Outside as Inside

“the rarest chords in the soul’s harmonics/ Are found in the minor strains of life.”

-E. Wheeler Wilcox,”Life’s Harmonies”

It started out as a happy song, but I loved the sound of the haunting minor chords too much. Keys tapped out A-minor, and soon there were tears in my eyes.  It’s difficult enough dealing with sexism as it is. It’s much more difficult dealing with it at home, coming from those you love. I traced the cracks on the wall, first gently, then savaging my fingers against the rough edges until they were numb. Outside, the sky was as gray as I was. The open door beckoned, a portal. The edges of my mouth turned up as I flew.

photo by sulaco229 at rgbstock.com

prompt provided by : http://lightandshadechallenge.blogspot.in/

My Day(s)

Failed whistles,

Birmingham Sunday

And humidity breed

Disillusionment in the best of us.

Can you feel the crackling frustration emanating from my chest?

Can you feel the punch,

The swung fist,

Aimed at your head

In my head?

Do you feel how fake this all is?

Or is it

Just fake for me?

I hadn’t thought of that till now.

Maybe it’s just me.

Again.

But it was fun to sing today.

That was the highlight of the day –

Singing “Before He Cheats”

In my real voice –

It’s always good to speak

From my heart

And not from my heart>head>lips

That’s exactly why

It’s good to be high:

To get to talk

And not speak.

The soundtrack of 300,

Message for the Queen,

Fits my heart –

Strangled yodels

Why?

I know why.

Again.

Always again.

“Never again.”

Of course again.

And again.

And again.

What’s the point?

I know there is one. A good one.

I feel it in myself.

Life is preparation?

No.

It’s a depressing joke.

It’s a diorama

Where the grass tells the tree

I’m happy

And the tree blushes

With delight.

Darkness and solitude cloud my judgement;

Should I celebrate

Introversion to Extroversion

Or feel entirely keenly

The depression that depresses me?

Suddenly I hear

A happy word

Vocabulary reminiscent of childhood

And everything is

Uncontrollably,

Excitingly,

Filled-with-life-edly

Amazing

And exciting

And beautiful again.

Good.

I could live for that.

I could live for the breathtaking peaks.

And the love.

And the happiness.

I do live for it.

In Retrospect

Daily Prompt: From the Collection of the Artist

July 24, 2013

It’s the year 2113. A major museum is running an exhibition on life and culture as it was in 2013. You’re asked to write an introduction for the show’s brochure. What will it say?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RETROSPCTIVE.

Looking back on things

Isn’t always black or white;

No pun intended,

Although it does fit right.

We revisit time

Through  photographs and memories

And relive a revised version of life

With an increase or decrease

Always. It’s never the same:

Either we had everything

The world had to offer

Or we had zero, nil, nothing.

Sepia, in our heads

Can become vivid HD

And the finest-hued memory

House a black and white zombie;

In retrospect, it wasn’t

The end of the world, we say

But only when we have forgotten

How it felt, live, that day.

In retrospect, it was

The happiest time in my life.

No it wasn’t – you just don’t feel, now,

All that pain and strife,

Which was the most that you’d known

Back in those days

And felt as bad as the new limits

Seem to nowadays.

I say “seem”

Because even this is relative. See,

In retrospect,

This won’t be worst you will see.

But I’m not pessimistic:

No, Sir, not me –

I believe what you’ve lost

Is nothing to what you shall see.

Retrospective, Merriam-Webster says,

Can mean looking back on past situations

Or just as easily: an artist’s best work

(Over time) showed in exhibitions.

What does it mean to me?

I think it means this:

Never trust your  altered view of the past –

Alternatives exist.

Distance

Daily Prompt: Far from Home

July 15, 2013

Tell us about the farthest you’ve ever traveled from home.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us DISTANCE.

When you’re miles away from home

And everything is so strange that

You need to cry alone

That’s distance.

And when you sit

Next to them and they

Look away and so do you too

You feel the distance; they’re distant.

When you’re arguing your side of the story

But they refuse to understand, and

Instead re-repeat their side for

At least the seventh time,

Or better still:

Rant about

Everything

Under

The

Sun

Just to get to rant,

You feel lip-quiveringly

Distant from them. And you feel

Like crying. And sometimes

You do.

Sometimes,

You need something

To throw, anything that would

Make noise; Shatter into a million shards

And increase the entropy of the room,

Transfer it from inside of you,

Out. But you know that

This too shall pass.

So you don’t.

Instead you break

Something that won’t stay

Broken, or at least not visibly.

Instead you break the only thing that

Should be broken, deserves to be broken.

It’s just skin anyway. It can grow back.

The distraction and the abject relief

Sting and soothe together,

And sleep intervenes.

Next morning

Is a new day

And it’s quiet.

The sky is clearer

And it may be bad,

And distances increase,

But they also do

Reduce.

Catharsis

Today’s Author Prompt:

She sang a song I’d never heard, and yet it felt so familiar.

White-hot frustration made me want

To throw things, to shatter glass,

To rip apart paper,

To rip apart myself.

Not knowing

What is in store for you

Is infinitely worse than

Dealing with what has happened.

So I picked up my hands,

Itching to hurt,

Itching for hurt,

And let them feel around,

Like feelers on a fish from the deep

Or maybe the blind.

They found my guitar.

And she sang a song I’d never heard, and yet it felt so familiar.

http://todaysauthor.wordpress.com/2013/06/14/write-now-prompt-for-june-14-2013/

 

Perfect Weather

Your Daily Theme for May 24, 2013

 
Photo prompt: Write a poem or story inspired by the scenario in this image.
 

Ice-cold, crisp weather,

Perfect  weather

For the mood I am in.

Looking at the four lines etched out behind me

And the past few feet, just one;

The white expanse ahead of me

suddenly longer.

The milestones suddenly seem insignificant;

A jumble of numbers and words

In a different tongue,

In a different time.

The safety of the fence just behind me –

I can turn back still,

Except I can’t.

I wonder if they will

Keep a light burning for me

As long as they will for each other.

Ice-cold, crisp weather,

Perfect  weather

For the mood I am in.

 

Link to my poem on Figment:

http://figment.com/books/644705-Perfect-Weather