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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "Kaleidoscope" They say another wrote the story, not I. that I, mere I, having little experience, shy and far removed from such an alien world, would not possess the knowledge of such terrible and ruthless, lusty characters of strong will; that these perplexities and complexities, were not birthed by a mere slip of girl, a flighty will-o-the-wisp with dreams dispersing barefoot and wilful, roaming indolently, sighing restlessly across barren hills; such a contradiction. yet, I wasn’t berthed. No one could tether me, though I was found to be moored, where peregrine breezes kissed me. even now they wonder, was it I? … or the one who left before me, with such novel haste. worlds die eventually and the truth dies with the old world, all is black and dark. for a while. first phase, a supernova, then after a time, a new star is born, in its stead. one shadows the other. always. but never, in the mirror's bed. in my life, moors were not people, but plains of a confined yet open existence, spread wide and intermittently purple with the scent of long forgotten lavender, the place where true romance, breathed all that was escape in, uncannily that was where Life was found, it rested; there, the ripe confessions buried to bloom spectres, who roamed those barren childhood rectories, visited them like curated cloaked banshees, at open windows imploring the woke apparitions to let them wildly come back in, return to what was left standing, eerily vacant after the deluge, where we each wore the clay mask of an absent mother. through Her, spoke our stories. they always tout 3 as the number, they forget 4, 5, 6 and all the others, imploring. a story, that, which was deemed, I could not write for virtue of being such a childish woman, totally unexplored, demure and inexperienced at life; a solitary confinement, in an awkward body of work not meant for this world, perhaps not even the next. For, I was just a mere girl, then mere woman, lacking the required fortitude, and piercing experience. Some referred to my obsequious nature as being strange and at odds with that which was totally expected by virtue of the differences in the underlying thoughts and motives, of the 'you should be this not that' characters of all others. I was, unexpected, reckless, and hopeless, they said. I was not anticipated. that is to say, in the end, the thought that came into host my volatile persuasion, articulated, I alone, was not that, which mattered most; “we” were, each the other’s flame and imagination; for veritable ignition. it is our secret for no one else. We are each, the other’s channel. always, turned on, for the swim across unusual dimensions, electric lightening veined alive, gloriously at odds, for want of better explanation, reaching out to each the other. This, a life force united, to be reckoned, in another life, when the old world we knew then, imploded, dissolved to nothing, when the All became invisible. death only brings to bare a new world like the first breath of a crying child and in this new world, where absent mothers and sisters wait expectant, not empty ghosts like another, wondering lost in New Covenant, like a collared curate walking into confessionals seated and hit by cloudy storms and dark sardonic hailing iced Marys; through open windows permeates my light, burning as if in hell - but this all depends of course, on which story you want me to tell - my Light, I am elated to convey, remains shining bright, like a Fresnel lens beacon; we stand still, the missing and the missed, reborn and united. Heaven and Hell. I shall not be poet nor writer, but the strange one, who brings forth new curious colours, spectrums in waves peculiar vibrations from inside, the other, to those outside, seeking shinier outcomes, confetti like a kaleidoscope. there are many ways to read and understand a story. My ship is called the Ellis Bell it runs rings around a poésie, like wheels of Ezekiel. It flies like my pet Merlin, I rescued once, only once. That bird, had a mind of it’s own. I named that firebird, Nero. Never moored. It always found its own way home. (LadyLabyrinth / 2022) gvlm llb,klb,mlb ljb "Shall earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now? Since passion may not fire thee Shall Nature cease to bow? Thy mind is ever moving In regions dark to thee; Recall its useless roving— Come back and dwell with me." ****** "I was at peace, and drank your beams As they were life to me And revelled in my changeful dreams Like petrel on the sea. Thought followed thought—star followed star Through boundless regions on, While one sweet influence, near and far, Thrilled through and proved us one."
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