybe someday…
The Poet by Ralph Waldo Emerson
A moody child and wildly wise
Pursued the game with joyful eyes,
Which chose, like meteors, their way,
And rived the dark with private ray:
They overleapt the horizon's edge,
Searched with Apollo's privilege;
Through man, and woman, and sea, and star
Saw the dance of nature forward far;
Through worlds, and races, and terms, and times
Saw musical order, and pairing rhymes.
Feeding Molek (for 100-million-girls blog)
Posted by Marissa in Human Rights, Poesye, Poetry, vis~a~vis on July 21, 2012
The rock still stands –
growth of bushes,
briers, and half-dead flowers
covering its north side –
the south side shows
its grooved-smooth-gray-top,
this ragged side, chipped,
well-worn from use.
~ * ~
For thousands of years
it was a place of
fresh-born scrub-bushes
and twisted-tiny
crawling roses. The rock
at noon, the hottest hour
of the day, so it
would pull the seeping blood
deep into its skin.
Faster than room and space made –
bodies slain and pushed aside –
they lined up with,
the crying children
held tight to breast, shoulder, face –
whispering, “remember the honor,
necessity. You must die.”
In this way they fed Molek
the blood of their children
for days-on-end, one-by-one.
Crying babies, death knell ringing
across a summer sky while
the hot-wet-smell of blood
filled the breeze, floated away.
~ * ~
One hundred, two hundred, three
thousand, four thousand, more –
slaughtered into dark-gray silence,
quiet like the years
passing after them.
Two thousand years,
countless days, and
100-millions-girls later.
~ * ~
They come to the rock,
clear the way for sacrifice –
the blood, child blood, warm blood
splashes on the crawling roses.
The lines grow long, filled
with crying children
held tight to shoulder,
breast, face — whispering,
“remember the honor, necessity.
You must die.”
In this way we feed Molek
the blood of our children
for days-on-end, one-by-one.
Crying babies, death-knell ringing
across a summer sky while
we pretend it’s an illusion –
turn away, hide our eyes.
The rock still stands –
the growth of bushes,
briers,
and half-dead flowers
covering its north side;
its south side chipped,
well-worn from use –
waiting.
~July 2012
This poem was written for the 100-million-girls website. This site was created, and is managed, by my friend Sheree Rabe. Sheree is a poet, an attorney, and now a human-rights activist that I met via Twitter. She has a wonderful poetry site HERE, but it’s her 100-million-girls site HERE that prompted this poem. The site is dedicated to creating awareness and change in the world, and to stop the mass slaughter of young children in our world. PLEASE take time to visit her site and consider helping in this endeavor. If you’d like to know more about Sheree’s poetry, 100-million-girls effort, or if you’d just like to say “Hi” — you may do so in the following ways:
Sheree Rabe
3267 Bee Caves Road
Suite 107, PMB 281
Austin, Texas 78746
Sheree@shereerabe.com
My blog is at http://www.poetonpoetry.blogspot.com
Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/poetonpoetry
Find me on Twitter @poetonpoetry
OR
BLOG: www.100milliongirls.blogspot.com
FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/100milliongirls
TWITTER: @100milliongirls
PERSONAL WEBSITE: www.shereerabe.com
#shereerabe
Artwork Credit: Artwork by (c) Tirin, aka Tilde Carlsten. Please visit her blog (offering a variety of interesting topics and great artwork HERE.) Thanks and gratitude to Tirin for the use of this picture.
Citations:
Wikipedia contributors. “Moloch.” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 11 Jul. 2012. Web. 21 Jul. 2012.
Molek – explanation from Wikipedia:
As a god worshipped by the Phoenicians and Canaanites, Moloch had associations with a particular kind of propitiatory child sacrifice by parents. Moloch figures in the Book of Deuteronomy and in the Book of Leviticus as a form of idolatry (Leviticus 18:21: “And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Moloch”). In the Hebrew Bible, Gehenna was initially where apostate Israelites and followers of various Baalim and Canaanite gods, including Moloch, sacrificed their children by fire (2 Chr. 28:3, 33:6; Jer. 7:31, 19:2–6).
Moloch has been used figuratively in English literature from John Milton‘s Paradise Lost (1667) to Allen Ginsberg‘s Howl (1955), to refer to a person or thing demanding or requiring a very costly sacrifice.
Memory of Fire, 1976
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012, vis~a~vis on July 8, 2012
Two fireplaces remain
in this house, built in the Twenties.
Their elegance long-lost,
forever-gone,
each leftover mantel
a home for knick-knacks, small
framed pictures, newly received letters.
The living room boasts a fancy
oil heater – modern,
square box of fire –
heat roaring behind tiny doors,
the ring burning bright.
Brown-box filled with fresh oil,
proudly standing
on the hearth, winner
over the old fireplace it hides –
Better than wood and coal,
used sparingly – this precious oil -
on the coldest of days.
Loyal, old dinning room stove
stays true to plain and useful.
It’s black-iron belly – gorging
itself on wood and coal,
a ritual breakfast-dinner-supper.
Each day – You
hot-top, flat-for-use practical friend.
You, I loved and understood,
as you joined me in play –
melting-and-mixing crayons
in old tin cans. Trying to find
that certain-perfect and unique color – Like
a favorite pet: I fed you, cleaned you, played
beside you on cold winter nights . . .
anticipated your warmth
on cold winter mornings.
No fireplaces remain
in this ghost of a house
wavering and faded in my old child’s mind.
Each mantel long gone,
along with the heart pills,
chipped collectable plates,
half-cut school pictures, and
several frayed pieces of unfinished-hand-tatted-lace.
~July 2012
Artwork Credits: Special thanks for the use of Journey by ©Svetlana Novikova. Please visit the artist at her website or at Fine Arts America to find out more about her work, or to purchase a print, poster, or greeting cards. Also, you can see her information on our Featured Artists Page.
Declaration of Internet Freedom
PREAMBLE
We believe that a free and open Internet can bring about a better world. To keep the Internet free and open, we call on communities, industries and countries to recognize these principles. We believe that they will help to bring about more creativity, more innovation and more open societies.
DECLARATION
We stand for a free and open Internet.
We support transparent and participatory processes for making Internet policy and the establishment of five basic principles:
- Expression: Don’t censor the Internet.
- Access: Promote universal access to fast and affordable networks.
- Openness: Keep the Internet an open network where everyone is free to connect, communicate, write, read, watch, speak, listen, learn, create and innovate.
- Innovation: Protect the freedom to innovate and create without permission. Don’t block new technologies, and don’t punish innovators for their users’ actions.
- Privacy: Protect privacy and defend everyone’s ability to control how their data and devices are used.
SIGN THE DECLARATION
Individuals: Go to the action pages at Access,CREDO, EFF and Free Press to add your name.
Taz (commonality)
This dog plays
at the same game:
drop the ball
roll the ball
fetch the ball
again.
Day after day:
drop the ball
roll the ball
fetch the ball
again.
It is his career,
not so dissimilar
from mine,
day after day
in the end:
drop the ball
roll the ball
fetch the ball
again.
picture with Kathy, 1970′s
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012 on June 21, 2012
We are both dressed
in matching-tan-wool coats
topped-off with elegant tams.
Standing together on stone steps –
green grass thriving at our feet,
buds and blossoms from the rose bush
showing in the corner of the frame.
We are playing “dress-up”
(blistering hot and sweating
under the heavy-wool-weight),
in the famous June heat –
smiling on cue, as grandma snaps our picture,
with an ancient box camera
and old, arthritic hands.
~June 2012
Image by geirt.com via Flickr
Other Reading:
- Working with wool (gumvalleypatchwork.typepad.com)
- Kathy McLeish in Afghanastan (blogs.abc.net.au)
like books
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012 on June 10, 2012
I.
I have been reading
books about people
since I was ten. Then –
comprehension expanding –
growing, to become
understanding of
people like books
since I was twenty.
At thirty, I could find
the villain in the story –
the hero
always a too-pristine-
perfect-caricature
of reality — the bad guy
realistically-real.
At forty, I picked you
off the shelf
of the world, opened
the last page
and started
reading the story
backwards.
II.
Playing at detective,
sifting through
the last pieces of familiar
before they start to fade.
Not so much
sentimental-nostalgic . . .
those people
those days
that life
forever gone – old ghosts
attached to my shoulders.
Muscles strain, dip
under the weight
as old smiles fade.
When the answers come
I will be
too old to live them.
I carry this
fatalistic understanding
tossed over my shoulder,
held tight like books,
in a coarse-woven rucksack.
~Winter 2011
Derivation
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012 on June 7, 2012
I grew up in a small town.
Southern – reserved countryside
where even the roses said grace.
Each fragile part of life
exposed in natural hardship
of daily living. For years
I would believe the old adage:
Everything will be okay.
But, it wasn’t, couldn’t be,
and you knew time marched
hard forward. The end
coming on a mild February day.
Your promise to never leave me –
broken.
Three days later in a silk-lined
casket, your final sleep.
Lowered, leveled, the dirt
softly rolling down
to cover you. This deep-dark
iron-fed earth your final home.
The beat of my heart, flesh-torn,
forever changed, a murmur
of loss traceable — back
to the day of your leaving.
~June 2012
Your Hands
Posted by Marissa in Poetry, postaweek2012 on May 27, 2012
Harvey and Irene Gosnell
(My Maternal Grandparents)
After all these years,
a quarter-century past,
there is a printed-off copy
an old black-and-white photo
holding your images,
sitting framed on my desk.
I pick it up —
So genuinely the two of you
in looks, posture, characteristics
that I am
brought to heated tears –
as I hold you in my hands
Three generations
of daughters grown to life
in the house with a garden,
tea-cup roses, gladiolas, daffodils,
and tiger-lilies painting
the vast-long days lived
held in your hands.
I’m the last
almost-daughter
of your ancient, dark days –
(One born of blood-love,
One born of mercy-love,
One born of sorrow-love.)
Fifty years of little girls
becoming women
becoming lost — slipping
from your hands — but you
planted the seeds becoming traits
that would manifest and bloom
over time
like the much-loved roses
down the side of the yard.
We were all cultivated
in the same love,
the same soil.
I hold you in my hands
suddenly notice
that your hands look worn
old and tired
from all the years spent
planting and harvesting.
~May 2012
Related articles
- Weekly Photo Challenge – Hands (thisthatandwhateverelseicanthinkof.wordpress.com)
- Weekly Photo Challenge: Hands (mothergrogan.wordpress.com)
- A Life Lesson: STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES (theeverydaythings.com)
In the Dark of My Soul
Posted by Marissa in Poesye, Poetry, postaweek2012, vis~a~vis on May 24, 2012
Dusky non-dark lightness the kind that comes only in those no-name motels, secret places of meeting where the darkness of strange rooms is muted by lined-orange curtains, where parking-lot-lights caste ethereal shadows: you come quietly to bed like nothing uncommon exists in my being there drowsy head on your pillow, clothed in your shirt. Your body, stiff in the act of lying down, carefully trying not to wake me from my almost-dream-state sleeping. Your warm-volatile spark-laden energy forced into submission -- still atomic: your skin, chest warm, hips touching -- rolling, turning, wrapping myself around you -- normal-necessary touch, like a moth to flame -- the burning-shock epiphany moment, in an old motel room --you, a bright-white imprint in the dark of my soul.
~May 2012
ky
Ken Burns: On Story
Posted by Marissa in Essai, vis~a~vis, Writing Tips on May 20, 2012
Ken Burns is the king of PBS – his history specials and miniseries are known throughout the US as evocative, realistic portrayals of American History. He is arguably the most well-known documentary film maker of our time. The following short documentary, Ken Burns: On Story, gives us the filmmakers insights and ideas on the craft of story.
The film originally appeared in The Atlantic as, Ken Burns on Why His Formula for a Great Story Is 1+1=3 and was also discussed on Brainpickings.
'Fifty Shades of Grey' getting yanked from some library shelves
Posted by Marissa in postaweek2012, Rants, vis~a~vis on May 10, 2012
E L James' kinky bondage-themed Fifty Shades trilogy is still finding a massive audience -- the three books currently occupy the top spots on The New York Times best-seller list -- but if you live in Wisconsin, Georgia, or Florida, you might have a harder time finding the titles in public libraries. Counties in those states, including Brevard County in Florida and Gwinnett County in Georgia, have pulled the “mommy porn” books from its libraries, deeming them “too steamy or too poorly written,” …
E L James’ kinky bondage-themed Fifty Shades trilogy is still finding a massive audience — the three books currently occupy the top spots on The New York Times best-seller list — but if you live in Wisconsin, Georgia, or Florida, you might have a harder time finding the titles in public libraries. Counties in those states, including Brevard County in Florida and Gwinnett County in Georgia, have pulled the “mommy porn” books from its libraries, deeming them “too steamy or too poorly written,” according to the AP. Other states and areas are expected to follow suit.
from this invisible room
Last one standing
out of all those masses
that failed the tests
weren’t tough enough
for the mind-games,
were too strong to stay
through the mind-games
that I survived, endured.
Sitting alone in a hotel room,
over a thousand miles from home.
A hard-won victory dissipating
into a stark aloneness, cold
mirrored futility –
an old much-used bed,
fake art-deco reproduction,
mauve carpet, 70′s flower
printed curtains –
a train rattles by on the track
across the road
from this invisible room
in someone else’s world.
All the gypsies
packed and gone by noon
after knocks on the door and
“goodbyes” and “see ya’s” yelled
on the way to their cars.
I am leaving tomorrow
but for good (I think) on
to another band of gypsies –
Simple rules, no confusion.
No mind games to win
or lose — no awards
were given anyway. Was
it even a win? How to know?
~2008 in Pryor, Oklahoma
Related articles
- Mensa Picks Its Mind Games Winners for 2012! (wired.com)
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Please cite using (c) Marissa Mullins at Paucis Verbis, with a link to original content or page. Thank you!
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