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ghivashel Dec 2019
even if he is as resplendent and radiant as the sun, when he drains the color from your life, stifles your effervescence, leeches your brilliance, do not be afraid to leave him.

- advice from ixchel
Ixchel is the Mayan Goddess of the Moon, Women, Childbirth, Weaving, and Rainbows (amongst other things!). One legend states that she was married to the Sun god who took away her golden brilliance; tiring of his constant jealous accusations of her cheating, she leaves him.
Emily Miller Jul 2018
On dusty streets leading from market to to the edges of a resort,
elderly men with three teeth beckon you.
The commercialized exoticism sweeps you up
and you hand over pesos
in exchange for a piece of parchment with hand-scrawled symbols...

There is no Mayan alphabet.
They'll tell you that they're writing your name,
you'll take it home and display it on a shelf next to framed pictures
of you and the family in Chichen Itza,
but nothing about it is real.
We never grow up and learn not to believe,
we just learn piece by piece what's real and what's not.
Children learn about the tooth fairy,
and mermaids,
teenagers learn about soulmates,
young people learn about their dreams,
but even as adults,
there are things we still believe in.

There is no Mayan alphabet,
and yet grown, educated people
pull coins from their pocket in an attempt to connect with a culture that seems too fantastic to be a part of reality.

There is no Mayan alphabet,
but people still believe.
They believe in utopias
and countries without debt.
They believe in world peace and infinite resources,
they'll write checks to conmen
and work for checks from them, too.
They believe in honest politicians
and perfectly healthy food.
They put stock in organic remedies
and all their trust in online articles,
and every time they think they've learned the way of the world,
they'll turn around,
and learn something new.
Adults may not believe in fairy tales,
but they will believe in the Mayan alphabet.
Neuvalence May 2018
How marveling it is—beyond the bustling town hub,
deep in the forests, reserved on the bravest hills
The cadence of the bird's alluring symphony
echoes from stone, overflowed with daffodils

I venture through time effortlessly, walking
The gentle breeze erases my sorrows and fears
Sometimes the stone pyramids are haunting,
Yet magnificent to see where humans once were

As I gaze opposing monoliths from a king's throne,
I wonder of his essence and his diligent rule,
I wonder of the people he led who’d home,
in this place seemingly claimed by nature

Luckily the residue still thrives: red on cobble;
The waters and the plants breathe in serenity;
The beds, once covered in western blankets, now rubble;
They all whisper stories and poems into my ear
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
the Sun’s about to set,
I can hear Jaguars in the uncomfortably near distance,
and I’m thinking they can come and get me I'm ready,
because Death by Jaguar wouldn’t be a bad way to go in this instance,

It would be glorious,
the kind of death that I would not protest,
I’m ready for my glory “Jaguar Spirit come and get me!”,
lead me to the Underworld and introduce me to this infamous character called Death,

yes,

I’m ready to go,
but apparently God isn’t quite ready for me yet,

see this isn't my first subconscious attempt,
at expediting my inevitable destiny with Death.

Still as much as I beg,
and as lost as I feel,
I find my way out of the jungle,
and stumble upon a Guatamalan encampment where I’m fed a good meal,

oh well,
maybe next time I shall be food for a Jaguar,
and then through my sacrifice I’ll become a legend,
and my story will get told and my poems read around future camp fires,

The Tale of The Poet Who Took Death by Jaguar,
as traumatic as it sounds it honestly wasn’t a bad way to go,
or so he had thought while finding himself lost,
alone with no one but that Jaguar deep in the Guatemalan jungle…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
This ain't no Hemmingway...
Sethnicity May 2015
I am the black sludge poured into morning mouths
The thickening blood like mucus oozing from the nose,
the failed vandal on the doorstep wringing
I felt this ick coming before, like bricks in the bell tower… Grimacing
I am the shifting surface of your beach front property
The wax of mudslide and sleep of glacier drift wiped away
You once tried to save me…,
But you should have saved yourselfrightchoseless… Sickening
I am the quite traveler giving ride to whomever
Provider of spectacles no testicales can compare
Hope you are ready for the next one cause my revolution’s in the air
Get the Mayans and the Call Lenders Cause I’m the blender you’re the pear!


Your thoughts fickled mine things
My water of youth your cesspool for fuel
The conduit of my poles peeled for golden rings
Have the nerve to say I’m not self-sustaining
Uninhabitable!   I’ve been more than hospitable!
What a virus that makes it self service unsuitable
To favor ill behavior for the sake of a savior
Your heads may bow to the east
But your *** still ***** none the least
Time after time provide I with a bountiful feast
So you Land on my Lover to satisfy your lust
Hover her then leave her collecting trophies, Moon Dust!?
Even the God of War has been fondled by your touch
They whisper, Oh how they want to flee me
They satellite and bend the light
And fore tell of my death
Well, Be Gone! And leave your clothes behind!
That flesh, My skin of desert and shore sand given.
The enchanted threads for your living experience
Be Gone! And don’t bother with packing up and cleaning
There will be no interrogation no exile from Eden

I’ll burn this wicked garden to the ground
Arrange my poles, and swish waters to cool it down
They are white clouds in my blackened blue atmosphere
Casting shadows on the crusted earth of my flesh
I frown a deep sound like bass clef
Their tall tale torn apart
The last vault too big to fail now broken Bonaparte
My molten core resurrecting to the surface
I smoke out for every hemp plant chopped and burned in vain
I offer fruit for Gods and you look pone it with distain  
These Human parasites stuck to my feet!
One whim of solar wind should cure me of their feverous heat


Ignore the Calendar your end will be what I vendor
NO refunds or replays back to binary Control Alt Delete’
You say the past will repeat yet look in a mirror, tongue and cheek
What is it that you seek? Have you forgotten My rule?
What you sew into me is what you reap
I’ve soaked in seeds of blood and tears now its harvest thyme to weep
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
I

The successive suns of summers
swim in me like a balcony of heat
I glow with the sol of sols

the pine cone of lava that
makes my cheeks full, white
the sun-drop of diamonds
have petrified in my heart
and I am creation rushing down

ii

On all that is below, these stars
know me and I among them
we are like water in water

ocean creatures of great adventure
vertigoes of light, layers of softness
suns of paradise, legends of golden noons
revolutions of princely sunspots
cliff of mortality, planets revolving

iii

Around a center, galaxies revolving
around a black-hole that was once
a great sun, time has pink candle-like veins

but she knows the sun, the sparkling rocks
the matter and energy of our destinies
caught up in a seabed of lights
the successive suns of summers
swim in me like an ode to sun-religions

iv

but I am here, drinking sun-wine
in the surreal view of full eyes
with a body of silver for the kaleidoscope

and a naked face dismantled by another eclipse
another wonder, another design of day.
AD Mullin Oct 2014
I tromped across North America a few years back
Following the Mayan Elders
Listening to the powerful Lakota Brothers sing songs of mourning and joy
Building community

I was following a White Cherokee
We created clan
I was motivated by the teachings of the Anishinaabe
And represented Thunderbird Clan

We stopped in sacred spaces such as Serpent's Mound
And Cahokia Mounds
We peered briefly through the veil; Samhain
I followed the red path and eventually found I had always been on it

I met Hopi and Navajo elder's
And my friend Sea, a pipe carrier brewed a special tea
I was gifted tobacco that had been grown from seeds
Recovered from an iceman's medicine bag

She transmuted the ancient tobacco into a tea
By folding it into a sweetgrass and cedar brew
Sea gave it to me in a basic stainless steel carafe
Every time we drained the carafe
I refilled it and the essence was just as powerful as the previous brew

When I finally caught up with the Lakota brother's in Sedona
Their voices were raw
We all were
I shared the tea with them

So much magic on that journey
The joy on those brothers faces as the tea reached their throats
I gave them the carafe and told them
It was the gift that keeps on giving

Their thankfulness has been the gift that keeps on giving
Je tricote avec de la laine rouge (the ember from my daugther, Noelle)

— The End —