We are all mothers
As we care for one another while going about business as usual
Our greatness in the guidance of the women whose scalloped hands stirrup our feet in the rooms and halls and roads of our lives
Who we notice only when we focus our eyes on our own faces, on our own working hands, on our own burdened hearts.
What’s your problem?
Is it so bad you have to run
Run away as fast as you can?
You’re already so gone
A stranger’s eyes have found a home inside your weary head
Deep inside you
The city burns
I don’t know what it is about this place
Seems to be fine just killing time until the end of days
Sleep to forget
Sleep to dream about anything
Anything at all
Sleep will save you
From all the monsters that await your waking like the executioner awaits the gavel’s fall
What’s your problem?
Is it so bad you have to
Lock yourself away in your dreams?
Count your heartbeats
As long as you’re inside this cage
You will never know what it is to be free
Song lyrics to End of Days on the album Terraforma by The Village Bicycle © Elizabeth Kelly 2017
My friends all talk to each other,
sometimes they address me.
Only every now and then though,
and usually to try and sell something.
My friends are voices, voices in the car.
Voices in my apartment,
voices coming from afar.
My friends are always there,
always willing to talk.
My friends don't really know me,
but I know all of them.
I know them well,
they share everything.
My friends are the voices,
I listen to them so that
I don't have to listen
Colours in the sky
Blend into the blue
The mellow sun
Slides to the west
Slender and tall
The shadows fall
A little downpour
The platform gets
Life goes on
Moments to moments
It’s a journey
Inspired by a painting
The artist - Prafull Hudekar
I’m an imposter.
I’m an imposter and no one can know.
I may end up on the street in rags that once were my clothes.
Money isn’t everything,
But being poor blows
And I’m facing the clock.
What then felt like freedom now feels like a box;
Like a long leash
in a big yard
Where the gate’s always locked.
Look around and tell me, who’s happy?
Isn’t happiness the goal above all?
Or rather to avoid feeling sorry
For ******* away the springtime in spite of the fall?
I’ve been thinking a lot
About identity, how’s its tied to self worth
I self identify as an artist
It’s what I’ve always wanted,
A gift bestowed at birth
The very word was full of glamour and mystery
I couldnt possibly be chosen as a vessel
When in reality, it changes with each donning,
morphing size and shape to fit the figure of the dresser
Art is for everyone. Everyone has art in their soul if they know where to look for it.
It’s always basements
Whichever puts the most air
Between the dreamer and the sleeper
Always utility space
Moving so slowly
Eventually the music will absorb
The slow tide low tide rhythms of the night time
The negative of the blueprint is the true intention of the dreamer
Living in a palace built by the sleeper
What would the songs sound like had they been written during waking hours
Am I too fat, or too skinny?
Am I too loud, or too quiet?
Am I too tall, or too short?
Am I too happy, or too sad?
Am I too outgoing, or too shy?
Am I too rich, or too poor?
Am I too tan, or too pale?
Am I too ugly, or too pretty?
Am I too much, or too little?
If you're going to tell me
What society thinks I should be
Then at least set a realistic standard.
We've been... a... part... so long;
We've not been... to...gether, a... lone.
I hear the lonely house sounds
Of dripping, creaking, and window wind whoshes;
The semi-muted fiber optic sounds;
The various vehicles dopplering past.
These I hear in my fractured second,
Before asking, "How ye doin?"
Which shatters into glass the silence
Held too long between us.
But now we are alone, together, alone.
A silent alone, together.
I love girls
I love guys
I love the in-betweens
I love the ones who changed sides
I love the ones happy with who they are
I love the ones who haven’t gotten that far
I love the ones who still can’t pick
I love the ones who are fed up with it
I love those who are tall
I love those who are slim
I love those who are small
I love those who are thick
I love people no matter their color
I love people no matter their size
I love people no matter their religion
I love people no matter what’s between their thighs
I love a little too quick
I love a little too much
I love a little too hard
But that’s okay. I love you no matter what.
The life of a pansexual
Liars and thieves
full of selfish greed
found the need
to butcher and feed
on every inch of my integrity.
So I repay the fee
with eloquent misery
and conjure poetry
calibrated for the annihilation
of my enemy.
Yet in the end
the truth be told,
the greatest enemy
© JDMaraccini 2013