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PoserPersona May 2018

Dear Journal,

     The wheel turns on the black Bic lighter and conjures a restless spark,
thus igniting once sincere letters. In turn, arctic winds are evoked at dark.
Couple's ardor inspired prior to her departure abroad to Denmark.

     Confederate embers scorch paper, but less so than this dolorous heart.
Blazing in solidarity on a barren porch; a pyre for finest silks torn apart.
With weeping wounds cauterized, the true healing now just starts.

Sincerely,
Rekindled

Rayne Victoria May 2018
His voltaic caress courses through me
As his fingers bloomed into flowers
And his breath a soft breeze on my skin.
His voltage electrocuted me
My confidence amplified as the words
Rolling off his lips
Found my ear
And charged my veins
When it reached my heart.
Skin on skin like no other magnetism
A breathlesss sensation
From such an opulence of love.
His true electricity so overwhelmingly paralyzing
So overwhelming that my desire
Had devoted to hydrating itself
Under the waterfall of his affection,
His current perilous but phenomenal
As it coursed through my liquid love.
And no other contingency could execute
The inadequacy and animosity I held from myself
For the lightning that struck from his heart
And radiated from his hands
Convinced me otherwise.
A galvanism so tremendous
Emitting when the crevice of his lips
Closed around my neck
And up to the roses blossoming from my face
Igniting
A spark.
Shadow Dragon May 2018
Purple and pink
glooms of hope
spark in what
I like to call life.
But my sweet darling
this is no life to live.
Full of regrets
that sail across
the passive mind.
Only to relive
what once wasn't
yellow and orange
juicy drinks
at the beach
with stars above.
The colorful hope
serves limited time
but at last it gives
an after glow.
mindmatter May 2018
electricity
runs through my veins
remaining eager
to take away your pain
to break your chains
sending sparks
lighting up my brain
shooting down
with the rain
it carves your name
with flames
onto my skin
my hairs begin
to stand thin
across all four limbs
my breath within
the depths of my sins
travels to cleanse
your heart
that craves to mend
the color blue
is an energy
I never knew
would lead me through
the darkness
walking beside
a person like you
with nothing to do
but to adore the view
the lightning
proves I’m alive
that the wires
wrapped around my spine
stay intertwined
with your being
finishing the design
the storm defined
as a miracle
made to stop time
and to shine as bright
as the electricity
that has helped
me survive
Chris D Aechtner May 2018
__

Alpha

While thunder clapped for an encore,
we put on iron boots
and danced in puddles
that reflected the obsidian
of Raven's crick-craw chorus
between the ripples.

I splashed with rod in hand, and yelled,
"You are the hammer and anvil,
I am the lightning! I am the quickening!"


II

They came from the East.

The ground shook, and cracks spread
from the pounding of their hammer-steps.
Wisakedjaks fled from roosts now pitched askew
by fingers that brushed the tips of pines
with every swing of lumbering limbs.

Lofty mouths inhaled the clouds
and blew out smoke rings on the wind.


III

I charged across the ground—a bolt—towards
the nearest Cyclops.
Like a sparking pinball, I zig-zagged
up the giant's shins,
past his thighs, and higher still,
then struck him in the eye.

And we became one—euphoria!


Omega

The Wisakedjaks repaired their nests,
and have less space in the minds of those

who found a scapegoat for mythologies
preached in smoke-filled rooms
where followers choke on the want to be saved.

Words were curved into a staff
that false Hermes uses to shepherd his flock:
people who pocket gold coins for Charon,
having surrendered the kingdom within—dead, though their bodies continue to pulse with life.
March 16, 2013

The version of "Omega" posted above
was written on May 6, 2018
_____


This poem is more than 5 years old.
It involves a mix of reinvented mythology from 4
different cultures (and time periods).
Over the years, I've played around with the poem,
especially with "Omega", including how it shifts
between past and present tense.

Some people are probably more familiar with the
modernized, English classification of the bird
species, Wisakedjak (there are many variations
of its spelling according to tribe): Whiskey Jack.
In some North American-based First Nations
mythology, Wisakedjak is the Creator that caused
a "Great Flood" to cleanse the Earth of a creation
turned rotten. First Nations flood mythology existed
about 12,000 years before flood mythology first
sprang up in ancient Sumeria.
I believe that religions incorporate a regurgitation
of mythology.
Also, I believe that the strongest historical accounts
are a hybrid of fact and mythology, regardless of how much that might go against surface logic.
When historical accounts are comprised of supposed cold, hard facts, who was it who wrote such historical accounts? Why? What were their sources, biases, subjective angles, and perspectives?

In a lot of First Nations mythology, Raven, Coyote,
Turtle, Wisakedjak, etc., are not separate creators,
as they are shapeshifted forms of the same Creator.
Also, in such belief systems, it's understood that
the Creator, in all its different, shapeshifted forms,
is simultaneously singular and plural. That, and
the different forms of the Creator, have caused
problems with the translation and understanding
of First Nations mythology amongst some non
First Nations people.  


This post was formatted in a way that won't
cause unintended line breaks when viewed with
a smaller-screened mobile device.



+/-
Danielle May 2018
That spark of Inertia forced the cry from my throat
And slipped anguish into your tea.
Drowning the embers that burned there.
While you set my sin into the gears of a time-worn watch,
You sipped the licking flames,
And brought out your creation, with ticking twitching hands,
Into the day to burn.
Tiana Marie May 2018
You are the single spark
that lights my fire
and sends it into an
endless blaze.
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