Karina Bush

Now, that I've had a chance to properly curl up with Karina Bush's Maiden, I think, I am ready to write this review. Maiden really truly is an journey for the senses, especially with regards to sexual and sensual exploration. When you read a painting you take note of specific techniques such as: brush strokes, capacity for blending realistic and un colours and perhaps believably of theme. I don't know what it is with regards to the quality of words that would release inside of the reader -- a thought to perhaps be more open minded. To appreciate the intimacy of words and phrases held dear to body parts when aroused, attain a mind blowing experience but also the neglect of what nurtures poor relations to a level of abuse that renders the reader to ask why should human beings have to hurt each other to comprehend one another. Pretty deep thought if you ask me. The competency level of this beautiful girl's ability to weave such an intimate explorative tale leaves even me breathless – wanting more of this pure passion.

Just Me

It's just me

That's all I need

Just me and the void

And my wound

And my hand

And my slave

I submit to myself

There is nothing else

Wounds heal tight

But my breath tonight

Is Heavy
And my hand

And my slave

Are ready

I mean... come on? The profound depth of this core piece above leaves me questioning, are we genuinely all we really need? It brings up so many images of isolation but at the same time a self discovered independence -- that leaves you feeling or wanting for nothing. Can you imagine such a feeling? Sigh! Wanting for nothing – pretty much means close to perfection in my opinion. At that point you would not be tethered to anything else on this earth besides yourself. I can't even begin to imagine that – at some point it seems so unrealistic to be able to only require yourself for all of your: needs, desires, tribulations to be prepared to do what that specific role of independence will eventually ask you do to. Because even though you are ready, there may be a point where there's another version of you who desires nothing but that – do you give in and surrender to the greatest part of who you are or do you turn on it's back and ignore all its oblivion as you try to cheat a inevitable death.

Negligible

I need you to push it –push me

Shatter me

The parts that haven't already

Take charge

But you didn't

So you showed your depth

Negligible

You couldn't have shattered me completely

You are a weakling

This piece just makes me want to sit down in a corner and cry like Alice in Wonderland, untiI am surrounded in an ocean of my own tears. We all have come across those individuals in life who not only want to see us miserable but; also to constantly wallow in our darkness to give comfort for theirs. I can't imagine anymore surrounding myself with individuals who are critical of not only who I am but, also the way that I looked. When I was in elementary school I was constantly barked at and called ugly by these boys who would ALWAYS torment me. Now, that being said, they tried to break me like a gazillion times and almost did at some point. Ok, I am getting to my point I promise... Needless to say, decades after being teased in the school yard one of my tormentors was jogging by my parents (was still living with my parents at that time) house and I heard this quiet voice call my name. Do you know what this individual told me – decades after the fact of being mocked to the point that my parents had to call the other parents of the students who kept taunting me? Nevertheless, that night I received the apology that I so richly deserved.  This individual could not even look at me until I told them that I survived it and that I forgave them. This story binds the last two lines for me in a fashion of soulful healing.

These two tidbits are and example of what you will find when you read Karina's Maiden; exquisite works which explore a world absorbed in desire, requited and un love. 

 Make note, Karina's new book 50 Euro is now out and ready to be purchased. 

Interview with Tony Moore

I'm excited to announce -- over the next couple of days I will be posting a follow up interview with Tony Moore... For now you can read this one from approximately 3 years ago -- should give you a taste of what Tony is all about... 

In high school during our Christmas concert, I wore a sparkly indigo-blue bowtie with a matching cummerbund, 12 pleated white tuxedo shirt, iridescent black pants and a covered denim jacket, ripped into a vest adorned with studs all over the front, on the back in shiny square studs spelt the name of the rock band “IRON MAIDEN” in large block letters. If someone had told me, back then, approximately 22 years later that I would have the good fortune to interview one of the original members of Iron Maiden, I would have cackled with laughter and called them CRAZY!

What Tony Moore has done for humanity, let alone the music industry is genuinely remarkable and all of this in one lifetime. Tony has seized every opportunity to not only succeed but consistently challenge himself, not exclusively as an artist more importantly as a human being. Tony is an innovator and trailblazer who has taken full advantage of our new found modern day technology by brining tremendous music to the masses.

You can follow Tony on social media via:Twitter, Instagram, Facebook: Tony Moore Magic and Facebook: Tony Moore Media.

Rania: Are you a classically trained keyboard/synthesizer player?

Tony: No, my father was, and I grew up listening to him playing all the greats from Rachmaninov to Chopin. But although I had a few lessons when I was young I found it hard to read music and follow a structure, I learnt to play by ear and was composing from about 12.

Tony Moore, The Best Day Of Your LIfe 

Rania: How many posts have you held in the music industry?

Tony: Hmmm, I have done so many things over the years but, Singer/Songwriter, Keyboard Player, Musical Director (in a band), Radio Presenter, Promoter, Producer and Manager.

Rania: Which one of these posts are your favourite and why?

 Tony: Singer/Songwriter, I will often stay up all night writing and singing because it releases an energy in me that I can find in no other outlet, it gives me the greatest joy.

Rania: What inspired you not only to take up flying but also the concept of Acoustic Airwaves?

Tony: I had always been intrigued by the idea of flying, but later in life, when I did some consultancy for a very good wage, I decided to use the money to invest in my wild dream. I immediately loved the challenge and focus it required and I love the precision that is required...as I was learning I not only felt that it was a privilege to be able to do it, but that I wanted to do something with the flying that had a purpose (more than just flying around in big circles for a few hours) I saw that there was space in the plane and felt it was like a flying transit in some ways. I thought wouldn't it be cool to fly to gigs with all my gear in the plane…that quickly morphed into the idea of doing it to raise money and awareness for Teenage Cancer Trust. In the last month of my training I started booking 15 airfields and telling them about my idea, some got behind it and others didn’t really understand what I wanted to do (or even why), I started the tour about a month after I got my license, it was insanely ambitious and there were a few moments I thought I might die! It was far beyond my skill level but naivety and enthusiasm are very contagious as they say, fools rush in where Angels fear to tread. At the end of it, my awareness of flying was incredibly sharpened, but as I look back on it now I get a chill and wonder how I ever did it! However, we raised money and lots of press for TCT and I am very proud of it.

Rania: What lesson do you want your students to take with them after leaving your “History of Song writing” class at the Institute Of Contemporary Music and Performance in North London?

Tony: That there are 3 keys to success you have to have: a hit song, sung by a hit voice arranged and recorded with a hit production as history proves this to be the case!

 

Tony Moore, Tunnel Vision

Rania: How does the ICMP fit into the wider music industry?

Tony: It is part of the whole new explosion of music in education - it is exciting and challenging to try and gather together a faculty of great educators who can share their wisdom and experience and help a whole new generation find their way.

Rania: What does ICMP offer artists/students over studying at another institution such as The Brit School?

Tony: The Brit School has many more disciplines across the entertainment world, they both focus on different but essential skill sets.

Rania: You’ve dedicated your life to music, what did earning the Gold Badge mean to you?

Tony: It was one of the most memorable days of my life and I feel honoured (literally.) It is an award from my peers and so it has a priceless place in my heart. I never did anything with my life except focus on the things I loved and tried to share my passion with those who would listen, so to be recognised for that was a surprise and extremely touching.

Rania: What do you feel are some of the challenge emerging artists face today in a high tech world as opposed to when you first started out?

Tony: Well, the competition is fierce, it's hard to be completely original, often the short cuts (celebrity focus) take artists to far too fast and they don’t have the experience to support themselves. It has always been hard - but I also feel music has become less "vital" to people and is more of a social experience. You hardly ever saw a camera at gigs when I was starting out - now your performance might be filmed from 10,000 different angles if you are a big star. However, I think there are fantastic opportunities for artists that never existed before and so often the challenges are balanced by new ways of working and being able to promote yourself.

Rania: What is the most valuable lesson you feel every musician should learn about his or her interactions within the music industry?

Tony: Never take it personally, don't be surprised if people let you down and be the best you can be ALL the time.

Tony Moore, The Search For Universal Truth 

Rania: Does The Bedford automatically live stream every performance?

Tony: Unless there are technical issues, we try and share the shows as much as we can, usually every show is webcast.

Rania: Has The Bedford ever thought of having audience participation via Skype/Google Hangout during a performance?

Tony: Yes, but we try and create sustainable, long term online streams, and that requires us to be as simple as possible, in the future we are looking at ways of being even more interactive.

Rania: How has streaming live performances helped both the artist and The Bedford?

Tony: I know of some acts that have had music released and shows booked outside of the UK by industry people who saw them online. It has helped build our reputation worldwide, we often get people come to London, and visit for the first time after having watched live for a long time because they feel part of the extended Bedford family.

Rania: Is there a place that you have not travelled or performed at that you would like to?

Tony: Australia and New Zealand and the Philippines.

Rania: What do you feel are some of the struggles modern day venues face with regards to current technology and promotion?

Tony: I think one major struggle is having enough man power/man hours to dedicate to filling the never ending void of social media that demands feeding all the time

Rania: What is the secret to establishing and maintaining a successful venue such as The Kashmir and The Bedford to entice people to actually go to the venue?

Tony: Making it personal, going beyond the extra mile in creating great sound and a great experience and booking the best music you can find, I always like to think that the events I organise are INCLUSIVE rather than EXCLUSIVE.

Rania: Do you have any artist rituals before composing a new piece?

Tony: I just drop everything when I feel inspired and try and find the nearest instrument!

Rania: All artists go through a creative block, how do you deal with yours?

Tony: I don’t worry, I look back at the (sometimes years) when I have written nothing and seen that suddenly, when the moment is right, I will write!

Rania: If you had a super-power, what would it be?

Tony: To Manipulate time!

Grant Jolly

Grant Jolly happens to be one of my favourite Poets. In addition to that, he doesn't only write but on July 16 he'll be opening his press called Manic Raven --  so keep an eye out!!! Moreover all the poems listed below are from Grant's book "Feed Him To The Bears" which is currently available on Amazon.

The Poet And The Artist II

There once was a poet and an artist. They fell madly in

love. The Poet wrote endlessly, spilling ink over

hundreds of pages; each sentence detailing the Artist’s

beauty in a new light. The Poet was broken and this

healed his mind.

The Artist worked on a never-ending portrait of the

Poet. With every single stroke of her brush, she slowly

pieced him back together again on canvas.

There once was a poet and an artist. They were broken,

now complete.

This piece is so unbelievably poignant, to be honest with you it reminds me of another one of my favourite poets Khalil Gibran. I just adore the relationship above between Poet & Artist, to me this reads as the ideal marriage between writing and visual arts. It's rare but can you imagine a hybrid human who is both a Poet and Artist a yin-yang if you will -- as I don't think one can have poetry without art and vice-versa they feed into each other. The day you meet your muse to draw all corresponding images to your poetry it will leave you feeling more than blissful. Especially if your muse can paint based on your writing – an incredibly symbiotic relationship that surpasses even inspiration itself. Can you imagine? That would be mind blowing for sure.

In Slow Motion

My memories melt

Like candle wax

As I stand in the shower

Charred lumps of darkness

Fall to my feet In slow motion

And my mind plays

Vivid flashbacks…

I don’t know how long

I’ve been standing here

But it feels like hours

And still

Your memory

Is on fire

Inside my head

Never fading

The rest of me

Decaying

To quote Haunted from the Love 'n Rockets “when the minutes drag...” we've all been there right? When times stand still and memories come flooding into our minds. I don't know what it is about past snapshots especially those filled with lovers from the days of old. It's the horrible memories that remain static as much as the blissful ones. I can just picture a man like Michelangelo's David standing tall in a shower of acid rain that slowly starts to chip away at his madness with a sharp mind as a corresponding partner.

Your memory

Is on fire

Inside my head

Never fading

The rest of me

Decaying

I wanted to cultivate a tactile experience with the section above – my hands kept tracing the words for a good 3 minutes. For certain the hand which wrote this piece was at a poignant time in their life.

Final Kiss

I sit there and watch

As you walk away

Your lipstick-stained cigarette

Still burning In the ashtray

Your perfume lingers…

I pick up the cigarette

Smoke dances

Around my fingers

I push the cotton

Between my lips

And close my eyes

Inhale

To taste

Your

Final

Kiss

Let me tell you a little story that happened to a friend of mine who was literally like the character in this piece. The interesting aspect of this poem is that we can flip the gender roles very easily as heartbreak is something that is conducive to all of us – normally there is the one doing the breaking and the one with a broken heart. My friend had been emotionally, mentally and verbally abused by her fiance. One night she found herself breaking up an engagement that was probably doomed upon the first “I will.” Needless to say my friend got her revenge when she let out 4 years of pain on him  -- all at once. Not in the similar fashion that Eric Draven's character did in The Crow this was all verbal, by the time she was done with him he was a pile of goo on the floor. Now, I do not advocate violence on anyone there is always a polite non ignorant way to express oneself and she did it perfectly.   In a similar fashion as this poem sometimes final kisses exist through inanimate objects over actually plump lips. 

Hemingway's B & B

Twilight approaches, in its company a weary
spirit seeks a tear drops worth of welcomed
solace. Hands no longer able to navigate this
steering with wheel minimal visibility. I investigate
the unworthy surreptitious road to find the bed
and breakfast that holds my current reservation.

Finally, a driveway, delightful slumber only a
few kilometers in distance. What a wondrous sign
to greet me, WELCOME TO THE HEMINGWAY!
Immensely grateful to have finally arrived, not
allowing myself to take notice of my surroundings
only focused on my glorious king size bed with
a walk-in en-suite jacuzzi tub to wash away this

sense of darkness, trapped inside my own personal
oubliette. The key given to me at the front desk,
nearly breaks in the hole. I can’t believe it! For
$200.00 per night one would expect a key that
works. Clumsily searching for a light, my hands
feel the uninvited texture of dust bunnies that
coat the grooves of my finger tips. Disgusted!

I recoil my hand until I grow enough courage
to try again. Once illuminated my vision adjusts
to finally take note of my glorious suite. Oh my
great Goddess! What the hell is that? I approached
with my fire engine red stilettos still adorned
on my feet to find this tacky sea-foam green
and indigo paisley wallpaper slowly moving.

Unless the Tylenol ones I’d taken earlier to
alleviate my migraine suddenly turned into a
hallucinogenic? There, a dog eared piece
of wallpaper begging to be torn & a healthy
dose of dust & grime on the dark chocolate
brown Berber carpet. My poor shoes, I'd
just purchased them not a day ago & now

they have a fresh blanket of god knows what
happened to this suite's neglected floor. Racing
back to my overnight bag, I found my large
barreled curling iron it was all that I could quickly
grab to ensure that I did not commit to touching
the questionable wallpaper with my bare fingertips.

COCKROACHES!!!! HOLY FUCK!!!

Pleasantly consuming the glue that
once adhered this tacky patterned fabric.
Without a second thought, the stilettos
came flying off, the wallpaper once again
flat against the wall. I could hardly resist,
slice, crunch, crack poor little impaled
cockroaches find their doom as I go to

the real Hemingway to finally relish the
large, fluffy, warm bubbles I've so richly
earned!

Ryan Vallee

For an incredibly honest body of work check out Ryan Vallee!!!!

her hair was her

wild as the jungle fern

auburn like autumn tree tops

and just as free

i always wanted it closer

to spin it into symbols

on my skin

spelling things like heat

like risk

like chaos

telling things

how my touch was penciled lines

how your fingers

were permanent marker

framing the heart

and touching off

a million different impressions

The hair image completely sucked me in! To be honest with you, so many scenes came to mind, the first which popped into my head is from Brave, the way Merida would wear her hair so wild and free flowing in the wind. And, the other thing that I thought of came from one of the great classics, Jo Marsh from Little Women more specifically when she chopped her luscious mane and one true beauty -- off for the purpose of selling it so that she can give the funds directly to her mother to safely bring her father home. These characters both strong and so steeped in long hair both supporting the identities of who they are. There's something to be said about savage locks corresponding with a wild mentality. I must admit my favourite part of this piece is right here:

to spin it into symbols

on my skin

spelling things like heat

like risk

like chaos

telling things

how my touch was penciled lines

Can you imagine using your hair as a method of communication through symbols and words – it would be something infinitely profound – letters that disappear in an instant the minute the skin is touched and curls are scribbled in an disorderly fashion. It reminded me of the work of Contemporary Artist Janine Antoni how she would use her hair as part of her artistic showcases.

here we sit

on the edge

of what we are and

what we used to be

and i'm not sure

which way

i'd rather fall

To be honest, I'm not sure which way I would fall either! Who we are and who we used to be will always provide some semblance of commonality that is present amongst the two. When we age each day that we motor through this world is who we used to be. Even now as I write this the future is pushing its way forward regardless of who I was in the past. If I were to look at this poem symbolically I would imagine a pointed roof top – on one side riddled with nothing but cotton candy and the other side with cruelty free goose feathers. Now, which way would you rather fall, both are soft and would definitely ease a proper tumble – it really is hard to tell. I like that this piece asks rhetorical questions we may never know the answer to but, is quite essential for life given a philosophical perspective.

perfection is found in each

one of us but not in union

clean breaks

are story-book syllables

bare knuckles with weight

behind them

the heart has the core

of the earth but the same

number of fault lines

and we are walking those

cracks always it seems

i am guilty just the same

sometimes

i stick my spade

to pry just a bit

and to say it's human nature

is one hundred percent

correct and such simultaneous

bullshit because we can change

if we want to

but we never can

The truth is that as human beings we are both simulations and un when it comes to life and how we desire to see it. I authentically relished the end to this piece – it just says it all in a couple of words --

and to say it's human nature

is one hundred percent

correct and such simultaneous

bullshit because we can change

if we want to

but we never can

Does our human nature indeed prevent us from succeeding in life – it's difficult to tell. I watched a show sometime back which described the amount of time if would take scientifically speaking before the awkward change period -- no longer feels strange? Would you believe they said 21 days... that amount of the time in the course of a life time is nothing if we can convince ourselves from not only shedding our snake's skin but sheep's wool as well. As human beings inside of all us there are two perfect halves to fulfill a whole – there has to be this balance in order for humanity to succeed.

Samaneh Sadaghiani

Short poems to me always packed an accelerated punch.  I tend to at times be too wordy -- but I can't help it -- I love words and tend to not use them sparingly.  Which is why I can spot the power of a short poem in microseconds. And Samaneh Sadaghiani uses these beautifully stylized micro poems to express herself with little pieces of delight.  

For more thoughtful heavenly morsels please follow Sam here!!! 

#Dear Mysterious Number

Pain is our greatest guide

It nudges us to look within

To search for pieces of us

That need assurance

That they are safe and loved

We can choose to heal

Pieces trapped in fear

And pained by neglect

If we bring them into light

I hope you can forgive

Parts of me

And parts of you

That caused you harm

You know, I can't think of a single moment where something positive did not happen as a result of negative pain. I don't know what it is about life but -- there always seems to be a balance there. I really thought that the end of this piece was quite poignant indeed and telling.

I hope you can forgive

Parts of me

And parts of you

That caused you harm

The key here regardless of who caused the pain in forgiveness – we all have excessively ugly sides of ourselves -- where after certain actions forgiveness is essential. It's funny, individuals always think the forgiveness is for the other person to heal but it really isn't -- it's for us to properly console our soul -- no one should have any heaviness in their hearts yet we only at times seem to carry them.

#Mountain & The Wind

Bring me seeds

My world is without colour

The mountain called to the wind

Intrigued, the wind made an offer

I'll paint your world

In shades you've never seen

If you help ground me

In depths I've never been

Can you imagine a world void of colour? My imagination, can park it right here for a while as I linger on these two lines:

I'll paint your world

In shades you've never seen

I wonder what colourless seeds would look like – can you image? Step back and step into my imaginarium with me for a moment if you will. Someone one day gives you these clear seeds, you have no idea what do with them so you decide to plant them. I have the blackest of thumbs, all I have to do is look at greenery and I murder them -- forget the heat of the sun. Now, that being said someone with a more cultured and green thumb would be able to harvest such luscious colours. Kind of like the visible conversation occurring in this piece with the symbiotic relationship created between mountain and wind.

#Tastemakers

Once in awhile

We find ourselves

Scoffing

At another's taste

In something that we don't

Or won't appreciate

These are optimal times

To practice

Getting over ourselves

I've written about the subject of tastes many times, there's something incredibly comforting about having one's own genuine self-created genre. There will be a plethora of things that you like of course but, there are always going to be individuals out there who constantly want to kibosh it. I have no idea why individuals can never agree to disagree – especially in our day and age where there are so many beautiful pieces from: art work, clothing, furnishings – there is something for everyone to pick and chose what they relish being surrounded by. While I was growing up a constant quote kept rearing its head when the discussion of taster emerged from the conversation, which was: “les goûts et les couleurs ne se discutent pas” translated it means tastes and colours we do not dispute... which is why I quite flexible when it comes to enjoying various tastes. 

Hanna Mulla

I relish poets who are constantly pushing boundaries within their work... just like the elegant pieces below penned by Hanna Mulla.

My mother tells me I have my fathers eyes. And his

nose. But most of all his face shape. She says the last

statement with furrowed brow, a sentiment not

unnoticed by me.

I gaze in the mirror and see a face round like the full

moon, wholesome, a canvas of stoicism. Memory of

my mothers slight frown makes me caress my skin,

trace my own features and wonder if I wouldn't be

prettier with a longer face.

In the Persian culture the moon ranks as the highest,

if not the ultimate epitome of beauty.

'Mahrokh', literally moon face, is a term of adoration,

afforded with affection, a compliment of

commendation.

I berate myself. Knowing such, how could I possibly

not fall in love with splendour of this degree.

I will never apologise to anyone for the softness of my

cheeks nor the framework of lines flowing from

hairline to earlobe or the dimples in my chin.

If anything I will love myself fiercely, splendidly, ten

times over,

to the moon and beyond.

Each of us has familial or cultural traits that are quietly expressed by the lines on one's face and texture of skin that at times we might come to detest. For example – I've always grown up abhorring my nose – in high school my nickname was Gonzo because of its slight hook. There are characteristics that we all exhibit in which we wish at some point or another were different. But for better or worse this is who we are from the beginning of our life right to our last breath. We can't make ourselves feel better over what it is we detest, we can only accept and decide to love and adore ourselves completely and wholly regardless of what our outside figure exposes our inner core to. I like that this specific piece above makes no apologies for the characters outside appearances only that self acceptance at one point or another through the course of our lives is inevitable.  I found the level of emotion put into this piece to be quite thoughtful and tenderly layered. 

We are nothing short of

miracles when we bleed seven

days straight,

red elixir marking our inner

thighs.

Since the beginning of time, the

ability to harbour and nurture

entire galaxies between our hips

has been something of a

phenomenon.

Shedding it is no less easy.

I love the boldness of this piece above, it reminds me of artists who use period blood as paint to draw with. Such depth and miraculous favour in what women have to endure each month, as much as a blessing that it is – it's also tremendous pain and anguish once per month for decades until it dries out to a state of nothingness. It's true though, as Hanna so elegantly says above.

“Since the beginning of time, the

ability to harbour and nurture

entire galaxies between our hips

has been something of a

phenomenon.”

Can you imagine such a premise – since the beginning of time – a time that not many can conceptualize through their mind but there at one point or another millions of years ago there was a beginning of time that had been created. And, from the dawn of that time on,  humanity woman have had to deal with the discomfort of using at first thick pads that have transitioned to tampons and thin pads – evolution is constantly occurring for feminine high gene products. Women are the givers of birth and the nurtures as well. I supposed in some way we do carry “entire galaxies between our hips...” that's such a cool way of looking at it... Just think of how large a galaxy is and the potential it has to grow from micro to a macro piece worthy of earthly collaboration to protect the women of our world.

The poets have gone to town and painted the

walls red.

They've burned down the skies and pulled out

faith from every pothole.

We've clawed at wings and written epics about

the screaming and the sudden emptiness.

We turned our backs on God, cloaked ourselves

in darkness and demanded attention anyway.

When the ash finally settled like a noose of

shame we held our breaths to hear Gods

footsteps treading lightly, carefully amongst our

desecration.

With tears in our eyes, we asked if he would have

us back.

And through closed lids,

I felt him smile

Poets write and express themselves through their pieces, frankly because that is our wheelhouse the one place we can rest in solace and create. Through vast imaginations one can strive to a world that is accountable to everyone. One where darkness has no business being cloaked or brooding in the corner but does so because it has no other choice. Similar to the consequence of turning our faces against those who desecrate our hearts in their wake. We are free spirits who strive to live their life to the fullest amount of mirth left from an ice cream sundae or our demise at the end of a bottle. Either way it will be the self preservation and light of forgiveness that will keep our haunted writings as hallowed pieces of delectable delights on earth.

K. Iwanicki

The work of K. Iwanicki is: beautiful, heart wrenching & indeed quite profound... 

It's always circles-

everything comes in them,

leaving out the front door

only to be back at its threshold

moments later.

These feelings from my past-

keep manifesting

the same reactions

like clockwork-

my body anchored down,

hooked deeply beneath the mantle

of this familiar life

while-

my mind soars high

amidst the stars

bouncing

from past to future.

And here I sit,

telling the same tale

that I've told

so many times before-

It's the serpent eating it's tail.

I've always relished the conceptual image of an ouroboros. At one point or another throughout the course of our lives we are destined to allow our psyche to genuinely eat us alive. See that's the funny notion about circles, a single infinite loop with no end and no beginning. Yet, an ouroboros has a beginning and an end but chooses to repeatedly eat it's tail -- one perfect and concise circle. There is something infinitely profound with regards to the philosophy of symbols used throughout time -- a circle always seems to be forever looping as we do during our lives. The end really appealed to me:

“And here I sit,

telling the same tale

that I've told

so many times before-”

How many times do we tend to repeat old stories, the stanza above reminds me of a comfortable couch at the ready to accept a hearty story worthy of laughs and tears.

*Minor Perturbation*

You are no longer here

but you certainly

left an impression.

Like a pertinacious wine stain

or nervous sickness

that sinks deep

in my system

sitting dormant

at the base of my spine.

Just when I've forgotten

that you ever existed

you float to the surface

and show up

uninvited

at two a.m.

and wake me up,

our sadistic ritual

So I lie there

for a moment

until a memory of you

flutters through my mind

but doesn't stick around

it just dissipates

like the flapping

of butterfly wings

ephemeral

and delicately negligible

yet it's effects can still be felt

all these years later.

There was one time after I'd studied Macbeth in Secondary school I'd spilled grape juice all over my mother's pristine white berber carpet – while I wiped I clearly remember saying “Come out, damned spot! Out, I command you...” Yes, I was that obsessed with Shakespeare as an awkward teenager as much as I am now. While I scrubbed I kept thinking about the heinous act that brought Lady Macbeth to repeatedly wash her hands. 

No one ever enjoys the thought of uninvited guest they are beyond intrusive for words. The way K. Iwanicki expresses her disdain and disgust over this consistent obsessive call.

Just when I've forgotten

that you ever existed

you float to the surface

and show up

uninvited

at two a.m.

and wake me up,

our sadistic ritual

A truly painful truth we tend to forget...

*Disillusioned Oath*

We used to be so close,

now you only turn away,

you wont look me in the eye,

you wont even say my name.

We used to be so close,

playing games

and running round,

we would laugh

and we would cry,

only love

was to be found.

We used to be so close,

as close as any two can be,

our blood lines share

the same ancient line,

one that circles

and comes back

to you and me.

Now your veins

have dried and cracked,

all the love has disappeared,

your once joyful light

snuffed out

by inconstant

moody years.

How I ache

for your return

for your smile to come back

for our love to flow once more

for my brother

to come back.

One thing that I've instilled into my children that was not well expressed to me is that my kids only have each other if something were to happen to myself or my husband. Blood should be thicker than water but; then again we are not able to convince the world of things they should or should not be doing – however when it comes to family. Family should never turn it's back on you but; in some instances they do – where you feel alone and alienated from those who you would expect would be there for you for years to come – abandon at the drop of a hat. I genuinely felt the words of this beautiful poem above – I don't know how anyone could read such a beautiful piece of literature and just not want to weep.