Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Happy Bulemic Dragons

Jessica Frohling
Prologue: Word Count: 902 Total Word Count: 5643

If this is to be an appetizer,
To my poetry, my mind,
May I first suggest a nice sky,
With clouds and trees as garnish,
Ah look,
The Chianti has arrived with floating bits of crazy,
A beautiful color and ripeness,
A nice year.
For the meal,
The specials for today are randomness,
Observations, musings, oddness, hilarities, dreams,
Suggestions, a curious mind with a sprinkling of creativity,
Ah, but wait, as a second course,
Centos of both Emily Dickenson and Lorine Niedecker,
With ,at long last, a dessert of hints of sense,
A delicious blend sauce,
With creatures tossed on top,
And a mockery of Disney stories.
The menu has recently been updated from automatic language
To strangeness galore with heightened images,
That entreat and disturb the senses.
Your waitress today will be myself,
Jessica, I am happy to bring these entrees,
To the table for your enjoyment.
The band this evening will be the house band,
The sense knockers,
The lead guitarist bids you adieu,
And plays the tree lightly,
The singer has pipes like Alaska,
And the drummer plays the coconuts quite well,
Never mind the shattered disco ball,
We use it to cut the cake,
Would you like a piece?
The tablecloths you ask??
Why they are made of the finest peacocks,
Only the best for you,
The dishes are stolen from the very nicest mansions,
With silverware from sunken ships.
Oh him?
We found him in the ship too,
He’s a little the worse for wear,
But makes a nice coat rack,
We call him Lenny.
Oh that?
The crocodile tables were a bit short so we used Aime Cesaire as a prop,
The crocodile enjoyed his complaints for breakfast.
Roberto Harrison also made a good meal for ol’ croc,
He insisted his book might work better,
What a whiner that one,
Clearly his remains work much better.
Yes, indeed,
This is the finest asylum, I mean restaurant, there is.
We use only the finest ingredients of stars and plugs,
Leaves and bananas, clouds and death.
A mouse on the floor you say?
Impossible, we only have city rats the size of helicopters here.
A mouse, that’s just absurd.
What do you mean you don’t want to be shackled?
That’s the fun of the atmosphere!
If I were to just give you the key,
You might not eat the food!
What a waste that would be!
The Chianti tastes like watermelon flavored skunk!
But that is my favorite kind! How dare you insult the hunks of crazy!
I pray you try it again,
This time savoring an actual skunk,
Clearly, you will taste a difference.
I can find one for you,
We keep them freshly stocked in the back next to the sunshine flavored squirrels.
Yes, I could open the curtains if only they were not sewn onto the wall.
Oh, don’t be such a wuss,
Just because you just now realized the wall is staring at you doesn’t mean you should leave!
Besides, you haven’t even stabbed the appetizer yet!
Never mind the fireflies in your soup,
They won’t eat much and hardly cause indigestion,
On a night like tonight,
It sometimes helps to have a glowing belly.
The dinner has a girl having sex with death?!
That’s fantastic! Can I try some?
No, you may not put death in your napkin and attempt to feed it to Fido.
Besides, the flavors complement each other, without the death gravy, what do you have?
A horny girl staring at you as your main course, who wants that?
Honestly, where is your sense of adventure?
These foods are exotic and only found in one mind,
Here I have cooked and slaved to present this meal to you
And all I get is someone trying to escape that does nothing but complain!
Where else can you find a meal or an atmosphere like this?
Yes, the nonsensical dragon may choose to appear and eat you,
But he is almost always bulimic!
You may just survive!
The meals seem to have multiple personalities?
Well of course they do! They are stewed with different ingredients on different days!
A tree and an outlet hardly have the same things to say now do they?
So, a couple have gone moldy and have sentimental fuzz,
And a couple entrees and a few gave gone slimy with odd concepts hard to grasp,
It is a science experiment you are eating!
You should appreciate the dedicated word vomit it took to create the multitude of meals I set before you!
That’s better, I’m glad that the restraints have helped your attitude.
Now, I’ll be back to check on you to see your progress
and might just add more entrees, compliments of the chef.
Oh, you’ve noticed the chef is me?
Well, that makes me a very committed staff now doesn’t it?
The wigs help me get in the right mood, you know.
Yes, so do the seashells, and evening sky, and dragons that will eat you, I mean, let you survive,
I will present your bill shortly,
The amount is not quite like a bloated cow,
More like a chicken that will peck every preconceived notion from you until you are content.
He’s a nice chicken though,
His name is Fred.
I bid you good life,
Good mind,
Good creativity,
And happy bulimic dragons with stars as a halo.

Blog 1: 1250 words
Jessica Frohling
Poetry can deny or exalt one’s nature,
But even the clouds can be kindly or cruel.
With one day a pleasant cloud could block the harsh sun,
The next it could create a tempest so horrible as to destroy life.
The duel nature of life
Cycles, motion, spinning, opposing, counteracting, unifying.
The contrast,
So much contrast.
Contrast is beautiful,
And yet how do we know it?
It is as we live,
And as the poets describe.
They melt the essential components,
Presenting their astute findings to the world.
If I am the poet,
What do I see?
I see irony,
It sneaks towards us, infesting our lives, our thoughts.
We laugh,
Otherwise we would cry when all goes wrong.
Irony mocks us as it entreats us,
Making our failures seem less blight.
A man buys a new car that he has been dreaming of,
Only to have it smashed as he pulls out of the parking lot.
The is irony woven into our fate,
Or is fate just cruel?
I see beauty,
It is everywhere the mind or eye would seek it, if only one had the heart to look.
We stand in awe at the things we find beautiful,
While the rest of the world walks by.
We are creating the tip of the funnel cloud,
As we pause while others do not.
Beauty of aesthetic quality,
Or beauty of the unseen?
One must ponder the differences,
Especially a poet.
The development is as a scale,
the more one has of one, the less they have of the other.
Some scales are more broken than others,
Or perhaps just in the process of tipping.
I see color,
It is more rich when in contrast and yet stands independent.
It surrounds us,
Nourishes our senses while sometimes overwhelming them.
We see and feel color,
And it exists without us, we are but a part of its magnificence.
Color bleeds, like people,
It feels, has a pulse.
Red, like blood makes us feel our own demise.
Color dripping like blood from the walls,
And yet we purposely paint them as such.
Blue drip,
Like rain or sky,
Why is it to represent sadness?
What does that say that we dress boys in it?
Green drip,
Like plants or illness,
Why is it said to represent envy?
Is envy an illness?
Can it be cured with other plants?
Yellow drip,
Like the sun or flowers,
Why is it said to represent happiness?
Can’t the sun burn one into a state of cancer?
Plaid: too many drips.
The very rainbow dripping from the paintbrush into our lives,
Watch out for the green.
It may look like money but be an illusion of the will.
The rainbow of color,
The many associations are the playground of the poet.

As I stare out the window,
there is green everywhere,
but never more beautiful than in contrast with white.
Outside there is a flowering bush,
The leaves are plush,
As though the very heart of the plant were worn on its branches.
The delicate white petals of its flowers so sweet,
And yet so strong.
Alone this bush stands,
But for the white columns of the house it decorates,
And trees whose shadow it still shines underneath.
True nature has no straight lines,
All are curves, ridges, or hills,
Even the horizon only appears flat.
Man has made the world flat,
Our homes,
The very pinnacle of our worlds,
Have flat walls,
Flat windows,
Flat floors,
Even the art we place on the wall is contained,
Stuck on the flat wall.
It’s beauty is constrained,
Except for the vase.
All hail the vase whose form has survived.
How many homes have vases?
Not enough,
Only decorative, symmetrical frames.
Does a frame label art?
Does that it contains get more appreciation?
A picture,
A photograph,
Individually still beautiful,
Even for flat objects,
But stuck in frames,
Like we are stuck in our flat houses.
All hail the igloo,
The castle with it’s curved towers,
The Tag Mahal,
The tepee,
The ant hill.
The ants have the right idea.
They work in harmony and use resources in a non-harmful way.
We work in discontentedness and build flat homes.
We landscape our lawns to cover the mess we call a home, a lawn.
And yet where there is nature, there is not symmetry.
Why do we seek symmetry when nature is so calming?
People end up in retreats to escape symmetry and flatness, and yet it continues.
The perfect example,
They make the prettiest of streets as nature prevails.

Ode to the apple in the cup:
Mostly devoured,
You sit in your splendor.
My teeth marks upon you,
You stand still.
Your perfect red remains in arc missing patterns,
Your ivory center exposed,
But you care not.
Your stem remains,
A sign of the mighty tree from which you came.
It goes to your core,
Which haughtily you declare yours,
As I will not eat it.
Individually shaped,
And yet similar to your counterparts,
Your identity remains.
No matter how much of you I devour,
Your seeds remain.
The possibility of life remains.
Like the seeds of the womb,
They can create more like you,
Even though they are small and hidden within.
The seeds form a pentacle,
A star,
What some might call a sign of the grand design of nature,
Thus the more of you disappears,
The more that is revealed.
While my body is nourished by you,
Your nutrients to flow through my veins,
I know your secret;
You do not mind being eaten because you then flow through me,
As does the essence of the tree you come from,
The sunlight that gave life to the seed that formed the tree,
The dirt and water that nourished the tree,
The worms that tilled the soil,
The very base of the earth that supported the tree,
The space that held the earth,
The pull of the sun,
The moon,
The stars,
The planets,
The universe,
Flows through my veins as you do.
Be one with me little apple,
And I will be one with everything.

Two hundred and twenty five words to spend, like money.
Shall I spend you on describing the heart of the one I love?
Shall I look the heavens and contemplate the purpose of life?
Shall I feel with all intensity every word I type?
Shall I attempt to let the world know me?
Shall I attempt to emulate the grace of a feather with delivery so soft, yet strong enough to carry the birds that I envy?
No for today, I shall spend my words on the openness of poetry,
The myriad topics that could be presented and extracted.
I shall enjoy the word of possibility.
I shall both bow to the many options,
While tilting my head as to not miss a thing.
Yet while I look left,
To my right is the unknown,
My perception so limited as to make me wish to look all ways at once,
While still enjoying the focus that life is encountered within.
The more that I look,
The more it is unclear whether focusing or looking at the wider perspective is more grand.
Forty five words to spend and my time is almost up.
I leave you with only a promise that I will never stop looking,
Never stop contemplating,
I leave you with the promise that you can and do the same,
Purposefully or not.

Blog 2
Word count 625

Poetry, my lover, my friend.
You speak in ways that I can only imagine.
I admire your endurance through time.
I admire the way you can say something that means one thing to the world and another to me.
I feel your secrets,
I detect them, yet cannot always describe them.
How secretive you are on your counter.

A simple motion:
Fuzzy carpeting beneath my toes,
I drag my feet across the floor as I sit,
Enjoying the sensation.

Or as Harrison might say:
My Toes beneath fuzzy carpeting,
I sit across the drag as I floor my feet,
The enjoying sensation.

I started running,
My breaths harder,
My limbs working,
Feeling empowered,
But lacking endurance.
Endurance will come,
Easier breaths will come,
My limbs will be forced to work harder than they want to.
Too bad for them.

In Harrison speech:
Running started I,
Limbs, my working,
Empowered feeling,
Lacking but endurance,
Come will, endurance,
Come will, easier breaths,
They want to be forced, my limbs, work harder than will.
For bad, them too.

I miss fireflies.
They are the sure sign of summer,
Glowing through the night,
Communication through light patterns,
Mystery when the lights go out.
What do you do during the day little bug?
I have seen you in your groggy state,
Being the light of the party can do that to you.
Would you like some Tylenol?
Make the party headache go away?
No, you just need rest.
Rest little bug so that you can enjoy the night again.
You have more than once, rested on me,
But never lingered.
Even when your light is not showing in your groggy state,
I miss you when you leave.
I don’t like the darkness either,
I wish I could glow.
I would party with you,
You could show me the way.
Perhaps it is better that I exist in the daytime,
My subconscious the only existence at night.
Perhaps I can dance with you then.
I can dream of you in a swirl of light about me,
Then I might glow.
Can you help me to glow?
Then I would awaken,
Hoping to find you on my window sill.

Death Storm rising:
Hawks feathers,
Crazy weathers,
Flying high,
The storm says die.
Finding shelter,
Now it swelters,
Crazy sigh,
The storm says die.
Flying high,
Now you lie,
Now I cry,
The storm says die.
God says wake,
One more breath you take,
Now you try,
The storm says die.
One last soar,
Before you can take no more,
Through the nigh,
The storm does die.
Death behind you,
Death old and new,
Live the sky,
Make it “I”.

From a little person in the wide universe:
Stars watch down,
Their size unknown,
To us so small,
To others, the sun.
Are we the only ones who stare into oblivion?
Are we joined by others?
Do they see our sun as a tiny star,
Never to think that we are here?
Never to think we might look back?
How crushing would it be to humans,
If we found out we were not alone?
That we alone were not all that was created,
That earth is the smallest functioning planet?
That while we have destroyed mother earth,
Others might have done better,
Evolved or been created better?
Would faith increase or shatter?
Would our lives still mean anything?
The same as they mean now,
Just maybe not to others.
Look to the sky,
And you might see,
The others that might have eaten from the tree.

Refridgerator buzz.
Dogs barking.
Typing sounds.
Traffic driving.
Birds singing.
Wind through the trees.
Air entering and leaving my lungs,
Bigger truck passing now.
Computer fan kicking on.
Sounds of the last minute.

Blog 3
Words 636

The desk’s name is Loretta.
My eyelids feel like sandpaper-filled anvils
Which I must continue to lift.
Easier to hold up except for every moment they are open,
More sand sneaks in.
Staring ahead,
Trying to listen,
Wanting to learn
While the brain turns to standby.

Why can I hear the ocean in some seashells
And hear nothing in others?
My ears trick me.
my heart misses the water,
while my mind is uncomforted by it.
On the shore,
Toes in the sand,
Gentle waves pulling,
And disappearing.
I remain in the sand
And fight for the unstable sand.
To wade,
Better than swimming,
Better than walking,
Best of both worlds,
Of the seas,
Of the land.

When it gets cold,
It goes in circles around.
The Metal cold,
The Heart warm.
Metal steals the heat.

I miss the fire of the southern sun.
It warmed me to the core,
Awakened my soul.
I awoke refreshed,
Each day precious.
Unlike the southern sun,
This northern sun is temperamental,
One day cold,
The next sort of warm and humid.
Dry heat ,
Please come to visit,
You make me feel alive.
The spirit of the ancient
carried with you.
The beliefs of those who now make up the desert
surrounding me.
I felt their presence,
I was at home with them.
I can’t feel them now,
I feel different nature spirits here.
Time to go back,
To the land of the sun,
Where the desert creatures reign.
To the land of the cactus and orange blossom trees.
The scent that is carried through the night,
As the scorpions awaken.

Rain comes here,
The storm whips the trees,
They sway with the wind that brings the storm.
I watch from my flat home and wish to sway with them,
Be one with nature,
Be carried with the wind,
Washed by the rain,
Dried with the air,
Grounded by the earth.

I am not the angel whose wings are torn and bleeding,
Or the vagabond,
Or the creator, though I have my role,
Or the wisp of a shapeless cloud,
Or the end of the beginning.
I live and I breathe,
I wander,
Though not aimlessly,
As fate has sewn my path.
What strand of the web am I to follow today?
What other souls are strewn about?
What unknown path beckons before me?
Shall I see the feathers float down from heaven,
While I catch them and play here on earth?
Shall I roll in them and look to the sky,
Asking what have you done?
Or invite you to be with me?
Come and be with me,
Accompany me on my path,
As I try to accept it,
While fighting to form it.
Let me learn from the ages,
As I am but here a blink.

I love to watch the leaves dance,
As I speed over the hill.
Seeing the tiny effect of my presence,
Misplaced leaves,
The impact of a human.

Blessings being counted,
Taking an eternity,
Forgetting that to thank for them all,
Would be to pray all day.
Prayers as often as I remember,
Communication with divine,
To this little person,
In the expanse of the universe.

Rainclouds forming like ideas,
Splatting on the earth.
Each drop a tiny part of what makes an idea,
The earth,
The receptive sponge of creation,
And continuer of it.

Rug of white,
With butterflies,
Pretty butterflies.
Element of air represented,
Reality of dirt presented.
Can butterflies still fly,
If dirt is on their wings?

Poem in response to William Yeats “Brown Penny”
I read of a brown penny,
But what of the shiny nickel,
Is not her age more appropriate?
Even better, the dime,
For she is a mystery.
Oh dime, silver dime,
You are small,
Yet still divine.

Blog 4: A Cento of Emily Dickenson By Jessica Frohling
A spider sewed at night 1138
He Forked his way along 1136
Till sudden I perceived it stir 1057
How terrible a thing 879
With ropes of sand 884
Adored with caution—as a Brittle Heaven— 680
Of a shapeless friend-- 679
Beyond my limit to conceive-- 646
Drop, like a Tapestry, away 275
If grief—the largest part-- 246
Seductive in the Air— 1239
Such are the inlets of the mind-- 1421
In my own grave I breath 1632
Unto a Silent Sky 1084
At Heavenly- Hopeless Distances-- 805
And when adjusted like a Seed 804
Dropped into Ether Acre-- 665
Witness, is not here-- 667
I think to Live-may be a Bliss 646
So Midnight’s—due—at Noon. 415
Death twists the strings-- 1059
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor, 1060
Contained in this short Life 1165
Recollect the Face of me 1305
The Infinite a sudden Guest 1309
I pray the Lord thy Dust to keep-- 1539
Yet blamed the Fate that flung it- less 747
All but Death, can be Adjusted-- 749
‘Tis customary as we part 440
The bosoms where the frost has lain 132
Has lost a blush today? 82
Many a Worm 66
To comprehend a nectar 67
Then take my flowers—pray! 32
So has a Daisy vanished 28
The satyr’s fingers beckoned-- 9
Art thou the thing I wanted? 1282
A stagnant pleasure like a Pool 1281
So intimate with Madness 1284
The Wind begun to rock the Grass 1955
Pounce on His bruises-One-say- or Three-- 793
A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves-- 794
The Needle—to the North Degree-- 792
The Wayward Nun- beneath the Hill-- 722
It slipped—and slipped-- 723
Such Guilt—to love Thee—most! 394
Who visits in the Night-- 391
Through the Dark Sod—as Education-- 392
Can the ecstasy define-- 136
Then how the Greif got sleepy—some-- 577
How good his Lava Bed, 1447
Permitting to pursue 1753
Just long enough for Hope to tease-- 762
The Racket shamed me so-- 486
Stooping—plucking – sighing—flying 94
I took my Power in my Hand-- 540
The River reaches to my feet-- 537
Of His Profound To Come-- 672
Essential Oils—are wrung-- 675
Never Bride had such Assembling-- 649
The Twilight stood, as Strangers do 1104
We do not know the time we lose-- 1106
Between his Holiday 1107
Developed from within-- 795
Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature-- 750
Sufficient to enfold him 606
It’s easy to invent a Life-- 724
Eternity’s vast pocket, picked-- 587
The solemn contract of a Life 580
As if before a child 574
The ones that disappeared are back 1690
And life hath Immortality-- 549
Her smile was shaped like other smiles— 514
The Lover—hovered—o’er-- 512
And bore her struggling, blushing, 91
Exhilaration-is within-- 383
But whom his fingers touched-- 391
Smiling back from Coronation 385
The Soul selects her own Society-- 303
And so with Butterflies-- 257
Rowing in Eden-- 249
How Death’s Gifts may compare-- 382
Each Other’s Convert— 387
How far is it to Hell? 929
Swift as a Freshet’s Tongue 945
All forgot for recollecting 966
A nearness to Tremendousness-- 936
Is best disclosed by Danger 974
The murmuring of Bees, has ceased 1115
Paradise is that old mansion 1119
A great Hope fell 1123
Oh Sumptuous moment 1125
Without discreet alarm-- 1128
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- 1129
The Merchant of the Picturesque 1131
Step lightly on this narrow spot-- 1183
Remembrance has a Rear and Front-- 1182
What we see we know somewhat 1195
The Past is such a curious Creature 1203
Let my first knowing be of thee 1218
Without this—there is nought— 655
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips 512
No Power can untie 423

Blog 5 A Cento Of Niedecker By Jessica Frohling
I prefer my women on paper. 76
You’ll always get an answer 90
Of the moon-woman passing amid silk 24
Into the shadow 26
I am at rest 189
St. Augustine 192
Old man who seined 174
Among birch 242
Pulled down to the ground 255
Discussing heaven 256
Lost his head 257
There he sits and fishes 99
Riled the shore like bullheads 196
I must have been washed in listenably across the landscape 31
Raw wind, rain 81
Ash woods, willow, close to shore, 93
I face the east and the wind’s in my mouth, 97
There was a bridge once that said I’m going 87
Good- bye lilacs be the door 107
From my bed I see 104
Sun, turn the earth once more 106
Eager to remain 133
I’ve spent my life on nothing. 147
Before my death is certified, 158
I sit in my own house 167
I am lame and dizzy but eat 171
The cherry trees are in flower 176
My life is hung up 193
Many things are better 200
After all, ecstasy 202
Hang your tea-cup relations. 76
The music, lady 94
There’s a better shine 101
In feather comes 104
An effort to rise or stand up straight. 106
O let me rise to the door-knob 117
Sleep and it won’t matter. 119
Give me sweet pills? 128
They rave to me of contests. 134
Sorrow moves in wide waves, 148
I am sick with the Time’s buying sickness. 157
The trees full of snipers, the new kind 273
Darkinfested 287
Saw insects trapped 298
Against a large pine-spread— 190
Things that move, yes!— 172
Smile 242
You in the leaves sweetly growing— 172
Unsurpassed in beauty 243
Mind leaving, let body leave 281
A house without heat—

Blog 6: Word Count 632
Dreams and the subconscious:
Into the hole,
Filled with wolves,
Smooth teeth,
Lolling fur,
Yellow eyes,
I walk through,
Unharmed by my friends,
Hungry though they were,
Loping behind,
They follow me,
They turn to butterflies.
They float like lights,
Then stars above my head,
Into the white mansion ahead,
It has blue eyes,
I stare and start,
Running inside.
Marble floors,
Checkered patterns,
Banisters like springs,
Artwork that stares back,
Can I join you where you are?
Silver and blue floors,
Rising and falling,
Trying to eat my feet,
Faster I run,
Like a rabbit being hunted,
Pink light surrounds,
Fights with the floor,
A purple creature rises,
It’s yellow tongue speaks riddles,
Listening as if to symphony,
My head frozen,
Heart like wind,
Floating in my chest.
Searching for a door,
They seem to disappear,
Or slide further away,
I remember my power,
I pull a sword from the wall,
Gleaming hilt writhes in my hand,
Attempts to run,
But I grab it harder,
Swing at the creature,
It is silent.
Look through the window,
Now I’m outside,
Smoke where the mansion used to be,
Sword now part of my arm,
Skin now tattooed with light.
Eyes open,
Regular world again.
I think I liked the adventure better,
Whole body tired,
Back to sleep
To dreams,
To adventure,
Sometimes nightmare,
Sometimes ecstasy.

A vision of beauty:
Soot filled flowers bending in the wind,
Black petalled beauty surrounds my tombstone,
The cape of color shook,
Above the earth,
Mountains, blue,
Drop like paint,
Splash to create life.

The journey that is taken:
The journey begins by falling off a cliff,
All while staring at a rose,
All resources available,
Conjuring all that is needed,
Next the pregnant lady of loveliness,
Walking through the field,
Then the man on a thrown,
He shares the same field,
White columns surround the lady in white,
Her face so serene as she drops her flowers,
Next, the satyr of philosophy,
He holds the scroll and points to the sun,
Then the lovers whom others proudly adore,
Their instincts guiding their way,
Then the horses of the sky pull the man in the chariot behind,
The scales stare down,
As do the lady that holds them awaiting judgment,
Next comes the lady that pours emotion from one cup to the other,
Her lesson to balance and sooth,
Then comes the man wrestling the lion,
Endurance is the key,
Then stands the shrouded man holding his lantern in the darkness,
Aloneness needed at this time,
Fates spinning the thread on the wheel,
Ups and downs of life apparent at this time,
Man in suspense with a hawk flying above,
Awaiting something, anything,
Then the end of what you know,
The beginning of something new,
Two figures dancing,
While chained to the very being of their destruction,
The triton aimed at what has been,
Crumbling destruction reigning down,
At the bottom of the chest of chaos,
Is the very birth of hope,
The wolves howl at the moon,
While it shines its light down with mystery,
The sun awaits its turn at daybreak,
His head shines gold,
After what is said and done begging and pleading won’t help
Accept the consequences of what has passed,
But remember all has cycles,
The serpent eats its tail,
The four suits for different occasions,
One for love and emotion,
One for career and finances,
One for fighting for what you want,
And one for direction of where you wish to go.
Kings, queens, knights, and pages,
Divinity speaking through the ages,
Ready for the listeners,
And those who would know fate,
Those who seek to change it,
Those who eat judgments for breakfast,
Those who wish for better,
For themselves,
For others.

Final blog by Jessica Frohling

Musings of the Apartment:
Dragonflies in paisley patterns,
Hydrangea accents in the flight of swirls,
Erratic, joyful,
Feathered companion nemesis avoided,
Trees with stones as leaves,
Grass of selenite,
Waters purple waves with fish made of citrine,
Behold petals of white,
Spinning, covering,
Red growth,
Velvet sky with metallic stars,
The iron frog flies,
Starfish on a wooden plank,
Diamonds on the floor,
Caffeinated pipe dreams,
Black and white wisps drench my soul
In the harmony of interesting.
Green caps of medicated bliss,
Like paw prints in the snow,
Stories bound on tear-shaped shelves,
Brown, gold, red,
But all white
With drops of inspiration.
Why plug you star at me holes eyes,
Serpent of the counter, stop biting the outlets!
The vents the unexpected anarchy pretending to be the wall,
And in the depths of orange clouds,
A smile, a laugh,
Banana lightning.
A griffon has stolen my socks.

Breakfast of insanity pebbles:
I thank those who offer me a shiny stripe for breakfast,
With a pen for a spoon,
And fan blades as a plate,
Salt as a garnish,
Cute little cubes.

It only seems dirty:
Black handled leopard,
Smooth warmth,
Hot content,
I see your steam,
I revel in it,
I drink your spice,
Tongue wanting to lick your paws,
You are as a mirrored vase,
True content camouflaged,
You lay on my back,
Face looking out to the world,
Ice eyes of true sight,
A hidden message,
A hidden glyph of identity.

Window Pains:
Reflection of a broken tree,
Leaves still outstretched,
Your base cries,
I wish to cure,
Loving sky surround.

In the corner:
Holey basket,
What do you hold?
You would be a net for larger creatures,
But I am too big to be caught by the likes of you,
My clothes a sacrifice instead,
That’s ok,
Being naked is more fun.

Untitled title:
Rotating spots of inquiry,
A fire alarm to my soul.
Your collection endless and growing,
The universe of the imagination.

Tear drops from heaven,
Falling down on me,
Little drops of pain,
No one else can see.

A riddle:
Orange bow,
You’re tacky,
I despise you,
But for the package you surround,
Like a polka-dotted orgasm.

Momento Mori:
Skull reminder of death,
On my shelf,
Staring with moon eyes,
Stay back,
I’m not done playing yet,
A to-do list of eternity.

Creepy dude playing a guitar,
Your notes are like death personified,
I slash your guitar strings with a mocking smile,
Who’s creepy now?

Three little balls,
Sitting on a shelf,
Like planets of the underpants,
One of you must go.
Beware the comet!

Napkins for turtles,
Fine china of the underworld,
Pitchforks a delicacy,
With a nice spicy planet,
Living in the Styx an obvious understatement.

Turn around kitten,
A butterfly is on your tail,
Hitching a ride without paying the toll,
A playful bat it must escape first!
…unless you’re hungry.
Crunchy, crunchy…
Cat food.

Clarity a joke,
In cyclonal wilderness,
Pac man sun,
Pirate puddles,
Mermaid moon.
Beaded bushes of poison.

Disney turned realistic:
Ariel turns back into a mermaid,
There’s a hunky tuna down there,
His name is Ted,
Aladdin gets rejected as a liar,
His fake tan isn’t fooling anybody,
And his pants are poofy,
Cinderella dumps the prince,
She prefers her mice,
And the fairy godmother is pretty hot,
Dumbo kicks the circus trainers ass,
Ninja moves with giant ears,
Belle digs the beast as he is,
Wild animal lovin’,
Except he’s got nicer hair.
Bambi shoots the hunter,
He likes this camouflage thing,
Watch out thumper!
Lady gets an STD,
Tramp you’re going down,
Don’t think I can’t raise these pups by myself.
Pocahontas saw miko do the dirty,
Flit you sick bastard,
Interspecies ugly babies.

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