"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,"
The little witch said as she grinned.
"For I have loved & I have prayed,
Concern for all I have displayed.
I volunteer for charity,
I tutor youth for clarity.
Picking up trash & planting trees,"
She continued on upon her knees.
"But child all this is good to hear-
What sin is it has brought you here?"
Softly she said, with her heart so true,
"I don't follow the same God as you-
I know what's good, I know what's right,
I have faith I'll make it through the night.
I simply chose a different path,
One full of love and sometimes wrath.
No way is easy as I have learned
If you enter a fire,
Proliferate
Be fruitful, he said.
Well, when words are your seeds,
then poems are your fruit,
your children.
I shall never be barren, no,
not with all of you to keep me company,
to keep me fertile.
My mind rambles on, along the path,
sowing the seeds of imagination,
of dreams.
Dreams that come and go,
dreams that show truth,
no matter how frightening.
Dreams that are no dreams,
but nightmarishly
dreadful.
It is the dreams of flight and fancy,
fantasy that I miss most,
they left me long ago,
with the flight of my heart.
But sometimes the seeds must
fly
away, to plant themselves in someone elses
heart.
by Kerri
Colors melt into dreams,
Suffusing life with
Experience never learned
But for a drink,
Taste,
Breathing it in and making it
Yours.
Kerrie McNay, (c) 2/20/05
Last of her kind,
two-skinned,
not thick,
same on the inside,
different without.
She left them behind,
seeking others, knowing them gone,
wishing,
hoping,
to glimpse them in her reflection,
daily at dusk,
seeing only that
face,
their face,
the same as all the rest,
not hers.
Heather blossoms
frame that mask,
unmasked
in front of all.
She wishes she could enter those
waters,
also not her own,
fresh, but not sweet,
alive, yet not harsh,
unchanging,
changing the landscape,
but not
her self,
her soul.
Trapped by a
ring,
two,
to bind,
to seal,
the seal-soul out,
the wife,
the woman,
for all to know
forever.
S.I.F.T.#3
Sift through the ashes, the beans, the bones.
Trying to make sense out of your life,
All the pieces look the same.
Is this the hand of the dancer, this the foot of the writer?
If I get it wrong, will nothing happen?
Or will a monster spring forth in the form of a confused girl
Who does more harm than good, not towards others, but to herself?
Would she be my mirror image, my double,
Will she show me the truth?
(c) February 2001, Kerrie Colantonio
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II by perrina, literature
Literature
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II
You practice escapism with unsurpassed deftness,
Each generation learns it faster, better,
To dive into worlds that don't exist- even on the screen.
Codes, numbers- numb indeed, not knowing together they create life from nothing.
Virtuality has replaced imagination-
by imagining, you at least are active, creation comes from within.
Myth rises to life through science, through cold calculation-
an icy phoenix of metal and air is reborn.
Lying there, the real world closed out
visually,
audibly,
you may as well be in a glass casket,
your world of sights and sounds can just as easily be shattered,
your l
Self-Inflicted Fairy Tale
Oh, little girl, your life is just a fairy tale waiting to happen.
If you just sit and wait, it will happen.
You'll fall into an unequated oblivion, Sleeping Beauty's coma,
Unaware of what's real and what's a dream.
You won't experience the thrill of the chase,
Your life has run away from you, it's not in your hands.
You've left it up to someone you don't know--
It's not up to anyone but you.
While you wait, little Cindy, you work and work,
Until you can't breathe, and need to leave, but it's too late.
You put your foot in the door too late and lost your shoes.
The pain radiates through your neural paths,
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,"
The little witch said as she grinned.
"For I have loved & I have prayed,
Concern for all I have displayed.
I volunteer for charity,
I tutor youth for clarity.
Picking up trash & planting trees,"
She continued on upon her knees.
"But child all this is good to hear-
What sin is it has brought you here?"
Softly she said, with her heart so true,
"I don't follow the same God as you-
I know what's good, I know what's right,
I have faith I'll make it through the night.
I simply chose a different path,
One full of love and sometimes wrath.
No way is easy as I have learned
If you enter a fire,
Proliferate
Be fruitful, he said.
Well, when words are your seeds,
then poems are your fruit,
your children.
I shall never be barren, no,
not with all of you to keep me company,
to keep me fertile.
My mind rambles on, along the path,
sowing the seeds of imagination,
of dreams.
Dreams that come and go,
dreams that show truth,
no matter how frightening.
Dreams that are no dreams,
but nightmarishly
dreadful.
It is the dreams of flight and fancy,
fantasy that I miss most,
they left me long ago,
with the flight of my heart.
But sometimes the seeds must
fly
away, to plant themselves in someone elses
heart.
by Kerri
Colors melt into dreams,
Suffusing life with
Experience never learned
But for a drink,
Taste,
Breathing it in and making it
Yours.
Kerrie McNay, (c) 2/20/05
Last of her kind,
two-skinned,
not thick,
same on the inside,
different without.
She left them behind,
seeking others, knowing them gone,
wishing,
hoping,
to glimpse them in her reflection,
daily at dusk,
seeing only that
face,
their face,
the same as all the rest,
not hers.
Heather blossoms
frame that mask,
unmasked
in front of all.
She wishes she could enter those
waters,
also not her own,
fresh, but not sweet,
alive, yet not harsh,
unchanging,
changing the landscape,
but not
her self,
her soul.
Trapped by a
ring,
two,
to bind,
to seal,
the seal-soul out,
the wife,
the woman,
for all to know
forever.
S.I.F.T.#3
Sift through the ashes, the beans, the bones.
Trying to make sense out of your life,
All the pieces look the same.
Is this the hand of the dancer, this the foot of the writer?
If I get it wrong, will nothing happen?
Or will a monster spring forth in the form of a confused girl
Who does more harm than good, not towards others, but to herself?
Would she be my mirror image, my double,
Will she show me the truth?
(c) February 2001, Kerrie Colantonio
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II by perrina, literature
Literature
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II
Self-Inflicted FairyTale - II
You practice escapism with unsurpassed deftness,
Each generation learns it faster, better,
To dive into worlds that don't exist- even on the screen.
Codes, numbers- numb indeed, not knowing together they create life from nothing.
Virtuality has replaced imagination-
by imagining, you at least are active, creation comes from within.
Myth rises to life through science, through cold calculation-
an icy phoenix of metal and air is reborn.
Lying there, the real world closed out
visually,
audibly,
you may as well be in a glass casket,
your world of sights and sounds can just as easily be shattered,
your l
The most important thing about creating art is to create. If you want to be at ease with creativity, you have to immerse yourself in it, and do a little bit every day. Even if that little bit is only to take five minutes while waiting for the bus to come and do a gesture drawing of a man reading his book across the street from you. Or to take the moment to scribble down a thumbnail rough sketch of a concept that occurs to you. Do a little bit each day. Train your brain to think visually.
It can be difficult at first, accustoming yourself to make this small bit of time, because you’ll think:
“I don’t have enough time for it
Favourite genre of music: New Age Favourite style of art: Pre-Raphaelite, Surrealism Personal Quote: "In eAch QUESTion there is A QUEST which we all must embark on."
Favourite Visual Artist
Susan Seddon Boulet, Windling, Varo, Waterhouse, Wendy Froud
Favourite Movies
Labyrinth, Legend
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Andreas Vollenweider
Favourite Writers
Terri Windling
Favourite Games
Myst series, Syberia series
Tools of the Trade
Pen(cil) and paper- nothing special at the moment.
More old, this time from MySpace... new updates to come...
March 3, 2009 - Tuesday
Where to blog...
Current mood: accomplished
MySpace, Facebook, DeviantArt, LiveJournal- too many choices. ;)
As we prepare our house for our baby, I seem to be reaching out a bit more on Facebook, at least with status updates. I have so much I do want to talk about, not just baby-this or baby-that, but my goals, things I still want to do, like getting my Masters degree, then maybe teaching at the college level (probably community college to start); writing articles, poems, stories, novels, anything; running for president- okay, so some things are e
I truly miss working with children. Teenagers just are not the same- both in good and not so good ways.
On the other hand, I've had a little bit of overload with babies and baby showers and christenings lately. Just another opportunity to remind me that I'm getting older.
Literally.
The candles are ready to be lit, I just prefer them as torches, tapers, tea lights- not the little ones. ;)
Oh, I like the age I'll be tomorrow. I think it's a nice number.
There's more to all of this, but I need to think some more- and eat dinner, if I can get past the first bite.
Okay, so I just posted a few old poems. I really need to work on new ones, but it's been a bit difficult lately. I wrote almost a whole steno pad-worth last fall, but they are transitional, cynical, to raw still to share. That and they are difficult to type up properly. I tend to write all over the page, meandering here and there. I haven't written much since my new job- I've been feeling a bit numb, robotic. Perhaps I could write mythic-mechanical poems, but I haven't been inspired as such yet.
I'll post one more for tonight, then it's off to iron work-clothes. :P
>KC