In the wilderness

every animal

says

Wiedersehen

into sleep

pulling

caliginous twig

shadows wave

see you again

later, my friends

separation blue

on the horizon

Baiji in dreamscape

shhh... make

believers of us, kin

in the signs shedding

amidst the leaves

long staring swells

beneath, watching

as seeds and spores

float downwind

while we remain

rooted in

10.29.2024

Wiedersehen challenge @CKMunsell

Fated lovers pause

’Midst moonlight's painted glow -

Star scattered skies and

Dual moons mirrored,

Hunting twin souls afar -

Two hearts, one beat -

Over deserts and destined pathways,

Mountains, seas, and skies,

Submitting to the moon's direction

Draped in love's fateful guise.

As though entwined, two hearts

Leap to the beckoned echoes

Of a hunter's moonlight,

Quivering, glowing, gleaming

As flower petals fall,

Stretching far over skies

That seek only to divide.

Twin souls and twin hearts

Find the intersecting solace,

Crisscrossing and aligning

'Neath one fated moon,

As they answer love's

Destined, gallant call.

Cynthia Calder, 10.17.24

I moved to California

so I could eat “In N Out“

in the parking lot

under palm trees that are

technically dying, and not living

but there’s something horrific

about opening up a ketchup packet

and watching it explode

all over your white dress,

the adrenaline of it, the equivalent

of a bloody mess that bleach can’t fix

what have you done,

you think, moving thousands of

miles west

for a burger that’s just average,

the outline of your past a stain

that’s still visible, the “In N Out” logo fading to grey inside your mouth, colorless

I did it all to escape autumn

all that orange and yellow,

the blood red trees a reminder

of what kills us

when we let it linger

It's autumn in my womb

Leaves are falling

New growth stalls

Tender shoots burn

With the first hard frost

Yet sap still flows

It stops and start

Confused by the changing

Of the seasons

Not yet ready to abandon

All thought of new life

And surrender to the

Dormancy of winter

As fertility wains

So too do my dreams

Crumble to dust

Before my very eyes

I weep, I rage, I question

Who am I, if not a mother?

There is no answer in the air

Just my hot breath

Puffing in clouds before me

My misery hanging there

Before it too fades

And disappears

As silent as a sunset

Dark days beckon now

Filled with hard earth

The quiet of winter

When most birds fly

In search of warmer climes

Of more hospitable hosts

I cannot flee this season

For it is around me

And within me

The slowing tick, tick tick

Of a biological clock

That can no longer be wound

And will soon cease ticking altogether

I am the flowerless orchid

The maiden aunt

The branch that bears no fruit

Were I a hen or cow

I would be marked for slaughter

Some days, when winds blow fierce

Within my aching heart

I think that slaughter

Might be a mercy

For to live with this void

This bottomless, gaping sadness

Is a torment beyond that

Which I can bear

Spring will come again

To the blossoms and trees

New lambs with frolic

Chicks will hatch and tweet

But though the seasons of the world

Will warp and change

My womb will stay in winter

Cold, dormant, in decay

No life will spring forth

From these folicles of disappointment

There will be no swelling

Of my belly or my breasts

No late flush of youth

Soon, the sap will stop

And I must face the truth

For I cannot escape

The smiling face of babes

The pride on mother's faces

The gurgling laughter

And plaintive cries

Oh autumn, please give me more days

To grieve and hope

That somehow this is not

My changeless destiny

But the leaves they change

Oh how I feel autumn's ache.

My mind is a lunatic's attic, filled with the rusty, dusty, moldy, moth-eaten, cracked, and bent brick-a-brac of foolishness, folly, and general fuckery. It needs to be cleaned out, but who knows, I might need that list of synonyms for, the word, "Penis" that I've carefully curated and committed to memory someday.

Vests of lust's fresh seed

Vein to a licentious bleed

Vents lush blush of need

Cynthia Calder, 10.05.24

François Moreau, though two seconds from ejaculating, had descended into the throes of indecision and self-loathing. The idea of bringing new life into this cruel and dying world tormented him beyond measure, but he knew that if he pulled out now, he would forever lose the only woman he had ever truly loved.

if it's true

that we ought love

everyone then,

each of us should

comprise an odd 8 billion

quilted pieces, growing,

though our flesh appears

relatively smooth, even if

contiguous to each other

mentally fragmented a bit

in calico and seersucker

...but love is a-proportional

and we've 330 billion cells

replaced daily

in which it's hidden

we love some more

we love some less

we toss some out

every seven days

some we try to keep

as memories like bones

for years...

we want to say,

beating the chest, gently

Love is immaterial, forever

just depends on the material

09.30.2024

"You are a patchwork of everyone you've ever loved" challenge @AJAY9979