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Her soul is on fire,
the heat from it taking me higher,
soaring on a demons breath,
taste on my lips, the kiss of death,
reaching forth she takes my hand,
leading me to a foreign land,
through the shrouds of darkened bliss,
wraps my spirit in an immortal kiss,
shields me with an apocryphal embrace,
takes me to her resting place,
she feels, she see's, she knows,
the ancient wisdom of the crows,
binds me with a seal of tears,
keeping me safe through all the years.
 May 2017 Catarina Pech
Sarah
Stars
 May 2017 Catarina Pech
Sarah
The stars are out tonight
I gaze at them from my yard
My hair spread out on the grass
My mind races
Focused on how far away these glittering lights are
An entire universe is out there
But it was not made for me
I am small
But can a light still burn inside me?
Especially if I feel so dark?
I like to think we are all stars
And astronomers at the same time
Searching for our place in the galaxy
Will you be a star with me?
With you I no longer feel dimmed
Can you let me illuminate your world?
I’ve been pulled in by your gravity
There’s no way to leave your orbit now
Even if I wanted to
 May 2017 Catarina Pech
Faera
If I were not a person who dealt in words
the same way others dealt in currency
(or maths
or measures
or facts
or any number of infinitely more practical things)

If I were not a person who breathed in the flow of letters against pages
and thoughts against spaces

I would never love an artist

because no matter the medium of the life
cra
wl
in
g
beneath their skin

No matter if they hear notes in the flip of her hair
(or paint galaxies of the breath against her cheeks
or create worlds hinged on his fallen eyelash
or build monuments to his unguarded laughter
or sway to whatever melody her eyes serenade beyond flickering boredom)

no matter the medium they substitute for the oxygen they inhale
Their hearts
do not exist
—cannot—
outside of the muse they substitute
to pump their passions through their veins

And if I were not a person who dwelt between the strokes of the letters
and devoured the length of meters

I would never love an artist

because their lives are forever forfeit to their muse
sold, clapped in heavy irons
to a desert oasis you cannot reach
because you cannot be his muse, if he has notched you onto his belt

For an artist would never endanger his muse, no matter if he loved her
(or worshipped her
or tortured her
or reveled in her
or whatever multiple definition love has contracted)

If I were not a person who knew the woes of seeing more
than what the world might first offer

But I am.
And I understand.

And I would never love an artist

For I belong to my muse and so does he
and She demands
that no competition come from the love
She allows me
outside Her chamber doors
and an artist's brilliance is competition indeed

And I can only ever love an artist
who
might
forgive
And who might understand
If I told her she is my muse no longer
 May 2017 Catarina Pech
Mary-Eliz
She's younger than me
She's just eighty-three
but you'd think she's
a hundred and ten.
She talks of her aches.
She talks of her pains.
Then she tells them all over again.

She wins all the "prizes"..
She likes to advise us
on all the troubles she has
like sun-burning too easy
and how she gets queasy,
flat feet, sinus problems and gas!

She has all of these plus
she's weak in the knees.
Her heart sometimes beats out of time.
The bugs like her better.
She says they all get her.
Her bites swell the size of a dime.
(Actually, a quarter but it didn't rhyme.)

She has trouble sleeping.
She has trouble eating.
Some foods they give her the hives.
To hear when she tells it,
she isn't so well. It's a wonder
she's even alive.

Too healthy am I.
I can't even try
to keep up with the conversation.
The ante's too much.
Her ails I can't touch.
I've not even had operations.

She has, you know, from
her head to her toe.
They've taken out pieces and parts.
She keeps them in jars.
They're never too far
to be shown at a game of hearts.

When she whips out her stones
and pieces of bones,
we just smile and then nod our heads.
She knows she's the winner and
we're just beginners.
"Hey, can't we talk about
the weather instead?"
My two sisters and I used to spend a week together at a beach house. I had to leave a conversation with them one time because I couldn't stand to listen to their (hypochondriac) complaints and woes another minute. I went in the other room and wrote this...later when I read it to them, they laughed but they didn't really"get it"!! Of course, I exaggerated a bit...including the age :-) but still...(On the other hand, perhaps each of them thought it was about the other! LOL)
She said;
Once I heal from all these chemical burns
I'll exude forgiveness
You'll be impressed by my emotional stability
And my lack of vulnerability
I'll be such a gentle *****
You lose sight of when our roles switched
I have another dimension to my soul now
All the knives are out of my throat now
All the stories are rewrote now
It's impossible to detect the dishonesty in my voice
Lovers side by side
Watching the sunset
feeling the tide
Makes me think of holidays in
Broom beautiful sunsets
 May 2017 Catarina Pech
francesca
maybe it’s because she hides iron fists
in soft velvet gloves.
maybe it’s the authority dripping off her tongue
like honey
slow, and sweet and overwhelming
maybe
just,
maybe it’s because
she’s a woman.
//much word *****, such wow
I see the violence,
I hear no laughter,
It's all faith to capture;
I can feel the rapture,
Disaster another chapter,
Darkness within these walls,
a fall,
No more buildings too tall.
Fire choking the young,
It's only just begun.
There's no sun,
We hear a bomb,
Run,
Innocent children,
Deprived of fun,

Shrapnel flying everywhere,
Smoky air,
Streets are bare,
It's all despair,
I feel the Animosity,
Subconsciously,
Knowing I'm dead probably,
We do this to our society,
Because we have religion and rivalry,
Violently, involved yet independently,
You walk so silently,
Scared of your own shadow frightfully,
Tirelessly,
With your messed up psychiatry,
That’s irony.
Restless Ramblings of a mind, that still doesn't understand why.
Quick succession rhyming used here. Some lyrics are taken from a rap I wrote, in similar context to what is happening in this sad, miserable world.
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