Shackled

© Shackled

It happened the same way
That a sudden curve in the road
Sends you down the wrong path,
A path full of secrets never shared.

It was never something planned.
Pinwheels spun, aroused by a cloud’s
Summer breath; then one became many
Clouds casting shadows full of doubt.

It came at you from nowhere,
From a place where life does not exist,
Released from a prison to let dreams live
While decomposed vines clung to each other.

It no longer haunted your mirrors
Nor searched for approval
The way ink floods pages as
Wretched shadows performed inside of books.

It snatched your existence; It dragged you
Into a foreign world, one without
Wonder and color and thought where
Death, for It was Death, held the key.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved
(painting: The Field Of The Slain by Evelyn De Morgan, 1916)

Standing Alone Asking One Question

© Standing Alone Asking One Question

The pole is secured to the tree; or, is it the other way around?

Or, does it matter since they are both vertical?

There is a position THEY can agree on.

The THEY, which are humans, will soon decide to take the tree, or the pole, and advance in slow degrees to their present position.

That says it all.

Life is a circle.

You’re going nowhere fast.

You can’t get there from here.

Blessed are THEY who go in circles…THEY shall be known as unidirectional “big wheels” taking the world by the tail.

I seem to be standing alone and asking one question; can you tell me where the world’s tail is located?

Mimi Wolske

All Right’s Reserved

Taking A Chance

LOVE

It is an enormous risk to make yourself vulnerable to another person.
You may have faced these risks of hurt or rejection when you asked someone to have lunch or dinner with you, dressed up for a date (possibly giving away how excited you are about the person), said "I love you" for the first time to someone, or made the first move with a kiss or a touch.
Did you take the chance? Did you roll the dice?

©Taking A Chance

Rolling the dice in any relationship is taking a chance;

But, doesn’t love always come conditionally?

With expectations?

With disappointments?

With you losing your heart

Or losing your mind?

With misery and mockery?

With endurance before isolation?

With objections before rejections?

The worst odds could be better

Than anything you might imagine.

Love comes with a price.

Mostly you pay... then again,

It’s a game you know you will play,

You know you are going to try,

So go all the way; you just might win.

There’s no other feeling like it;

It will be the ride of your life.

You will fly with the gods

Or you’ll go down in flames.

C'mon; roll the dice. Take a chance.

by Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved 

© I’m Sorry You Walked Away

When You Lose Love:

MYTH: The pain of losing love will go away faster if you ignore it.

Fact: Trying to ignore your pain or keep it from surfacing will only make it worse in the long run. For real healing, it is necessary to face your sadness (or grief) and actively deal with it.

MYTH: It’s important to be “be strong” in the face of loss.

Fact: Feeling sad, frightened, or lonely is a normal reaction to loss. Crying doesn’t mean you are weak. Letting your true feelings show can help you.

MYTH: If you don’t cry, it means you aren’t sorry about the loss.

Fact: Crying is a normal response to sadness, but it’s not the only one. Those who don’t cry may feel the pain just as deeply as others. They may simply have other ways of showing it.

It’s nearly two in the morning.

Come take advantage of me.

I’m on my third cup of coffee

After chugging a bottle of wine.

I already threw the empty at

The email I was writing to you

To show you I was drunk... and vulnerable.

Don’t you want it?

You used to want it.

You used to want me.

I’m sorry it took me too long to realize it.

I’m sorry I will never send that email.

I’m sorry I’m willing to degrade myself

Just to get you

To come back,

To touch me,

To tease me,

To stay here — with me.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(the photo is not mine. It is the property of the owner)

© You Are My Favorite Self-Indulgence

Long distance relationships never work, the colloquial wisdom goes.

Not true, according to a small but growing number of social science studies. Long-distance relationships are, in many ways, stronger than relationships between couples who live together or close by, shows a new study published today in the Journal of Communication.

The edges of our distant love are softened in

the streaks of the heated blur that disguises

the passion demanded by our naked bodies.

You have turned me into a kissing masochist and

I still find it amazing you can make me dance

from miles away and change my world with your lips.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(painting: RENE  MAGRITTE, Love from a Distance)

©Rules of The Game for A Windup Girl in A Dystopian World

Each of us is our own novel 

until our very last page, no one...

not even us...

knows how our novel will end, 

otherwise, who'd want to read it

It seems everything has fallen into place;

not quite what I had in mind,

but, nonetheless, I suppose it’s mine.

And how disgraced I might be

if I went where I pleased and

toppled all that has fallen on me—

only to suffocate underneath.

For those battered and broken

over time, I remain a mystery,

someone who lives alone with

nothing vying to grip my mind.

Endless soiled linens falling—

the devil threw us into the abyss,

the height dependent on the age of

the stains on our gowns.

I look up, passed my rising breath,

to the place where I might forget

my guilty naiveté and dry my

flooded eyes with tears of the lost.

I am Alice out of Wonderland and

there are rules of the game for a

windup girl in a dystopian world.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Old and New

Shelley said, "I change but I cannot die." ('The Cloud', line 76). 
Deepak Chopra said, "The next step in mans evolution will be the survival of the wisest.”

David Vann said, “Even now, I still believe metamorphosis is the greatest beauty.” (Aquarium)
“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.” Franz Kafka (The Metamorphosis)

©OLD AND NEW

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

It was at the corner

of Old and New

the first time my eyes

captured his image,

the first time my heart

beat that old tattoo—

Flight or Fight—

the first time I

didn't know what to do.

His head was tilted back

in hardy laughter and

I saw his breath escape,

dance around the crowd,

seize some, and then

it gripped their souls;

his laughter stopped.

Unable to abandon

my position, I watched

his every step

leaving scars on the road

as footprints, as memories,

as warnings to those

of us left, frozen in time

between Old and New.

(painting: detail from Metamorphosis of Narcissus by Salvadore Dali)

(video: 30 seconds of The End by The Beatles)

Mimi - Mona Poetry: I Can’t Get off The I-Love-You Merry-Go-Round

©I Can’t Get off The I-Love-You Merry-Go-Round

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

It began one evening so

chilly that when I gazed

through my lacey-frost-adorned

window to unwrap the sunset,

like some obsequious lover,

the tender presence of your

memory carried me to that

moment of lingering sighs

at dusk and stardust dreams.

You are an endless dream

from which there is no waking.

I fear I have dreamed of you

for so long you are no longer

real; that the feel of your lips when

we kiss is a phenomenon,

and it would be as unfeasible

to press my lips to yours

as it would be to feel

the warmth from a stranger’s.

That cold night ,when

looking out my bedroom window,

I found you out of reach

in my reality and an

illusion in my dreams.

You have been so much a dream

and for so long, I’m unsure I can

get off of this I-love-you

merry-go-round or out of

the nakedness of this dream—

I just wouldn’t know how.

Mimi - Mona Poetry: Who’s Reaching Back for Me?

©Who’s Reaching Back for Me?

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Running insane in the pouring rain?

You’re a standup dame; please give us your name,

Then future this when the milk is gone—

Time’s not secure when overdrawn.

All hurts fade in the light of day,

But night pains thrive in your résumé.

I was the one lured; by Spring spurred

Into annihilating kisses from disencumbered

Itinerant male tenants,

By Summer seasoned into extravagance,

And by Autumn encouraged to winter in

A nobleman’s embrace, and then

Came the meaning of Winter’s meaningless

Misery to my mind’s hopeless mirthlessness:

I was being left behind the we,

Wondering who’s reaching back for me?

Let me be the one who remains mononymously

The only name you call —exclusively.

(painting: Auburn, 15x24 inches, Acrylic, Graphite, and Oil on Canvas by Michael Shapcott)

Mimi - Mona Poetry: Don’t Blow On My Dandelion Wine

©Don’t Blow On My Dandelion Wine

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

It was like the Titanic

only it was me sinking

in our enchanted garden of

earthly delights;

it was like cloud-piercing

trees standing as sentinels expressly

on the watch for all of

my dreams and desires being

gathered for one last ride

in the time capsule of love.

Time was the thief; it was

11:59.9999 when I

walked the tightrope of

a time in the past.

I awakened chilled like

my favorite bottle of

Clos d’Ambonnay;

oh, you could have drunk me

low and high, night and day—

but for the magician in you

who became invisible like stars

twinkling in a mid-day sky,

who left that twinkle in my eye—

left me naked, exposed, vulnerable...

with knee-shaking bravery and defiance.

When I wasn’t boxing shadows

created from your misunderstandings,

I was smiling a vocabulary of love

for a man with no light-cast silhouette.

This feels like cloud-piercing

trees standing as sentinels expressly

on the watch for all of

my dreams and desires being

gathered for one last ride

in the time capsule of love and

there’s a mystical alchemy

of tears and rain

becoming my dandelion wine.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Swallowing A Widespread Carpet of Burnt Umber and Sienna

©Swallowing A Widespread Carpet of Burnt Umber and Sienna

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Is there a way to swallow

the sands of the desert

without becoming the desert?

A habob storms in, runs away.

Your footsteps are no longer

seen; the feel of you beside

me suddenly disappears...

Left are the dust devils

carrying your memory.

After years, it was your

spirit I let inundate me.

Now when the wind picks up,

I feel the grit of the desert dust

and swallow the sounds before

I sink into the widespread

carpet of burnt umber and sienna.

Mimi - Mona Poetry: ©Two Is Not The Aurora Borealis Draining The Ocean of Red

©Two Is Not The Aurora Borealis Draining The Ocean of Red

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Your heart,

an acorn

in the night sky,

became

surreal...

broken reality

stored by hopeful

lovers

in alabaster jars,

hidden behind

a crest of lips

filigree-etched

on an altar,

possessed

by the gods

and blackened

by their fire.

My alien bones,

in the universe’s

cracked mirror,

lay beached

just beyond

the sea’s foam,

crushed,

multiplied

like so much

scatological

obscenity

collected by

beachcombers

for you—

saved to net—

another

unseen

gamboling

sylph

inked and pinned

into the boxed

collection

of ancients

from the air

to be revealed

in this high-tech

low-battery life;

my fluid

coagulated

like the dust

in my mouth...

a mouth

that once

ranted

my dirge

for freedom.

There is no

universal will,

no will for a

universe

masturbated

from your last

test

-a

-ment:

a hieroglyphic-

painted

conch

standing

the test of time,

left to testify that

the micro-waved

third planet

will be left

disinherited.

Mimi and Mona's Poetry: Our Morning-After Existential Chemicals

©Our Morning-After Existential Chemicals

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Your eyes reflected how I radiated life;

you said that once.

I was lost in your arms and

became a different woman

with each whispered word

of possession and lust

that rushed over the cliffs

of mobile, kissing lips like

a torrent waterfall, and I couldn’t breathe.

My fingers traced patterns on your skin

and I thought

if ever there could be a

moment in time I could freeze,

this would be it... dear G-d,

this would be it. Then,

you Chapter Sevened my love—

you took all of it. Everything!

So, what were you thinking, man?

What were you saying to me?

I needed practice holding my body

against someone new?

Hey, Prince Charming;

I didn’t shampoo my hair

for other men to sniff.

Did you believe me out of my mind?

You could have been the

amalgamation of my dreams,

but you were forever a man

of few words that were just out of reach.

You’ll never be able to cop a feel...

your brain will be as limp as your cock,

sucker.

The tarmac

fell away from the plane,

teardrops fell away from the sky,

and the fall with two broken wings...

no, it wasn't you, it was me...

Your electric cereal bit you back, huh?

Smile, bone daddy, because it will be

the only bite you will get in

this least favorite part of my life...
my life without your feigned love.

Your words transformed,

became weapons with the capacity to

rip me in half, but

before the sun set on your last sentence—

remind me to call you—

I understood they and

your kisses held a million deceits

during our amassed years; and

fighting the ghosts of

our history meant only

you must stay, I must fly.

I won’t be the last woman

you will sweep off her feet

with heart-racing speed.

You will always have this reminder...

I will be flying high, you will not;

and the lifetime of a love you lost

will fly high and free with me.

Last night ended forever

in a bitter-sweet memory.

Today’s rain washes away

our morning-after existential chemicals

like a bright sunrise

in a wide-angle lens.

I’m free. I’m smiling

and flying high, and I’m free.

Mimi and Mona's Poetry: ©Scourged

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Have I dissolved in a fever

or is this some dream that pours

from my mind like bitter grapes

and devours my countenance?

In a world gone dizzy and grey

from an annihilation of pathos,

with false bravado, I stand

naked before many judges.

Unlike the nude on the painter’s

canvas, my nakedness is my vulnerability

and my defense against the accusations

whipped across my broken flesh.

The accusers don’t close their eyes;

with eager desire, they observe every

inch of bleeding bits of meat rip from

my body and soar like the wind’s slave.

If only I could unzip

this coat of torment and pain,

this ignominy before the rain

erodes all memory of who I was.

Mimi and Mona's Poetry: A Congress of Distress

With a little humor, poetry becomes not only fun to read but can encourage the reader to desire to read more.

Enjoy

©A Congress of Distress

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

if there's no Holy Haluski in heaven,

then your heavenly touch

may well ignite my mashed potatoes

and my gastro innards will

never perform their growling symphony

Mimi and Mona's Poetry: LOST MEMORIES

I once read in a book that good memories are like jewels. We need to bring back the art of the love letter, on the most beautiful piece of stationary, with the finest calligraphy we can muster, and using an old-fashion fountain pen and ink. It’s difficult to tie a ribbon with love around a computerized note.

©LOST MEMORIES

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Today some yellowed envelopes fell;

among them was your silent ghost

divulging words of younger days when

our love was grand, our wits were few.

Tears quivered on lips where they fell

and I remembered how Cupid proved

that love was blind —for many years

in our niggardly romance.

I thought I’d forgotten, but it all

rushed back again. Then I found

a vinyl and played what was “our song”

causing more tears at aught askew

and my loving memories of you.

ASB

ASB

by Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Living up to part of her Swahili name,

She turns them out with each new moon;

Wicked, evil Bunny(s).

She looks white as Snow on the outside

But she’s black as Asha on the inside,

A bush whacker behind that Vamp mask;

Crafty as hell making sure her face

Is clean and the stolen lettuce is on

the fur of those she taunts publicly.

Narcissistic and uncaring who she hurts,

She makes sure another is brought

Down for the evil things she says

And does. Happy someone suffers

For the harm she’s done, they

Do the time for all her crimes and

She’ll repeat her lies until

Everyone stops listening, believing.

(gif by Bran Muir)

Mimi and Mona Poetry: Love on The Left Or How I Prevented A Barroom Brawl

©Love on The Left

Or

How I Prevented A Barroom Brawl

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Saturday morning breakfast off

Mill Avenue’s famous restaurant’s mezzanine

in the smoky, boisterous, and profanely

jam-packed Tapestry Room

and I nonchalantly quipped to the air

I wanted to tour old Route 66 to paint

and suggested we could both write.

George pounced on the idea

like a wolf on rabbit prey.

A momentary, penetrating stare

at my long and wild, frizzy, natural-curly hair

and he added I looked like some Fiji Islander.

An exotic observation for once

since he usually called me

you crazy Bohemian.

With an atypical burst of energy,

his chair scratched the parquet floor,

and then turned over,

knocking over a trolley of collected

and deposited dirty dishes with a loud crash.

Someone groaned Oh Hell

and the place fell into a frightful silence

as though they expected a barroom brawl.

The silence became so absolute,

the click of an electronic cigarette

being turned on sounded loud.

Only levity could change this atmosphere,

so, buttons clicked and pinged

on the table top and the floor

as I ripped open my full-length dress

and tore it from myself so

I stood naked...

except for my cowboy boots...

and began signing, at the top of my lungs,

I ain’t got no body.

Apathetic, crotchety, and cynical old men,

whose legs were too brittle and stiff to walk out on me,

stood and listened with the others—

not because I had a great voice.

I had an Olive Oyl body that,

after I finished my song and dance,

had them all bursting with laughter and applause

because, honestly, I ain’t got no body.

Mimi and Mona Poetry: #3

About my four-line poem:

I am presenting it to the reader using the element of the language of indirection.

Learn more after you read this:

#3

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

The Northerly is absent this year;

When will that cold winter air across the border blow?

Oh, Boreas, let your breath bring his embrace to this Fallen Leaf

And pray, with me, he will never let me go.

At the center of this short poem is the speaker’s desire to be reunited with the one she loves (most obvious in lines 3 and 4). However, the full meaning of this poem depends on lines 1 and 2 as well.

We know the speaker is the Fallen Leaf because she refers to herself as such (line 3). She associates her grief with the wind; but, the speaker leaves to implication (or, indirection) just how the lovers and the wind are related. I worked on this poem so they (the lovers) are related in several ways.

The need to manifest and experience love is an inherent need, just as nature’s need for changing seasons and, in this instance, wind. We can think of it as love, like the wind, is natural.

The lover is living in a kind of drought, or arid state (a drying, fallen leaf) that only the one she desires can slake by his presence, his embrace.

The wind cannot be controlled nor can it be foretold, and human affairs, like the lovers' predicaments, are subject to the same (sort of) chance.

There are also associations with specific words; for example, Northerly and border, which the reader is probably only half aware of but contribute to the meaning of the poem. Their connotations provide indirections that enrich the entire short poem... they offer the reader the location of the one she loves. Fallen Leaf is an indirection because it isn't just about the time of year, it is telling the reader the lover is in the Autumn of her life.

Thanks for bearing with me as I explain what I wish you, my readers, to take away.

(painting: Boreas and Fallen Leaves, oil on canvas,35 x 26 inches, by Evelyn De Morgan — 1855 - 1919)