Yule Hymn

Mother Night, she comes again to give birth to sun;
The old sun dies down and then is reborn, good son;
The Holly King reigns, for over Oak he has won.

Though winter is long and cold and dark, spring will come:
There is no life anew without the death it's from;
So give to those who have none from those who have some.

For the dark times are lonely and winter is cruel,
Still the sun rises and gives its warmth, golden jewel -
Be like the sun and give all a bright, joyous Yule!

Back Spasm

I awaken in suffering, pain;
I cannot even speak for the strain
is too much, expressing adds to my stress -
confessing need goes against the grain.

Another Passing Dream

In dreams I am still hunted
In dreams I am still haunted
but each passing dream
but each passing day
carries me further and further away
One day I shall have freedom
from my past, from my attackers, from my pain
One day I shall have liberty
to act, to will, to dream
One day I shall have peace

Exposure

We can give you exposure,
for poverty - is a cure;
(death cures all things) I refuse because ill-
considered exposure is known to kill.

Entry Fee

Money,

hard earned,

blood from turnips;

cold hard cash - blockade

prevents action, motion;

fence, cage,

barrier.

First Ex-Husband

Thought he was related to Macbeth,
our marriage doomed to not-so-tragic death,
never in love with me 'til for another I pine -
couldn't even get me a Valentine.

Second Ex-Husband

He gave himself his own nickname,
marriage to him brought nought but shame;
he likes to hurt those who are small,
I wish I had seen through it all.

In underwear he leaves brown skids,
likes porn to watch the rape of kids,
used my pic to dupe men of cash;
wish upon him bitterness, ash.

Anodyne

To be completely inoffensive is trying,
especially if wishing to avoid lying,
and into others' private lives ever prying;
one must away from all action be quite shying.

Dissociation

Who am I?

No,
this is not some cutesy riddle,
but rather
a deep-seated lack of certainty
about the self.

I used to define myself
by my relationships to family
(daughter, sister, granddaughter,
then wife)
or to friends
(the quiet one, the artsy one, the weird one,
the depressed one)
or even to career
(student, teacher, office monkey,
unemployed,
overworked)

but now I am uncertain
(often I am uncertain)
for I have more than three jobs
(teacher, nanny, cook, cleaner, artist, poet)
(none of which pay sufficiently)
(none of which are full-time)
(none of which come with benefits)
(I will work until I die)
and my relationship with my family is tenuous at best
(I cannot blame them, I can only blame myself)
and my friends feel so far away

I lose track of myself
maybe it is because I have been lied to
about myself
(those things did not happen to you,
you are remembering them wrong,
you made them up,
you lie)

Perhaps my brain is incapable
of maintaining a coherent image
because my character is flawed,
my personality is cracked,
I am a madwoman

am I even a woman?

am I even human?

am I even I?

Inhale and connect to the flesh,
however temporarily,
for you have work to do today,
all days,
and there is no time to disconnect,
even though it happens unintentionally,
you must force yourself through it
whoever you are.

Night Visions

I cannot trust joy, it will not let me be;
Sorrow in its wake, joy ever drew:
In dreams pleasure you bring me;
In dreams pain is my gift from you.

You who seduced me, ecstasy you brought,
Yet I am only regret ever by experience taught:
I am not permitted to give what I got.
In dreams pleasure you bring me;
In dreams pain is my gift from you.

Like a cat, you are soft but have sharp claws;
You are perfection, including your flaws;
Both silver tongue and sharp teeth in your jaws;
In dreams pleasure you bring me;
In dreams pain is my gift from you.

No matter who, always the rejection -
This is the cost of every transaction.
I wonder if I am better in total isolation?
In dreams pleasure you bring me;
In dreams pain is my gift from you.

Do I prefer to seek pleasure in waking?
Is ever pain only of my own making?
Perhaps I need to be ever more painstaking.
In dreams pleasure you bring me;
In dreams pain is my gift from you.

Cell Sol

The smallest sun:
cell of one, cold;
undone, winter
coming per the
time; blurring together days.

Turmoil

The pain moves in cycles:
I remember,
I contemplate,
I suppress,
I fail

I screw up
three things
before breakfast every day

Is it just PMS
or is it something worse,
some other acronym
(BPD, PTSD, MDD)
or am I just a bad person
?

Does writing and art
help get it out
if there is
no time to create
no time to contemplate
no time to be a person

just a machine
for cleaning
teaching
cooking
serving others
and never myself

What is the point
How can I create meaning for myself
if I cannot even create a shitty poem or painting
much less a child

This is going nowhere
I should just delete this
but like all cries for help
I'll send it out into the ether
and hope
for something to give
because something has got to give

Sick

A headache blooming
against my skull and face burns,
a stinging hot fire;
I cough, choke, sneeze, and suffer,
seeking medicine, comfort.

Sell Soul

I stood in the market with my wares
(I was aware I was selling my soul)
"Hello, how are you,
all prices are negotiable,
let me know if you have any questions!"
(I was aware I was selling my soul)
My paintings were images into my psyche, my soul
on display for all to see, to judge,
to decide whether or not I was worth the value I set,
whether or not these snapshots of my self
were worth one hundred dollars here,
fifty dollars there,
or seven hundred and fifty dollars for a triptych,
three parts of myself on display
(I was aware I was selling my soul)
Prostitution is not a metaphor,
it is real labor
but the value depends on the marketplace
no matter the quality of your labor;
but art is a metaphor
for a kind of display, communication, or emotion
"Love me"
"Buy me"
"Value me"
(I was aware I was selling my soul)
but the value depends on the marketplace
no matter the quality of your soul
no matter the quality of your art
commodification makes no sense
but may make cents;
there is no fortune in selling your soul

Cold Snap

The chill in the air brings back cold memories
of shocking shifts in his personality:
one moment calculated to make heart freeze,
the next, a thawing warmth and sweetness to me.
I am now hypersensitive, cannot trust
my own intuition, what treatment is just;
I feel sometimes I should only be alone,
I only deserve to be cut to the bone.

Falling Down

Leaves are falling all around,
a tempest of foliage swirling about,
raining soft and crisp against the cool, damp earth;

the dying time has come again,
as trees finally shed their green
for festive rich reds, oranges, yellows.

All goes to sleep,
to hold back the rampant growth of earlier times
and hotter climes and fruiting as vegetation primes

for the coming deep cold chill
the frosts and freezes hinted at
on the breeze which causes us to wrap tighter

scarves and sweaters and coats,
while the occasionally emerging sun
sometimes encourages outstretching

(why is this tree budding leaves,
does it not know what is coming?
winter is coming).

I am caught up in a rainbow maelstrom
of dried, dead, dying leaves,
pouring down from the canopy above.

Medication

What a difference having
versus having not
medicine.

Testament

I.
I was born in Louisiana in the twentieth century,
I will die in the twenty-first, Goddess knows where.
I was born to a man and a woman who did not stay together,
but each remarried once or twice; I started with one sister,
gained another, then two brothers, then friends close as siblings
or closer. When I was six I decided I wanted to complete
the highest level of education, and I finished
my doctorate when I was 33. I have been, am,
in love with men and women and people outside
those categories. I have survived abuse, and rape, and more.
I have been homeless, though not houseless, and I have
only seen war from a distance so far. I have no wish to get closer.
I have been writing since I was a child - I wrote my first poem when I was
nine or ten, when a boy told me girls could only write poetry
about flowers and love; I have been drawing, creating art
since I could hold a pencil or crayon, before I can even remember.
I wrote my first story when I was perhaps twelve or thirteen. I have now
published books of poetry and even a novel, and will publish more.
When I die, not all of me will die, for I leave behind uncounted
art and writing, poetry and paintings, stories and songs.
I still want a child, I lack a child, I desire a child -
I will a child into being.

II.
I am a pagan. I believe in not one god but many,
I believe in all gods, demigods, minor lords and ladies, great deities
and small. I am polytheist, pantheist, panentheist. I worship the Goddess.
I was not always so, being raised a monotheist, flirting with atheism,
and then finally accepting the inevitable revelation of Her.
I am a feminist. I have always been a feminist, even as a child,
though my feminism has grown ever more intersectional as I have
grown ever more aware of the suffering of others. I am left of left,
perhaps more than some, perhaps less than others, but ever struggling
to support those who struggle. I never wanted to be a warrior,
but perhaps that it the true meaning of fighting oppression.
I am queer. I am capable of and have experienced attraction to
many people in many bodies, male, female, and third, fourth, and fifth
genders; I am polyamorous, pansexual, and non-binary; I am not
to be limited to one self, one other, one, I will exceed and overflow.
I cannot be contained, I cannot be held back, I will not be held down.
Not again.

III.
I wish for peace and prosperity, I wish for patience, I wish for quiet;
I wish not for a return to some mythological past where all was well,
for such a time never seems to have existed,
not for women, not for anyone non-white, not for the poor,
not for those of us with disabilities,
but I wish for an approach to a future full of light,
of love, of liberty, of plenty,
a time when no child hungers uncared for, a
time when no person suffers for the difference of their body, a time
when no one is murdered, a time when
no one is starving, a time when no
one is without resources, a time when no one
suffers. This need not be utopia - just the absence of dystopia.

IV.
I have selfish hopes for myself.
I cannot reveal them to you.

V.
I must learn to love my fate,
my present, past, and future.
It is only through radical acceptance
that any of life, world, pain, will ever become tolerable.
You cannot fix something by ignoring it -
it will only get worse.
I will the same thing for myself,
and for everyone.

Women's Work

Whether it is to cook and clean,
Dodging the hate of men vile, mean,
Burying dead or growing green -
Women's work never ends.

We try to fight for what is true,
Make better the world gone askew,
With kindness we hope to imbue,
Women's work never ends.

Senators and stars we call out,
Put an end to the lies they spout,
On their authority cast doubt,
Women's work never ends.

Include all women, femmes, others,
Extend beyond simply mothers,
To teach all friends, neighbors, lovers,
Women's work never ends.

Harvest Time Has Come Again, Bringing Fruits

The berries hang ripe on bushes and

grasses, the trees let down their nuts

and leaves change colors, falling

down to the cooling earth

with alacrity

as winter comes

creeping in

slowly

soon.

Seeking

Forever I seem to be seeking,
holding my voice and never speaking
of thoughts through my mind ever streaking,
though through my fingers they are leaking,
and through my neurons tend to be creaking.
Nonetheless I endure critiquing,
as if all wish me to be tweaking
and at future self I am peeking -
though 'tis hard to see through the shrieking
that my flaws all need careful sleeking.
My suspicion tends to be sneaking
that love and friends be only ekeing
by minimally, my misspeaking
responsible for them all freaking
out at the havoc I am wreaking.
When my madness is at height peaking
and senses of injury piquing,
heat and cold through my brain are squeaking,
insanity like odor reeking,
this is when comfort I am seeking.

Drizzling

slow precipitation
on a cold, wet morning
falling down
without regret
pregnant with purpose

drenching all
with thorough saturation
a feeling of fullness
falling down
into all crevices

when what was dry
now refills with moisture
to flourish once again
in a soft, gentle deluge
remnants of a harsher storm

now left are only waves of thunder
bringing wind and rain with
decreasing power
falling down
from the drizzling sky

Hiatus

Poetry on hiatus until a) I figure out a working way to write while I nanny this summer, or b) I receive patronage or other support sufficient to permit me independence. We all know b is never happening, so watch my social media accounts for an update. I might have new poetry Monday. Or not. I don't know.

Patreon

Hello to my fans, family, and friends! You might have noticed on my Facebook or Twitter that I have started Patreon and Square Cash accounts. If you've been enjoying the poetry or paintings I've been producing so far, this is your chance to show your appreciation or encourage me to do more.
The Patreon page is set up for monthly payments from $1 up to as much as you like. The Patreon page will become a regularly updated blog including material I don't share here on Blogspot or elsewhere on social media, such as Q&As, sketches, non-painting art, unpublished poetry, and other writings like short stories or early drafts of long fiction. Patreon thus will be a way you can show your appreciation on a monthly basis and get access to creative work as a reward. With your encouragement, I can move towards making my craft my life's endeavor.
If you'd rather make one-time requests or donations, the Square Cash page is the better choice. You can do this as many times or as frequently as you like. You can give me an idea of where you'd like me to use the gift if you prefer (i.e. paint, canvas, pens and paper for writing, books to inspire me, etc.) or give with no strings attached. I can take commissions through Square Cash or Patreon, too.
Thank you for continuing to follow my creative journey!

Paperback Poetry

While Mixed Metonyms is on hiatus, check out my paperbacks, available on Amazon:

The Tree of Life (a journal of free verse)

Poetry, Songs, and Enchantments: A Pagan Sourcebook

Also available in ebook!

Week Hiatus

There will be a hiatus on poetry this week; Mixed Metonyms will return with new content next Monday. Shadow Play will continue to update more or less daily, however, so check out new paintings! (all prices negotiable, please inquire)

Paperback version of new book!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1520263341

Here is a link to the paperback version of my new, never-before-published book of free verse: The Tree of Life. Enjoy!