I feel you as a wave of deepest pain
And you and I crash forcefully on shores
Of midnight islands; sometimes summer rain
And other times the icy tide takes o’er.
The heat pounds down in fire and boiling blood
Touching mountains, towers, rivers full.
The ice then hisses in, a frigid flood,
And I’m as tough as stone and cold and dull.
I feel you in the night and long for waves
Crashing, warm, with starlight skies above
To break through stone to find what my heart craves
Though lips cannot confess or profess love.
I feel you while I long for freedom yet;
And you fall through the ice of cold regret.
It Feels Like it Will Never End by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
It Feels Like it Will Never End
Where goes the pain that flows in rivers full
Of anguish down the mountainside of flesh
Carrying the crushed and broken hulls
Of ships that sailed once between the breasts?
The pain, the blackest soot of washed out fires
Muddies rivers deep, so much flows out.
Is the water black or red? Inquire
If you should dare, if you would bring about
The wrath and tangled torment of the heart
Whence flow the rivers. It knows not indeed
Which color carves the mountainside apart
Nor which is deepest; both course fast and bleed.
Now shall the river flow with blood or tears?
One offers death, the other, anguished years.
The light of stars is burning high above;
So faint, they shimmer far beyond my reach.
I cannot fathom universal love
No not like this; not as I here beseech
The love abiding far beyond them hear
My plea for hope in darkness that persists.
The void between us stretches. Love, come near
And take the cold and aching in my fists.
Turn it into life, to flesh and bone,
Take my heart and split it with the light
Of glory that comes to me, here, alone
Beneath the stars in silent, waiting night.
The fear that crowds out radiance must flee
Before the light that waits in hope for me.
It doesn’t matter now which way I take
For all my paths are clear before your eyes.
You know my inner thoughts and for your sake
I put to death my sin. You bid me rise.
And as I grow in form to be like you
As each day passes, molded by your hand,
My inmost parts are formed in beauty too.
I cannot run from you, so here I stand
Your works have shown that I am fully known.
My expectations conquer caution thus:
They breed the “musts” and “should have beens” and I
Can feel “perfection” overtaking trust.
My day too often starts out on a lie
And by the end I feel beat down and tired,
Unable to feel joy in every day
And in the little triumphs strewn throughout.
I wish I could with fervor drive away
The oft increasing fear and growing doubt
And leave aside my expectations. This
Is my dilemma: how do I do well
And follow to the letter all my lists
Of perfect, pretty everything? it’s hell
To be a slave to what I think is me
And never let my imperfections be.
My hope
Pattered in
A lamb, meek and mild
Culminating in the end
As a thundering vindication.
My sorrow
Blustered in
A towering rage of hurt
Culminating in the end
As a spark of rain washed hope.
My joy
Hastened in
A warrior, bold and sure
Manifesting in the end
In blue eyes, love and light.
My eyes have seen the glory of the stars
Shining in the corners of your smile.
They see the growing solar flare you are
That I have longed to cradle for awhile.
A supernova, fire in your veins
Compacted into star stuff two feet tall
And glorious as nebulae. I gained
A speck within the universe, is all
But you, to me, are galaxies of light
And love of you could fill the sun and more.
My moon and stars, my harbor in the night,
I wait for all the wonder that's in store.
Your story will be sunbeams in the skies,
I know; I see the stardust in your eyes.
I took the hope you offered, clenched in fists
Still dried with blood and tears and without trust.
No matter how I walked, each step was risk
Without the father I had reckoned just.
Forward and still forward into night
So irretrievably the past pressed in;
My heart I'd hid in shadows from your sight
Began to beat in double time. Begin
The work you started, over; carry me
As I have carried love and joy and lost--
But do not lose me, do not lose her: we
Are cradled in a promise, crushed and tossed
Forever in the hands of neutral will
And I am begging love will win out still.
As an apple tree
Or a young stag
Is my lover.
Finest and loveliest;
Warrior and king.
In the night I sought him
On my bed I longed for him
Until my desire roused me to walk the city
But I found him not.
In the watches of the night we have met
And his arms embraced me.
But our time is not yet come, and I adjure you
Daughters of Jerusalem
Do not awaken love
Until it so desires.
I have captivated him
With mere glances.
Like a garden locked
Or a fountain sealed
Am I to him.
Do not arouse love
Until it so desires.
The ash had fallen round about the mountain and she waits
Her remnants covered fields of green with black and dusty night.
After her eruption came a quiet death, a state
Of cold and distant solitude and some quaked at the sight.
But come the morning light, the fire
Has faded to a glow; her ire
Dwindles to a gentle wind
Of hope and peace come round again.
So slowly do the molten trails that reach for miles create
The greenest grass and brightest flowers as time sets things aright.
Below the earth her belly fills with life, and fire gestates
But in the meantime comes the hope of life and growth and light.
The vulcan landscape, built yet higher
I feel you as a wave of deepest pain
And you and I crash forcefully on shores
Of midnight islands; sometimes summer rain
And other times the icy tide takes o’er.
The heat pounds down in fire and boiling blood
Touching mountains, towers, rivers full.
The ice then hisses in, a frigid flood,
And I’m as tough as stone and cold and dull.
I feel you in the night and long for waves
Crashing, warm, with starlight skies above
To break through stone to find what my heart craves
Though lips cannot confess or profess love.
I feel you while I long for freedom yet;
And you fall through the ice of cold regret.
It Feels Like it Will Never End by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
It Feels Like it Will Never End
Where goes the pain that flows in rivers full
Of anguish down the mountainside of flesh
Carrying the crushed and broken hulls
Of ships that sailed once between the breasts?
The pain, the blackest soot of washed out fires
Muddies rivers deep, so much flows out.
Is the water black or red? Inquire
If you should dare, if you would bring about
The wrath and tangled torment of the heart
Whence flow the rivers. It knows not indeed
Which color carves the mountainside apart
Nor which is deepest; both course fast and bleed.
Now shall the river flow with blood or tears?
One offers death, the other, anguished years.
The light of stars is burning high above;
So faint, they shimmer far beyond my reach.
I cannot fathom universal love
No not like this; not as I here beseech
The love abiding far beyond them hear
My plea for hope in darkness that persists.
The void between us stretches. Love, come near
And take the cold and aching in my fists.
Turn it into life, to flesh and bone,
Take my heart and split it with the light
Of glory that comes to me, here, alone
Beneath the stars in silent, waiting night.
The fear that crowds out radiance must flee
Before the light that waits in hope for me.
It doesn’t matter now which way I take
For all my paths are clear before your eyes.
You know my inner thoughts and for your sake
I put to death my sin. You bid me rise.
And as I grow in form to be like you
As each day passes, molded by your hand,
My inmost parts are formed in beauty too.
I cannot run from you, so here I stand
Your works have shown that I am fully known.
My expectations conquer caution thus:
They breed the “musts” and “should have beens” and I
Can feel “perfection” overtaking trust.
My day too often starts out on a lie
And by the end I feel beat down and tired,
Unable to feel joy in every day
And in the little triumphs strewn throughout.
I wish I could with fervor drive away
The oft increasing fear and growing doubt
And leave aside my expectations. This
Is my dilemma: how do I do well
And follow to the letter all my lists
Of perfect, pretty everything? it’s hell
To be a slave to what I think is me
And never let my imperfections be.
My hope
Pattered in
A lamb, meek and mild
Culminating in the end
As a thundering vindication.
My sorrow
Blustered in
A towering rage of hurt
Culminating in the end
As a spark of rain washed hope.
My joy
Hastened in
A warrior, bold and sure
Manifesting in the end
In blue eyes, love and light.
My eyes have seen the glory of the stars
Shining in the corners of your smile.
They see the growing solar flare you are
That I have longed to cradle for awhile.
A supernova, fire in your veins
Compacted into star stuff two feet tall
And glorious as nebulae. I gained
A speck within the universe, is all
But you, to me, are galaxies of light
And love of you could fill the sun and more.
My moon and stars, my harbor in the night,
I wait for all the wonder that's in store.
Your story will be sunbeams in the skies,
I know; I see the stardust in your eyes.
I took the hope you offered, clenched in fists
Still dried with blood and tears and without trust.
No matter how I walked, each step was risk
Without the father I had reckoned just.
Forward and still forward into night
So irretrievably the past pressed in;
My heart I'd hid in shadows from your sight
Began to beat in double time. Begin
The work you started, over; carry me
As I have carried love and joy and lost--
But do not lose me, do not lose her: we
Are cradled in a promise, crushed and tossed
Forever in the hands of neutral will
And I am begging love will win out still.
As an apple tree
Or a young stag
Is my lover.
Finest and loveliest;
Warrior and king.
In the night I sought him
On my bed I longed for him
Until my desire roused me to walk the city
But I found him not.
In the watches of the night we have met
And his arms embraced me.
But our time is not yet come, and I adjure you
Daughters of Jerusalem
Do not awaken love
Until it so desires.
I have captivated him
With mere glances.
Like a garden locked
Or a fountain sealed
Am I to him.
Do not arouse love
Until it so desires.
The ash had fallen round about the mountain and she waits
Her remnants covered fields of green with black and dusty night.
After her eruption came a quiet death, a state
Of cold and distant solitude and some quaked at the sight.
But come the morning light, the fire
Has faded to a glow; her ire
Dwindles to a gentle wind
Of hope and peace come round again.
So slowly do the molten trails that reach for miles create
The greenest grass and brightest flowers as time sets things aright.
Below the earth her belly fills with life, and fire gestates
But in the meantime comes the hope of life and growth and light.
The vulcan landscape, built yet higher
I wish I had a heart that's after yours.
I wish I was more patient, soft, and kind.
I wish my spirit walked in step, forbore
The harshest suffering with peace of mind.
But the process is painstaking slow
Than ever it has been in me so far.
I don't know why my spirit won't let go
Or yield to to be with you where you are.
And yet I know you do not hurry this
And let it take its time, as roots dig down
To where the heart is dark, and heaven's kiss
Reaches out to where the spirit drowns.
This sin-stained heart in me recoils and fights
Even while it longs to live in light.
The darkness in the morning first holds out
As fierce as night in triumph holds my soul
Hostage. I love stars for all their light
Hope comes in dawn to fill the darkest holes
And hollows in the universe. The morn
Shakes firmly out the tendrils of the night
And I am no less cleared of darkened mood
Than if my eyes were stars with paling light
Now lit with ember warmth and turned on high.
I leave my shaded, starlit bed and rise
Alive with hope as time brings forth the day
And dawn and joy both greet my tired eyes.
NaPo XXX. You Know My Name by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
NaPo XXX. You Know My Name
The universe is full of matter. Black
And formless and without substantial being.
Years exist between the stuff of stars
And time and consciousness have little meaning.
Warmth and light exists each million years
As light, compelled to travel, pierces space
With nothing in between but unknown stuff
And here a little planet holds its place.
And on it matter takes the form of beings
And in it hearts are made of tissue, strung
Between the bones and blood of sudden life
Alive and full of something. Mind is hung
Upon the soul imparted with a need
To know you and to fall within your aim.
This matter with a mind exists in space,
And in all the un
I will not reach my best before I die.
Perhaps upon my passing, I'll confer
A greater worth to all my pen supplied
And maybe one or two will be preferred
By readers who come after. But not yet--
Oh no, I've miles to go before I sleep.
Four hundred fifty years, and they'll forget
I ever lived, for poems may not keep.
But maybe one will turn up on a page
Folded in a journal, faded ink
And read by my descendants in an age
When such archaic words will make them think.
I'll raise a glass of tea to that and pray
That future daughters give their best this way.
The love of wisdom is no love per se.
It acts like dusty, passionless old tomes
And gives no warmth of moonlit nights to they
Who bade fair wisdom call their hearts her home.
For rather, philosophe, you dwell on ink
And put to death vitality and comb
The nits of truth from scalps of those who think.
Cry havoc, thou pursuers of the taint
Which mars the minds of those who boldly drink
Of correspondent truth, proceed to paint
The world in terms of logic paired with faith.
Go label such impassioned fools as saints
And take up ways of life which glow on paper
Ye named as wisdom's lovers while ye hate her.
NaPo II. Armchairs in my Brain by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
NaPo II. Armchairs in my Brain
Come heavily into my midst and in this sterile mind
Come sort the folds and pocketbooks of all I left behind.
It's all just so and sharp and cold and filled with corners. Here:
Come douse the stacks of hardened facts and set fire to my fear.
The stodgy thoughts with pipes and beards which habitate my brain
May take their armchair theories and refrain to come again.
Cast fertile dirt o'er all the tomes which talk themselves to death
And let the wisdom bloom again which gives the spirit breath.
How heartily the bellows blow their tiny candle flames
Into a fire of nonsense which then stifles and defames.
So sort away the good of words which ha
Composed in Burning Purpose by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
Composed in Burning Purpose
One sonnet from the hands that raise, alive
One syllable, one word, one turn of phrase
Like rolling waves, the moments, they arrive--
Like light and life crescendoed on for days.
So strike, composer, notes, and wave your hand
Through music in the air. And raise your eyes
You dancers on the stage-- now take a stand--
The lights, the orchestra, the thunder dies.
For this is all you ever fully loved--
This moment full of life that no one knows.
Oh yes, they see and hear and read enough
But you, alone, give birth in painless throes
To glory wrought in burning purpose. Give
Your everything to that for which you live.
If you, who are the emptiness of space
Fill all that is and was and will yet be,
And to beholders have a nameless face,
And see the future as a memory,
Why then do you watch sparrows' darting flight,
Or give a name to roses and to stars?
It seems one such as you, who fills the night
Would need no lowly souls, yet here we are.
You know the name of all my moods and fears
And all the inner longings of my heart.
You know the number of my hairs and years
And give thought for the whole and all the parts.
Such staggering minutiae fill your hand,
While galaxies are all yours to command.
This grace flows down to us out of your hand,
Proffered for the pilgrim's shortened rest
In fields of fescue, bent with dew. Such land
As makes the weary soul to feel refreshed.
Your grace grants rest beside the flowing streams,
And pools where all is quiet cleanse the grime.
The gates of Heaven tickle at our dreams,
And peace has brought a roadblock for a time.
Stillness of the soul in vales long dead
And banquets with such men as cause great fear
Are meant for those who trust and rest their heads
Giving love a chance to draw them near.
Patience taught all our tired souls have learned,
And we are blessed beyond what we have earned.
All that we thought was lost is merely stars,
Burning brighter still than moon or sun;
But far, so far we cannot call them ours,
Waiting out of reach and never won.
This twilight drives an arrow through my soul,
Clinging to the dust at end of day.
Never to regain what bounty stole,
Driving all we ever were away.
You will always be my summer weather,
Warm and pure in ways I'll never know.
Gently in the blades of grass and heather,
'Twas you who held my hand and wouldn't go.
How far we've come and oh, how far apart--
So bright must burn the stars that light our hearts.
DFC XXVIII. Diebhidhe: Dawn to Dust by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
DFC XXVIII. Diebhidhe: Dawn to Dust
Yes I fight you--yes for us
A raging love's rightful lust
New becoming day by day,
Loving woes and wants away.
Yes, I trust you--yes to you
Hold my heart, marked whole and new,
Full of darkness, feigned delight
Reigns the noiseless rule of night.
When I love, what have I left?
You have brought me all your best.
This shall carry, shorn and cruel
Married, mournful, forlorn, a fool.
All I am in pockets pressed
All our poor souls once possessed
Each to other, eager, thrust
Beseech thee, lover, dawn to dust.
like a mirage in the heat
the marmalade moon hangs low
against the mind
silent as we, but crazed, crazed as the flame
this was the resurrection in the desert
I have no culture;
hands lie with religion;
laugh in the troughs between the waves whitecaps;
here in this room, desiring you
as a foreign sail threadbare against the sun
on the long shore, lit by the moon
I'd be substantial
yet hidden
pouring a Scotch
to live in a name
as raiment, as songs of the harp-player
and nobody buys-
that's the way they are
an ancient bankrupt master of this house
brandishing the sword
far now from all the bannered ways
who has no aim but to
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble
like dust blown through the streets of Rome
some motion ever unspent
to look at when I liked
they are gone.
they have gone to feed the roses.
I seek you earnestly, I thirst and burn
With longing just to see you glorious fame;
Your love better than life, I live and yearn
To praise you with my soul and bless your name.
I stay up late, and ponder through the night,
Beneath the darkest shadow of your wings;
My soul hides from the cruelty of might,
From the ruin vindication brings.
Rejoice, rejoice with all your loudest voice!
His paths are lovingkindness, they are truth;
Each winding road, not merely those I choose
As I approach the waning of my youth.
Not dwelling on all that I have to lose,
I look and see what covenants have bound
This life together, made it sound and whole.
I think of testimonies: surer ground
To walk and make the value of the toll.
Oh how they keep me in my wanderings deep!
We all began where Psalms of lament must:
Within the confines of a cavernous grief,
In utter darkness, pain as coarse as dust.
My soul there waited for the Lord’s relief,
His hand to lift, His face to shine with favor.
And when He came I could not help but sing
With joy that only pain could help me savor,
With gratitude for His delivering.
But those who walked before me lagged behind,
The darkness hid their morass underneath;
Now years have passed, but still their mired minds
Have yet to move those weary, grieving feet.
I’d hoped by now the whole Psalm they’d rehearse,
But they have yet to pass the second verse.
The light of stars is burning high above;
So faint, they shimmer far beyond my reach.
I cannot fathom universal love
No not like this; not as I here beseech
The love abiding far beyond them hear
My plea for hope in darkness that persists.
The void between us stretches. Love, come near
And take the cold and aching in my fists.
Turn it into life, to flesh and bone,
Take my heart and split it with the light
Of glory that comes to me, here, alone
Beneath the stars in silent, waiting night.
The fear that crowds out radiance must flee
Before the light that waits in hope for me.
Another Octacula Approaches by ProjectDFC, journal
Another Octacula Approaches
:thumb560853915: :thumb560853915: :thumb560853915:
Stamp made by the formidable and fierce HugQueen (https://www.deviantart.com/hugqueen) - go give love!
Welcome To the Third, Annual
Welcome to the third year of Octacula! In honour of October and all it cree-eights, Octacula shall reign throughout the entirety of the month. Whether it's the tenth month or the eighth (Oct as in eight baby).
Octacula features eight forms divided into two groups. The first group consists of:
:ninjabattle::matrixfight: Form-idable Foes :matrixfight::ninjabattle:
Chant Royal: The Chainsaw Wielding Psychopath
The Chant Royal is a murderous French form, invented by Christine de Pizan and C
Why is it all my weary days are spent
In turning cowslips into rays of sun
And floating over blades of grass, unbent
And drawing four conclusions out of one?
No mercy hath the stone and wooden fence
All rimmed with perfect glass which holds the sound
Of freedom outside. Dominating sense
Will pin imagination to the ground.
Forbear. The time will come when wind and rain
Will wash away the mud and dust of youth.
To cling to hope which calls aloud again
Is to rely on dust to hasten truth.
I turn my days of sunlight scattered over
And know the truth comes soon to wisdom's lover.
I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly
These vast expanses broader than the skies
And deeper than the ocean, just as blue
Are unobtainable from where the view
Is struck by light and hidden from my eyes.
Oh marvels of the farthest-reaching space,
Oh nebulae, oh planets, ancient stars,
Already naked eyes have fought such wars
To glimpse beyond the darkness to your face.
And light which grows with centuries has bled
Still higher in the night and drowned you out.
My city home has left my eyes in doubt
That worlds of breathless beauty I have read
Exist, nor are they found where'er I look:
All space confined in pages of a book.
Hello all.
Thought I'd have more time and energy to write at the end of the year, but I knew I wouldn't get to NaPoWriMo since my baby girl was due in April. In fact she came a bit early on the 9th, so she's a month tomorrow. Definitely don't have time for writing now! Haha. Maybe as she gets older and I can put her down without her screaming, but then she'll be crawling and I'll be chasing her. So who knows! Haha.
Love you all and appreciate your support of me and my work. My baby girl is a precious gift and honestly she's the most beautiful artwork I've ever made. :)
Peace and lattes,
Bru
Some of you know what happened to me this summer simply by reading the two poems that expressed the suffering I was going through as a result. After those two, I couldn't write about it anymore and haven't been on dA in months. There are thousands of items in my inbox and I doubt I'll catch up on them.
But thank you to those who have continued to stop by and found inspiration in my work.
I wanted to let you all know that my husband and I have been blessed with a profound gift: our rainbow baby, we hope and pray, is due in April of next year, and so far this pregnancy has gone well.
It's possible I will resume writing soon. I hope to become