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A plastic bag is snagged in the branches where I can't reach to stop its crackled song. The bag is an *****—its kidney? Stomach? Heart?—of the thing that's dying. The thing's given pills and powders, and graveyards are robbed to replace its parts. When it dies, it'll be brought to the taxidermist to be stuffed, and its stiffened corpse will be strung in lights—a beacon for people to arrive, two-by-two, and scoop out the void from behind its glass eyes. And when the void has been doled around, the dead will shuck, jive, and shuffle step to plastic song.
March 25th, 2017

The 10 minute time-span of these exercises includes any punctuation and other cohesion that I add after the words have streamed out.
__________

When the plastic bag rustles in the wind,
I hear its crackled song as an omen heralding in another phase. No matter what happens, only the moment is ever assured for us.
__

Alpha

While thunder clapped for an encore,
we put on iron boots
and danced in puddles
that reflected the obsidian
of Raven's crick-craw chorus
between the ripples.

I splashed with rod in hand, and yelled,
"You are the hammer and anvil,
I am the lightning! I am the quickening!"


II

They came from the East.

The ground shook, and cracks spread
from the pounding of their hammer-steps.
Wisakedjaks fled from roosts now pitched askew
by fingers that brushed the tips of pines
with every swing of lumbering limbs.

Lofty mouths inhaled the clouds
and blew out smoke rings on the wind.


III

I charged across the ground—a bolt—towards
the nearest Cyclops.
Like a sparking pinball, I zig-zagged
up the giant's shins,
past his thighs, and higher still,
then struck him in the eye.

And we became one—euphoria!


Omega

The Wisakedjaks repaired their nests,
and have less space in the minds of those

who found a scapegoat for mythologies
preached in smoke-filled rooms
where followers choke on the want to be saved.

Words were curved into a staff
that false Hermes uses to shepherd his flock:
people who pocket gold coins for Charon,
having surrendered the kingdom within—dead, though their bodies continue to pulse with life.
March 16, 2013

The version of "Omega" posted above
was written on May 6, 2018
_____


This poem is more than 5 years old.
It involves a mix of reinvented mythology from 4
different cultures (and time periods).
Over the years, I've played around with the poem,
especially with "Omega", including how it shifts
between past and present tense.

Some people are probably more familiar with the
modernized, English classification of the bird
species, Wisakedjak (there are many variations
of its spelling according to tribe): Whiskey Jack.
In some North American-based First Nations
mythology, Wisakedjak is the Creator that caused
a "Great Flood" to cleanse the Earth of a creation
turned rotten. First Nations flood mythology existed
about 12,000 years before flood mythology first
sprang up in ancient Sumeria.
I believe that religions incorporate a regurgitation
of mythology.
Also, I believe that the strongest historical accounts
are a hybrid of fact and mythology, regardless of how much that might go against surface logic.
When historical accounts are comprised of supposed cold, hard facts, who was it who wrote such historical accounts? Why? What were their sources, biases, subjective angles, and perspectives?

In a lot of First Nations mythology, Raven, Coyote,
Turtle, Wisakedjak, etc., are not separate creators,
as they are shapeshifted forms of the same Creator.
Also, in such belief systems, it's understood that
the Creator, in all its different, shapeshifted forms,
is simultaneously singular and plural. That, and
the different forms of the Creator, have caused
problems with the translation and understanding
of First Nations mythology amongst some non
First Nations people.  


This post was formatted in a way that won't
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a smaller-screened mobile device.



+/-
I commited the greatest sin
I did not remain thin

I commited the greatest sin
I embraced being a curvy woman

I commited the greatest sin
I threw my beauty magazines in the bin

I commited the greatest sin
I decided to feel comfortable in my own skin

I commited the greatest sin
I found my true beauty within
i committed the greatest sin
There are seven
wonders of the world
and three of them
are sitting here
right here
right now
at home
with me.
 Apr 2021 Alyson Lie
Molly Hughes
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
hands almost touching,
fingers brushing.

Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
excited laughter,
quickening breath.

Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
sun setting,
night time creeping.

Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
the child who collected
shells on the shore,
a child no more.

Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
sandcastle hearts
and tidal wave tears.

Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
the seaside
will never
be
the same.
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light

brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea

restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges

returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas

in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists

like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream

Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us

one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits

the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current

follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Hello and thank you. my HP friends!  I couldn't wish for a kinder, more talented group of people to spend time with.  Thank you for being a part of my life.  Apologies for sporadic reading...been drinking too many margaritas!
: )
We were beautiful children
And we grew up so brave,
We were touched by death and heartbreaks but we stayed just the same.

We listen to jazz all night and drink red wine,
Find ourselves adventure to pass the time,
We don't talk much about the pain we've felt inside,
No more bumps in the road,
Just enjoying the ride.

Our love is too strong to carry weight of what's gone,
We find peace in the sun,
And the belief of being young.

Love of mine in the world,
We are one in the same,
You can laugh while you're crying and be childish when you lose games,
We are fine, we are okay,
We are in love,
And our children someday will be just like us.
 Sep 2015 Alyson Lie
Akira
Scar
 Sep 2015 Alyson Lie
Akira
He told me my scars weren't beautiful
And I told him that no one could ever really admire a masterpiece
Without taking a few steps back
Your scars make you who you are and no matter what you are beautiful
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