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Tag: Photography
Something New is Coming.
In anticipating of a new poetry experiment coming soon, I’ve re-released ‘Oceans and Dust’ with two new never seen before poems and new photographic art.
If anyone’s interested, it’s available on Amazon.
Thanks for reading.
Narcissus et Echo
Come to me, one half, one half of you,
Rising up, rising up along rivers, along streams.
Come to me, I split, split myself in two,
To hide my power, hide it from myself,
From you, for the love of you.
~
Come, and I won’t speak unless spoken to,
Won’t threat unless threatened.
I’ll be small, hidden, mere reflection of you,
Your wants, your needs.
Come, and I will flow into you,
Or remain as still as glass,
Inward, outward, your weakness, your strength.
~
Come back to me, a memory,
Unfinished and unbroken,
Half fragile, half unchanged.
Come back to me, and for a while,
I will be neither or,
A dream, a sweetness,
A bitterness left to rot, to root, to flower.
~
And bloom, bloom in me,
Watchful eye, a longing,
On the verge of staring in, falling in.
And bloom, opening, letting go,
Letting in, letting out,
Of what is left, what is without,
What is yet to come.
~
And I will live, give,
Whisper quiet, whisper low.
And I will follow,
Asleep in the reeds,
One eye staring up,
One voice calling out.
The Overdose
It wasn’t intentional,
Only the attempt to feel nothing at all.
Free from flesh,
The seaweed sinew of bone,
Of holding worlds.
Yet on the other side of the rainbow,
There was no Alice chasing rabbits,
No rest for the weary or wicked,
Only the darkness of being.
Encased in flesh,
And clinging to the bones of the long dead.
The Unspoken
I wanted to be quiet so that you would listen with care,
As much care as I put into choosing my words.
I wanted you to take a breath before you responded,
The same breath that I took, the space between, to process your words,
And all you layered in them.
I didn’t want to be loud, to force myself into you,
Imprint my words like scars.
So, I whispered all these fears into the dark,
And hoped you’d find them, and understand.
I Once Was a Wannabe Rebel
Half, semi, what else?
To face your fears and…
Make like a cheetah and run.
Superman, Supergirl, no,
Super amazing is what I wanted to be.
Matching memories with my house plants,
Living in Chicago,
Campaigning against fur,
Sleeping on the dashboard,
Four counts of the fingers
Whistling at cuties,
Wishing my name was Supernova.
Hugging koala bears,
Running further and further away,
Protesting against animal testing,
Blowing up the lab.
We agreed on this,
I swear we did,
No More Violence!
Available Now!
Original photography prints, featured in ‘Oceans and Dust: Poems for Loneliness’ are now available for purchase at society6.com/issara_simone
Also available now on Amazon
How Many Footprints are Still Mine?
Returning to the earth we came from
To the mother we share
We’re all a part of the song
Soft steps crunching on the ground
The steady rhythm of the heart and breath
The wind rushing in our ears carrying bird cries and falling leaves
The engine roll in the distance
The dried earth welcoming the rain
And dust returning to soil
How many footprints are still mine?
How many are still yours?
A Fixed Candle
I fixed a candle with a spell
That can never be captured again.
The words lost, ingredients forgotten,
A moment that can never be recreated.
I cast it with one moon eye
And wings at my throat,
And fed it with equal parts fire and smoke.
A whispered prayer to coax you out
From worlds of your own creating.
The dream of mother and maturity,
The embellishment of independence held in youth,
As in, ‘This freedom is ours’, it’s not, and never was.
With five herbs sealed in wax, question marks on each of them,
Myrtle, Baby’s Breath, Rose, Lemon Balm, Chamomile,
We accept with age what we can’t see in youth.
Somethings are what they are,
And somethings aren’t meant to be at all.
Illuminated Pages: Oceans and Dust, the Poems for Loneliness.
“There is no shortage of wonder in the human spirit. We were born to ask why. We are here to make up our own answers. This is the poetry of being alive.” – Jacqueline Suskin.
A few years back, I took an introduction to writing course, because it was free, and I was bored. The instructor was a beautiful, well-travelled woman, full of stories, sweetness and a little something under the surface that suggested she had some dark secrets waiting to be pulled out. But, I’m digressing, as per usual.
On one particular day, during one particular lesson, a fellow writer asked how one goes about writing a book and getting published. The answer she gave is one that I both understood and, down to my bones, disagreed with.
‘No one here is ever going to get published.’ she said, ‘Writing a book…
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