She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of splintered dissonance,
visible in the fractured facade of grief.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced down,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict a geometric frame of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial deformation isn’t just style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the distortion doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
Flames descend into my skull
Under the blade of heavens army
True to form I invade them with smiles
Silver blood and copper bones Golden flesh
Questions raised about my sanity
Demons hunted to soothe my humanity
Red gems and honey milk
Apple bird sings her song sweetly
Forbidden bird bows and greets me
Walnut cake I am an Indigo lie
Fashion the stones with many moons Yummy they despise me
Blades of Jasper and Milk Thistle coffee
Honor the call to only use my blade
the witch was a magician, her legs and arms were contorted
her cat, her broom and her body were all a little distorted
she was lopsided, asymmetrical, weird in kind of a good way
I tried to draw her, but she would not stay still that day
When will I feel comfortable in my own skin?
When will my body feel like mine once again?
When will the stranger stop staring back at me?
I still see a tiny girl able to wear whatever she pleases
With a flash, reality changes someone I don't even recognize stares back at me.
Thirteen sizes bigger
Curves, stretch marks mark me head to toe
Like a map of who I use to be
My mirror stores the skeletons of a distorted way of learned thinking.
Where is the love?
Self-esteem?
Self-love?
Anything?
Settling into a meadow brought about mellow flows of green and yellow assembled by memories they float freely on the breeze glimmering clearly off the trees lay reflections of memories like frailed Braille burnt on my mind my life looks back ancestral eyes look down on me through me and within me the realization of life before here and after here becomes crystal clear the land changes without fear the veil that once covered my eyes filling my life with lies has been removed so I set forth on this new land no longer tasseled by the lies distributed by media's eyes I am free to be
Sitting quietly with iPad in hand,
we allow musings of soul to arise
and although our mind does not understand,
it reflects all hues of offered surprise,
penning a poem before the ink dries,
the influx of grace, ineptly portrayed,
since we are by patterned thinking betrayed.
My nights are often restless,
My dreams are often broken.
The tremors are often heard,
Within words not often spoken.
I'm tossed about in silent motion,
Until I'm cocooned within the covers.
The darkness holds me tighter,
Than the embrace of secret lovers.
I stare deep into the torment,
Until shadows come into vision.
Every thought comes into focus,
But is spared my minds division.
The voices seem to separate,
My mind becomes distorted.
Every attempt at inner silence,
Shows every effort is thwarted.
As dawn slowly penetrates,
And every shadow has faded.
The voices cause more confusion,
Than any I've previously stated.
The night survived my prayers,
Just as I survived the night.
The voices filled my inner ear,
Just as the shadows filled my sight.
These nights come too frequently,
I suffer, knowing what's at stake.
So I pray for a mind as idle,
As it is when I first awake.
She speaks words I like to hear
she pronouncate
her words so clear
I embrace her
for more than a Kiss
our time apart I stop
to reminese
Don't leave me strange
and in an unwanted way
things I never thought I
would have to say
must I balance my time
between you and my wife
Uncertainty of a nightlife
might we exist to see see the day
That morning comes and
erases the night away
trumpeter swans
glide across a placid stream,
driving along with them...
ripples.
"proportionally distorted"
she walked away
sighing so it
seems
it's
all a
big lie
sighs
matters
Where is this creature, this distorted deer?
Heather knew, but she pretended to not be clear.
The deer was shy, and wanted to keep away from others.
He would be skittish around her belligerent brothers.
Not sure she lied, hoping they would go away.
They finally did, and she was glad none did stay.
For the deer trusted almost no humans, they were not pure.
Heather felt honored and beloved, that he trusted her.
Rhapsody of rainbow morphs to morose mélange
Bleeding colors bleached from the twilight cloud
Rainstorm daubs as blemish on the broken heart
The shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.
Requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley
Petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew
Desiccate in somber sunshine in the deserted mind
Fallen flowers make bouquet for deceased passion.
Cacophony capsuled in the cauldron of mute melody
Chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of lone life
Songs turn to convoluted noise echoed by the soul.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
Magnifies into crooked contortion of distorted essence.
A man with a hoary haired head
From shining black to innocent white
Carrying wisdom and experiences
Is the man to live with history
Which can't be tampered and distorted
His life carries the evidences of
Any past wars and massacres
Any past incidences and disasters
And now is our turns to become
The witnesses of the global epidemic Covid-19
Are you feeling proud or grateful
Thanks God we've struggled through
A distorted body
Trying to right itself
Skeleton pulls muscles
Muscles pull joints
Raindrops of Hope
On the window pane
White pollen floats
In ink on my page
And the pain
Flows into the
Bathroom drain !
Medusa arrived like most dandelions
All over the place with a bobbly head
She was an anomaly, a work of art.
She exuded a rareness; she was unique.
I watched her fill up the dandelion patch.
She overtook her sisters and brothers.
A giant in their midst, Medusa was a catch.
I lugged strangers into my yard to see her.
She is no dandelion! Some would say.
Then what is she? They would examine her.
Some wanted to take her apart in dissection.
I sent them packing.
I stopped bringing strangers in to peer at her.
I felt I had violated her trust enough already.
The other dandelions started turning.
I photographed proof of Medusa.
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