It's time to light bonfires
Heat up some witches brew Light up some incense Cast our blessings Churn some spells Fear not thy winter For autumn is first It's time to enjoy evening walks under the moon Time for us witches to prepare & craft some Halloween decor And to enjoy our time with nature for soon we will stay more indoor So brew my coffee as , I do I think of creative autumn things , I need to do Autumn is such a blessed time of year So here's a cheer for this blessed time of year © Jennifer L DeLong 9/28/22 🕸🌰
my feelings are the splattered inks
bold, italics threatening to spill weighing on every meaning words could carry scrambled up, juggled those who’ve yet to feel shall not speak and pray tell, words do you realize what you amount to? what’s behind was for a reason, a person clear as day, solid reverie what lies beneath shan’t remain between the lines and if it reaches you, we’re alike
The grey lines etch
Her eyes, her mouth and her hips; A blade makes contact through the fine, stone mist. Stagnant, Sanding down the beating end of a hammer, Trapped shapes appear, Revealing new ways to approach Her eyes, her mouth and her hips.
Finishings can be
The hardest part In these final steps All the craftsmanship Has already occured The finishings are Mere inevitabilities You must Come to terms With the idea that Perfection is a Necessary goal Precisely because It is unattainable You must reconcile Yourself to failure It's not perfect You have to make Your peace with that How? Well.. You lay out Your tools And you start again
Black as coal. Moth or myth? It helps with the lights out. And travels by thought. Cleopatra enters Rome, Dropping names, Reciting pagan poetry, Knocking on forbidden doors. Nicole sees shadows Of her former self Staring back at her, Rock paper scissors, The color of three. Give and take after take On the burning soil Of a blurred crusade. Typewriters And other assorted weapons Form white lies and alibis, Calibrating the dusted variations Of a caught-on-camera obscura, It is a dark waltz, Some small hope still, Yet there's a comma after still. ~
i just show out
blessed and grateful ball is my life game comes natural hater said don’t let talent change you that’s how i know “talent” ain’t you skills, i been had new deals, i’m so glad folks just take notes they just big mad mouth so sinful ego so full they just waste time disrespectful humble of my mind ignore the hype stay in the gym, dedicate my life to the craft life work hard each night success’s a struggle this is my grind reaching my goals cash in billions help out lost souls give back millions my style is classic IQ brilliant just hit different one in a million
“When something push you, you push back”
You have memories
to look back on, on-this-day ago one year, three years, five years ago, all-your-yesterdays fade, perhaps repressed or once carved with care to exhibit the best to omit the stuff you'd rather forget and so the sculptor shaved keeping with the grain until the rather-not-dwell-ons fell before the sweep of grace, each scrape joining other eliminations to be gathered up and cast into the fireplace. The sculptor sanded, polished and revealed the much loved gargoyle within proving once again the effectiveness of shaving away the best forgotten.
Memories again. There's both danger and liberation in forgetting. And just as a sculptor removes everything except the image they reveal, some forgetting can reveal more truth.
It's heavy on the head,
that letting-go part. The whole, "We need some time apart; it's just too draining. Maybe in a few years we can see how much you are and where we want to go from there." Figures. Always running the show, always giving me a hard time, lifting me up just to slam me down, whooping my *** while I'm sprawled out like roadkill. (Though it's so hard to turn away...) The lies are told to desperate ears, making the pickings ever sweeter. Thanks for the pick-me-up! Now where's the put-me-back-down? When do we plummet way past our infamous goals to the deeply imagined? More than a fair share of fun for the measly price of living! Too many goodnights haunted by negativity, when sleep is better than anxiety. (The real test is when it decides to show its face again...) Bah, that won't be for a while, at least until I've made a name for myself in some... other way. Once the mirror shows beneath the tailored suede suit; then we'll see who separates the lazy from the dead. I wonder if there will be a day when I can wake up, sure that there will be no more condescendence from my craft.
I am drawn to it
Theres no doubt Now that ive glimpsed behind the curtain Theres no way I could live without The wisdom there, the fantasy All grounded within reality Cleanse a room with a loud noise Poise is no longer mandatory Crystals, carving sigils This is where I belong After so long I have finally found a place
About a month ago, it drew me in. I feel an intangible but irresistible connection.
Books are fuel to the imagination.
Works of fiction pour into my mind, hours at a time. I feel the power rise, as I climb through expositions. Looking down, I see the world in the palm of my hand. Looking up, I see my face amongst the clouds. On this high I craft my own words, some spoken and others in ink. And as I fall, I ponder the time until my return.