Lost and Found

 

Lost and Found

The store had everything

Everything I gave away

and wish I hadn’t

plus everything I wanted

but didn’t need

and even a couple of things I secretly did.

The best part about thrift stores is

you find what you weren’t looking for

among all the people from my past

and present

you were there, talking about

a tennis lesson in Florida,

of all things.

Even more improbable,

I was playing matchmaker, yet

I disentangled myself from the woman

who wanted to meet you

in real life.

Near my old record collection,

we eloped, trying to find a world

where no-one knew us,

but my past found me,

that thief of impossible worlds,

and I lost you, too.

 

Tuesday Interlude

 

I love this ethereal video made by Sarah Wickliffe (http://www.wickpix.com/)…with a poetic appearance by Neruda. Followed it up with a Cure chaser. Because, you know, the Cure.

 

Until we meet in other worlds, traveller.

 

 

The Synchronicity: Fire

 

Wrote a poem about an hour or so ago to submit to a contest, titled Bonfire. It was the day of bonfires earlier this week, which probably inspired it.

But, I’m a water person, usually. Water, coolness, rain, overcast skies. Yet, a fire elemental has been making its presence known. Hence the other part of the inspiration. In dreams. In random thoughts. In my poetry. In waking life. Then I signed back online to enter the poem. And encountered more fire synchronicity to wrap up the week. I feel a little haunted and eerie, even though I largely accept Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s practical/scientific view(s) on such mental/emotional phenomenon.

So I used the poem I wrote  for the contest to siphon off some of the feelings towards the fire element I’ve been having lately. A short story for another contest is going to hold some more. And the leftover I was planning on putting in another poem for share on here, sometime soon. But now I feel like a mimic, albeit unintentional. And it’s nice to muse on, but I’m not sure whether I also believe in Jung’s theory of collective unconsciousness (or my interpretation of said theory).

Still, words clamour inside my head to be let out. To be heard. And, like most writers, I can only release them, and hope they are heard by those who need them the most. Who are listening with the right-place-right-time heart. And maybe they will be someone else’s synchronicity.

Ouroboros

The snake catches fire.
I burn it to be free
of this infinite loop.
Of walking in circles
Spiralling around from dreams to life and back again.
Yet, I love being lost in the maze and
trapped in this mystery.
Are these glimpses more fulfilling
than the reality of you?
The poet in me asked the void.
I defend myself.
I burn the bridge, I say,
because I’m tired of darkness and shadows and half truths and ghosts that go bump
inside my head.
I want fire.
I want to scorch my world to cinders.
And I want you to be the water,
this time,
from which my phoenix is born.

–Willow Croft