I -
Woman At last No hesitation No question Of who I am No more asking for permission That's a girl's game I - Woman At last Done asking others to give me a seat I don't need to sit Because I - Woman Have wings I - Woman Have learned how to fly.
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One day
When climate change has ceased its roundabout And the great reef is eighty six'd And humans will no longer give birth Something else will die: ART. In a world where there is no life - There is no art. And that is the true sorrow of death. The death to art. *** The clock calls: ITS TIME
And I turn into A wrinkly aging pumpkin One that has no more use Except to rot in an attic Of some has-been shop With fashion that has long ago ceased to be fashionable I, too, will parish like an old newspaper And future generations wouldn't even know what I was Or that I was Maybe a descendant long from now Will reach to the attic Dig up the old written words And imagine a person such as myself A great great great grandmother That was hardly great at all Just a human that breathes until it stops to Just a human obsessed with living forever Knowing tragically well that fairytales don't come true Just a human Nothing more With organs and blood and failures And skin that sags and voice that cracks Just a human Mortal Mortal Mortal Fucking mortal. *** There is
PEACE When the eyes close And the heart expands Beating Beat by beat To FEEL Is to be At PEACE Finally Lastly After years of living In the blatantly Rude mundane existence of SOCIETY. Life is a quest for Peace In those little moments When the eyes close And the heart expands And the breath keeps us keeping on To life Despite the brash reality Do not die when you are awake Just do not live a life of death Like so many drifters Fading in the wind Letting time pass On And move On Until the end comes chasing. Find peace in life Live on while you are alive And FEEL There is no other way To endure Pain on earth Suffering of the heart Loss and famine and guilt There is peace If only we seek it If only we greet it If only we weave it. Be peace Be at peace Be with peace. Hence the words: Rest in peace. Above all homes
And condos And 5 star hotels And the ditches And the house on the prairie There is only One place I’d like to live in: Myself. The snail, The turtle, The clam They know that prison is only in the mind And so is home So is home I wear my home on my back And in my heart The mind stores my prison One doesn't know home Until they leave it. ***
They try to bury us But we rise They try to shut us up But we roar They try to burn us But we bath in fire Together. We are Witches Whores Women who run with the wolves No: We ARE the wolves And we HOWL Every month with the moon And we bleed As we are the keepers of life And we love the world Despite its unapologetic mindless soulless cruel delusional FUCKERY. *** Sometimes words come out in my first language. My primal language. The language where I hide, which is also the language which I expose - Hebrew: אם יכולתי לומר
את כל מילות האהבה שבעל פי שבספרי שירה שבתורה בלי בהלה הייתי חונקת אותך כמו נחש מלטפת אותך כמו אם מנקה אותך כמו קופה מיואשת רק אם יכולתי לצאת מהבידוד שבתוך תוכי האמונה ש לי לא מגיע .אהבה של אגדות ***
If I break one rule Before I die It would be To love The world Despite its fuckery. *** how can I say the words
or write them when even singing at the top of my lungs serenading 'till dawn isn't quite right a form of an expression when a heart is so tender and distrustful of Love. how can I tell you the words that define that inner bustling beat of everlasting yearning for touch in a world so sterile when my finger tips are numb and my insides are hollow how can I run to you my love if I have no feet and my breath is all swept away and my limbs are broken aching to be carried how can I love you my love when I have no more love to give how can I. If you follow me
For a moment To that willow tree And sit under its weeping embrace I will tell you a secret A secret so sacred that only the willow can hear it The willow and you If you follow me For a moment And sit under its weeping embrace. I will tell you my secret like a story So grand It was straight out of the bible With all its stakes and romance and fire and horror I will play all the parts And narrate with my deepest sincere voice And I will hand you a program Written in the weeping leaves One that gives only highlights Because when I would have told you my secret Under the weeping willow No program long enough Could contain A secret so sacred That I will only tell you One of these days Under a weeping willow When I build the courage To lead And when you build the courage To follow me For a moment To that willow tree. |
AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
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April 2024
Header Art: Daniel Landerman |