Between the Lines

I need to repost this poem from a couple years ago a day early…and I don’t even want a SHADOW of eyes on this that aren’t willing to LABOR today to birth understanding of what I am writing about…

it’s so fucking obvious what I am writing about…

I am writing about what we are all mealy mouthing by blaming it on a specific year (as if the year were a shambling zombie…as if the year were different than any other year, as if WE were not the shining difference every goddam SECOND)…

but every single person SHOULD labor with this poem, and labor HARD…

cus it’s the liturgy you will need as you’re pulled inexorably to your end…

if you DO decide to click on this…then really get your hands into it, and don’t go looking for pretty words and cutesy lil poetic kuans…cus this aint it.

This is the blood of a Poetess…

this is the stuff of poetry, however poorly executed it is in my fumbly arthritic heart whose joints ACHE and SEETHE with rage at death and grief at the ways we pull our snugglies around us and pretend…

Jenniferlittermate, there will be much balm for you here, you are indeed ready.

“…and there I walk, alone between the lines,
my feet upon the ties, the ties that bind
and my heart ponders lines, and ties and spaces
in between the lines, the ones inside of me and what is hidden
there to see by those who stop and look and listen

…and take the time to read between the lines…”

Tree-lines mark the end of alpine meadow-frolics green
and the start of stone relief against the ever-constant skies
stretched out in steely greys and stellar silver blue sky-lines,
and space between the lines…

Source: Between the Lines

Eternal Continuum (Part One)

“What does it mean to be human?”

That’s like asking
what does it mean
to mean something!

Plumbing depths of humanity
and falling past microscopic random flaws,
thru macroscopic cosmic starbursts,
thru eternity’s barrier of sound and senses,
to find yourself again placed heretumblr_norohiwnQL1sppftyo1_1280in perfect setting

like golden apples in rings of silver pure
between micro and macro verses…
placed intentionally and sure,

well, the implications are far-reaching and intricate,
and I wonder at the cure for

a mind untamed
a soul intellectual
inhabiting together
a body become
an appetitive beast
a divided creature furtive
and creeping corpulent
and crepitating with
crepuscular compassion
and cruelty
all at once.380712_400888633273055_1393352173_n-620x

Is the dividing line
of mind and body
the line dividing
good and evil
that cuts through
the heart of every
human being?

and what is that?
Being human?tumblr_np0l2kYa261qkb10mo1_1280

Calling My Poetry Lovers

Hii Pamela!

(LOL…so if “Constance is my shorthand for “Constant Reader”, then I shall make “Pamela” my shorthand for my poetry readers!)

So listen…I am putting a call out.  What is up with my poem Hummingbird Hurricanes?  There really have been crickets on this post, and this surprises me…oh I am never really sure if a poem is good or not, but what I am sure of is how I feel after I write a poem, and how there has been a strong correlation when I feel one way about a poem and the kinds of reaction a poem gets.

When there are lots of comments and reactions to a poem, it matches a certain feeling inside.

And I had that feeling over this poem.  I was excited, could not wait to post it…and…

*crickets in the gutter*

So I want feedback!  Tell me, is it really that incomprehensible?  Are the metaphors convoluted?  Is its belt too tight, shoes too small?

If it is too incomprehensible, well…this time I am doing no lexicon, no Rosetta stone…there are very easy and simple keys here.  It relates to prior poems, it is on themes I very often am drawn to…it deals in 3s…and there are 3s scattered all around us.  Spiritual 3s, 3s of humanity, 3s of indivdual human beings, 3s in intersecting things in my poetry.

Ah well…sometimes I guess we just miss it as poets…if that is the case with this one, alas.

At any rate, I like it very much and am proud to have birthed this poem in the difficulties and I find myself in…it is a good indicator that I will eventually bounce back and live, and not die.

Love, Charissa (the insecure poetess)


Bleeding Light and Memory

When light struck my soul and I blazed
fierce and exultant into awareness,
I bled radiant joy like the horizon bleeds the sun
at dawn.

And when I gazed into the glass of exultation (seeing darkly thru that glass)
I knew myself and was glad and wonder-full.

tumblr_mwjz7iabru1sv18aao1_1280Until it rained
titters tinkling, then rebukes raging
lashing at my roof and thrumming
drumming until I saw no more darkly and thru a glass,
but thru the storm and eerie
green glow of radioactive remarks and
careless cerulean (cruelean) comment, alas.
I came to know what I was not,
and I was awful (dropped an e I did).

Into days long and same, passing people
of 2 kinds that belong and never see beyond,
never see within.
But still I pluck
throbbing buds, thorn blood price cheap,
and hold them out on
my side of the glowing glass (dark, thorough)
and wet with stormy tears and
the washy rivers of assumed presence.

But flowers fade and grass withers…
wheat words last forever
dying and reborn to die and be born again,
as life and glacier glances grind









and move without mercy
till I am caught between that frozen moving flow
and the dark rocks.

Bones strewn around me in pick up sticks of careless  hands
and players who tired of childrens’ games
(forgetting they must become as a child)
until at last long awareness bursts yet again
from heights dizzy and brilliant and bleeds over me in fullness
and in terror tinklings, thrumming and cold and stark
and cold blue clarity.
And I remember who I am, and know what I am.
A lass.

Will you find the mercy today?
Will you find the care?
Will you go gently into our long night
and rage, rage together with us
to bless the living of the light?

You too are dual natured, all ye who
sing sanctifications’ sweet and austere song

(old and new in one fighting)
(dead and alive in one struggle)
(corrupt and incorruption deadly dueling)

You….are US.   and we are you…but without arms, without eyes, without mouths we scream loud
and cry for release…cry out for
midwives of mercy to meet us, make us
beautiful for situation and delivered of our charge.



See us
hear us…
do not
fear yourself,
to stare down your stormy floods,
but see,
glean and
grow glad
Oh Pharaoh’s Daughters,
reach down
and lift up
from the reeds and mud.

Light strikes in blacksmith blows again
and soul sparks chip off and away
As She sings and joys over me
(and you).

And on this day I intention and remember
remember the radiant flood and bleeding light
of day’s eternal promise,

remember the rolling thunder and frowning floods
of painful gushing gouts and waterspouts in the
long years walked in the country of lost men
(and despair),

remember the pangs, the waves, the start
of labor as I, pregnant with my own mystery
and full of knowing
began to emerge and break forth,

tumblr_mwf3poaVej1r2zs3eo1_500touched, warded
by Grace, and
kept from the pit
which has tripped so many and eaten them
like Goya’s devourer
chews and rends

(let their fate haunt you and give you holy hush and silence).

They too are Adam’s sons, Eve’s daughters
trapped and yet aware…who fell by dreadful hands
and eyes of no symmetry.

Dare.  Look.  Feel.
I will too, and somewhere we will
fight off the things
that so easily entangle
and be free again to fly and
Bleed Radiant Light.