Incalculable chemicals take their daily calcium,
Get stronger and stronger on blood broth,
and the fields sleep.
The battle is tomorrow.
I run my fingers through feathered grass and
think,
How many hordes would maim and dismember
to choose what I do with my sculpture of bone?
The new war is personalized,
minute,
cerebral.
The chemicals leave trails
vociferous and victorious.
Smothering red smoke oppresses the plain.
Sleep is burning in the rugged field.
Friend, give me your coals.
My daughter is an ember.
My eyebrows speak sign language.
I have long languid lashes.
Good Lord, it is hot.
I love collecting journals and writing in them and adding stickers and pictures. There are several journals in my growing collection that I really love. This one is by far the cutest and most lovable. She is part of a set. I have a big plush stuffed friend who is the mother and looks just like her. Then I have the babies, little keychain Andromedas each named Baby Stella.
I actually haven’t started writing in Andromeda yet. She is just so cute that I’ve been saving her. But I really do want to put her to good use. She longs to be a happy, well used little journal with all sorts of thoughts and plans. Andromeda is so fuzzy and snuggly and adorable. I think she’ll be a great friend.
Okay, so I’m not some professional social media marketer, nor do I want to be. So I’m not saying this as an expert. But I really like this book about Instagram. Instagram is a lot of fun, and there are a lot of interesting things on there. I recently started a second IG just for pictures of books I am reading or have read. A bookstagram. I like making things pretty or bright. I am not a subdued girl. And this book provides lots of pretty images to give you ideas, and features tips and challenges to stretch your creative muscles on Instagram.
If you want, follow me @bookstagrammarie
Metal boy,
a clockwork gear.
Across the fields my friend waits,
a locket of thistles and thorns.
I am the other half.
I am a hemisphere of sharp milk and prowling honey.
The clock Chimes.
My belly hurts.
Threaded through the thoroughbred spring
a static strand of silt.
Behind the last woods,
a chipped picket fence.
Beyond that, lonely babies floating
in a colorless void.
May I apply for their motherhood?
I am 50 roads stitched together
with a bus yellow thread.
I can provide opportunity,
the Milky Way,
tarnished silver.
This is an interesting biography/bible study written by a ballet dancer. It is about following your dreams while walking with God. There are some good questions at the end of each chapter. There’s only a little space to write, so if you want to journal through the book you should probably get out a separate notebook. But the book is a worthwhile read and the questions are good to ponder. It talks about a couple of things, well several really. But the two messages that stand out are 1. to be open to what God is trying to do in your life and go where He is trying to send you. 2. To realize God gives you your gifts and your dreams for a reason, and you should see where you can go with them. It is an inspiring little book and an elegant read.
I am stripping the yellow wallpaper
with my rabid teeth.
See the illuminations behind it,
so many gold filigree letters.
But no meaning to be scraped
from the lines and curves.
The Holy Text is hidden,
happy to be away from us
and our meandrous analytics.
Blue stripes,
Lines.
Write.
Machinate.
Dream.
Yellow stripping,
buttercup sunshine piercing my brain.
This tree keeps me limber.
I have love but you’ll have to take the floor model
Inside the apple the worm tries to slim down.
I have an erotic stairwell.
I am a song and he loops in and out all day long.
This steroidal fire can be induced by people as
so many Allosaurus’s, thrilling, chilling, killing.
My bedroom at home folds in on itself,
origami fortune teller,
and when I leave this petrifying zoo
I will have to try to find my way back in.
My bed was taken from my rib,
a helpmeet just for me.
And these pills
Oh these pills!
See how they make me bend.
A ghost climbs up the tree and
I get wet with desire.
Impressionist teeth crumble as they nibble
on a diary of construction.
What painting can enclose
this world by the water?
What fuzzy brush can I use
to spread the remains of the rainbow
over this voluminous canvas?
I need Impressionism.
Accuracy just can’t do this justice.
Miniature Moon 