know l edge (repost)
Current mood: rather boxy by comparison
Category: rather boxy by comparison Writing and Poetry

REPOST for sean patrick, for showing interest in my headline, that is a snippet of this:

(original teaser posted on the Edge of Knowledge group msg board, 12/22/05.)

SUBJECT:  "word-math"

rocks:

know l edge

edge is on the ledge of know.


i like the implications of that. walking the edge of the ledge balancing to understand Truth greater than illusion.. .

but what IS the difference? IS there illusion that has substance past ONE's delusory perception?
it sounds like semantics. it is definitely a philosophical question. Science is the righthand bedfellow of math, AND philoSophy is the musing mistress on the left. who would care to "know" at all without good question in the first place..? ALL belong: here. THAT said, consider these two words:

illusion (mystique + dreams = possibility)

delusion (deception - Reality = psychosis)

seekers, jumpers:
will you fall? will you fly??

will you thumb wrestle the question, peering past the horizon, glancing the groundless below the brink-- tip-toes hugging the concrete Ledge. just to "know"-- ?

which next answer will be the ONE?
there will always be 5 great big capital W's-- as well as their more pretentious cousins, BUT they are each of them questions AND answers.

everything is balance.

edge is on the ledge of know.

?+faith=reason



please fill in your OWN damn blanks:

happy, merry, peaceful, bright: and so on etcetera)
equal parts,
caitlin ann



(..!.. i almost forgot about that bastard 1/2 brother --HOW--? that demon seed little shit ... [haha] ..but my god, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles:0)
 

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lunacy
Current mood: struck
Category: struck Writing and Poetry

lunacy

the moon began waning last night
in lackluster parking lot murmurs..
wond'ring of its paling, so apparent
in just one day.
i watched it rise the evening prior,
between jerks of an impatient leash,
in bemusement of language failing:
stretching-flexing-striving
to dance with this superior partner:
pulling-dipping-turning  the tides ...

It  is always "so" superlative:
yellow  and pregnant
..at times a paper lantern glowing cool silver
upon the nocturne's perfume
...or some insomniac satellite,
an alien familiar foertelling liar's doom

if chances are certain, it is Diana's own
wilder-eye,  for which good dogs howl 
and tame hearts cry

 ... but possibly or likely not..  (there's the rabbit,
 after all, or that supposed "man" i have yet to
discover-- not for lack of  lunatical gazing-- now,
raise your hands for made of cheese?) 
Aye.
the cheese has it.

but i, by eye:


She is a glamorous beauty
...and ever conjuring  lore
casting shadow for hollow's deepening
and guiding my steps with bright about them..

and i,  by breath:

 t a s t e    ... this     unsung      stillness
that aches as it inspires

be it  haunting or  mesmerizing,
solemn... orotund

the  moon  makes lovers and demons
of the lunatics.


©caitlin ann 4/22/08 (yesterday)

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fondue stew
Current mood: clown-crone(only slightly better than clone- crone
Category: clown-crone(only slightly better than clone- crone Writing and Poetry

fondue stew


i plummet these swiss cheese channels
like rabbit holes to wonderland---
chasing the prismatic white fantastic!

 i may  just  be a grey matter of decayed decades
this memory:
a fond fondue to dip in bittersweet,
ripe chunks of Now, what's next? & the rest of whatever's left of this renegade pauper's feast.

stumble-block pyramid to commonplace oblivion
ignoring every other (only the odd) ignorances
---not bliss, those blisters
popped on monkey-bar palms stinging sweat, gingerly picked by playground fingernails

3rd grade red-light green-light elbow in the jaw
for a front-tooth filling in a four-star polished
smile

none of this means anything to anyone else--
unless (you) happenstance know my particular "panoply"
...
HOW MANY unmarriageable metaphors CAN be
shaken to pour another brimming,
 perfect-first-sip of impotent potable?

"Pride."

...too familiar linger tastes still tingle my
tongue-tied with all such know(nothing)better non-sense.

....sage for the cauldron that bubble, bubble
bubbles, stewing salavation's someday,
best yet's maybe never,  and always perhaps
a last-ditch-dash of clever enough
for one finely final
divine supper....

swiss-cheese-rabbit-holed-stumble-blocks
of unstackable shapes: more Seussian than Mayan, my pyramid
my clamberous incline.

©caitlin ann, 4/21/08

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Such is She
Current mood: love’s divine
Category: love’s divine Writing and Poetry

HUMOR me, i am feeling romantic today, ha. This is an excerpt from my novel.
The poem "Such Is She" was written by Doran for Eleah, honoring their 10th wedding anniversary.  i have included some surrounding text from the chapter: Forth Sooth (book 2: Stolen Breath)

 

 

...She undressed, leaving her clothing to lie on the floor of the bathroom. Sighing heavily, once more.. Eleah played her hands over her bareness. How long would it be before the child's presence became evident? Certain changes were evident already.. to her. She ignored the fresh night shift, the sister had left for her on the vanity, and donned only the filmy summer robe.  It was very sheer. She wanted very much to forget motherhood, and anger, and feel desirable for her husband.

            "What's wrong?"  He sat up on the bed, as she entered.

            "Nothing I want to talk about now." She relaxed, thinking of the gift she had planned for him.  His face softened, and the low glimmer of candlelight sparked his eye as he enjoyed her only garment.

            "Good.  I have something for you." His voice betrayed some excitement. He had disappeared into the quarter after Wil's, elusively trying to hide this package from her. She bit her lip, as he retrieved the small rectangle from behind a pillow. It was wrapped with brown paper and a red satin bow. "The bow is courtesy of Evora." He tilted his head in admission of his insufficiency; Evora's was the eye for detail.

            Eleah sat down. Grinning, she took the package in her lap, weighing it. It was not large, only the length of Doran's hand. It was a book-- that much did not a scholar take. Casting its wrapping aside quickly, Eleah traced the gold leaf lettering with her finger-- Muse--  upon both the black vellum binding and front cover.  She carefully opened the book, and read aloud the script embossment upon the first page:

        "Verses by Doran Driecayne, for the Muse of Evermore, Lady Eleah of Aurelyss... You did it.."

Eleah held it to her chest, grinning. She had encouraged Doran for years to have his work assembled and printed for the libraries.

         "There's just the one copy- for you. I'll not have anyone else reading my heart.  It is plain enough to see, as it is." Eleah leaned close to kiss him. It was a wondrous gift; she remembered Evie's promise.  She leafed through the finely printed parchment pages.  There were at least a hundred poems.  

            "You are not going to read them all now, are you?"  He asked wryly, toying with the edge of her robe.
            "No. I want you to read them to me." She laughed. He took the book from her hand.
            "Just one. To prepare you for my real present." He raised one brow.  She laughed, knowing him much too well, for this brand of seduction. Still, her eye did not resist his chest. She could not deny his fitness. He informed her frequently that other married men tended toward being satisfied with nature's way of thickening them. Doran took great pride in his charms: cropping his hair to look like Dallien's-- it suited him  marvelously, but she could not help teasing his vanity.  Provoking him to quiet her with assurances like:
'..with a wife so beautiful a man can not afford complacency.' 
Who would argue that?

             

    "Such is She.." Doran cleared his throat, drawing her attention.


He then read his latest composition without  humor.                          


"..What art that married word..
paired and parried?
But a poem..
To light on dusky lips..
..dressed with breath so measured..

Deeper ...I  inhale
and know her Soul..

And know that words are naught but rhyme..

Not reason.  

Still, I wake to embrace her peace.
So welcome, precious..
I  take of her: desperately inspired..  
My eyes: Her face.
The eternal cadence of her breath..
..and I am breathless for such forever

What man am I to witness..?
(what lips can only know)

Still.. I whisper not, and kiss this page
to save a glimmer of her purity:
Such a poem is She.

And fleet, there her lashes flutter----    
..and O that fluent gale..
to shatter peace with her smile's new notion..
..a potion.      
From her triumph over quiet comes the swell
of simple Truth:  just a song
Her notes are immortal, ever clear.
Still..  I am deaf  
Save this rush of Love my heart for swelling feeds mine ear..
Such a melody is She.

What art pleasure..? But a home.
Loose boots upon a lonesome gait,
bear naught, but blister.
..Carry me not to grander scape:
barefoot, I  keep my Lady's fair side upon this well-worn path
with her gentle jest to waste my cares:
She talks quietly of days yet waiting..
and I roam this ever constant pace of keeping.

(just keeping still)

So I shall never miss this moment:
that I might aged wake to find her face, for all of Time and again

Words will play in vain to name this Grace.
(what lips can only show)

Such a poem is She.

Such a home is She.."  

 

He closed the book, and met her eye gently, for every true word of it.        

 

    Eleah swallowed for that swell he painted so well. He never failed to take her breath. She never tired of it. She wanted all of Time for him. It seemed she had loved this man at least that long. And yet the years had fallen away too quickly. Ten years.  She kissed him long. Then deftly pulled away from his advancing hands, taking the book against her chest..

        "Thank you. I am so very pleased---"  Doran rolled his eye impatiently, scooting closer. She tapped her finger against his nose scolding him.  
          "Aren't you the least bit curious to know what I have for you?"  Her voice was sultry, and as she spoke she reclined, gracefully into the pillows, allowing her robe to fall open... just a bit.

    Doran drank her in, tracing the playful slant of her leg, the gentle curve of her belly. He smiled slyly, his eye stalling, captive: full and round.. mindful of the room's chill.  She had been a lovely girl, and alluring in all sense. Yet, she had grown only moreso, in time, in wisdom of herself. Her curves were not so firm to the touch, but soft and giving. It pained him not to feel them now. Beneath him. His whisper was hoarse:

            "I can only hope.. that you intend to follow Sahbra's mind, and give freely of yourself."  He glanced into her eye, meaning it.

            She smiled enticingly. "Well, my gift to you, is actually some of your own doing."  She let him ponder that. He was not of a mind to think, however, so she halted his advance again. "I mean it.. Doran Driecayne.. I have something to tell you."  He straightened, propping himself upon an elbow.

            "All right tease, what is it then?"  He squinted mocking displeasure.  His eyes misted a bit for her indignant smile. Wil was indisputably right, his wife was positively radiant. Her added meals had added nicely. He was lucky.

            Eleah smiled a bit-- timid?-- it seemed, and then she fixed his eyes, and ran her hands softly over the curve of her stomach. Doran believed this to be further teasing, for a split moment-- before the reality struck him.  He stilled.

            "Honest?" He whispered, caution drawing his face. "You are certain?"  He grinned like a boy on his birthday, when she nodded.  She explained through his laughter and kisses, that she was at least three months heavy, and that it had taken some doing to keep it from him at the Gathering.

            "Why?"  He asked, frowning plaintively, "Why did you not tell me directly?"

            "And have you tiptoe about my bed at the Gathering. I think not!"  She chuckled at him, as his eyes filled with consternation.

              "I would not have refused you."  Clearly he did not understand. Chuckling became laughter, before quiet control was hers again.

            "I know, good love.. I know.. I love you." But even in the short space of becoming aware of her condition, he had toned his seduction to boyish giddiness.  She sighed: "Happy annisavery." Lightly, quoting their daughter. He laughed.

            "I love you too.. you shameful, deceptive..."  He laughed, lurching at her, then stopped. "Does this mean I should not.. you know?"  He asked her timidly.  And she groaned shaking her head in exasperation.

            "No! It most certainly does not!"  To her surprise he answered,
            "Good!" and  vigorously rubbed his hair atop her stomach before, laying his beardless face against it- sighing contentedly.
            "Thank you."  He whispered, and began to tenderly kiss the fullness of her belly.

She moaned rapture, as his kisses began to stray.

 

©caitlin ann easter

(The Ark of Traeadon, Volume I: Reason, book two: Stolen Breath)

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(bar)tender pangs
Current mood: repentant
Category: repentant Writing and Poetry

(bar)tender pangs

self-amendment in a pacing pace
a practice-patient face for racing in place..
playing chase..  some obstacle course
for a: good dog (quote, unquote).

alliterative alternatives to memorialize
last night's demoralizing.. ah
cynic's witness to the many
merry patron's goodtimes waste.

"please be careful,"
i pray with culprit's conscience, twisting gut of pins and needles, begging some angelic wings to fleetly beat on sin-thin air and carry all jovial smiles home safe.

my ears still ring for the big-tip bell..! .. !
.. ! ..with the whiskied-smell  of spirits  ((haunting))
.. as i, wagging-tail, count my treats on
high-wire-hell-fire-feat-tired  feet 

gracelessly gracious
and sober.


©caitlin ann, 1.11.08

12:11 PM - 11 Comments - 17 Kudos - Add Comment

spelled
Current mood: anesthetized
Category: anesthetized Writing and Poetry

quelled

the mountain peaks a line
like stradavaried strings on electronic scales
as the curtain fog falls
to curtail its symphony with
one
long
measure in grey
the last and gravest note 
in which the desert day will be kept cool..
spelled..
...save aside the wakeful world
and that cautious, twittering persistence
of what birds must do
despite quiet
..and all quelled mood.



©caitlin ann, 1.9.08

12:55 PM - 11 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

peeking
Current mood: blessed
Category: Writing and Poetry

peeking

i  have  paper snowflake pangs ..
for  old fashion's fala lala folly
for glossy new favorites
pressed in grandma-scrapbook scent

i have a fanciful of once upon now

..and half-a-hapless twinkle for
wild-strewn tinsel and fake-frosted panes 

i have a spiced belly pining 
to overstuff one sigh-fits-all heart
with
decadently excessive cookie-cutter hopes ..
with
clumsy-chubby-slipper-footed twirls ..
with the crackle-snap of hearth and
cold-snow nose of freshcut tree..
with a faith for giggling lights
 
(i have a girl's eyes)
          
and a cheerful of surprise
            .. blinking ..Super 8 flickers
sneaking peeks from  Someday,  now







happy holidays!

©caitlin ann, 12.14.07

5:05 PM - 16 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

heartbreak
Current mood: crushed
Category: News and Politics

we are sad.

we lost Julia and her beautiful smile.



Pedestrian killed walking her dog was well regarded(click)

2:33 PM - 8 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

the third whisper
Current mood: awake
Category: awake Writing and Poetry

third whisper


the wind never tries,

but conquers  stillness  with restless quickened sprint  
--maddens the lack with haughty slap!
fills the next sail with adoration’s brushed cheek
....chimes tipping wings and shirt tails in dragonfly tittilation..a giggle’s tear like yesterday’s monsoon gale..

never tires,

how it carried the roaring sea to bone dry dust... scrubbing red the dark grey bark for whipped glittery applause of sun-tipped emeralds...

it dances and the desert ... lies... spent  upon exponentially blooming rainbow beds..  drenched with drunken instants    

...never worries

upon the warmth of a thousand sunset horizons
of another lover’s promised sunrise...

never silences:

but betrays all my treasures in collected whispers
unbraiding nameless generations and all defiance
with intimate sighs kept:

 "hush..."

like some seismic stealth of seasons



the  wind  does,

 
no reason




©caitlin ann, 7/22/7

8:34 AM - 15 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

cleaning out the junk drawer(s)
Current mood: swollen
Category: swollen Writing and Poetry

 
junky
pressing smoother crinkled-eye edges of
laughter snapped shot and loosely leafed
raked up rakish messy haired miles
ages abandoned, albums ago unto sweet
smelling acres ... of date stamped hope chest real life citizens
swells of sotto voce soul tickles
breathless for the future's favor..
to fish? i may find
and forget them again.

i'm not rattling old closet bones and moving mountains to the metaphors :

it's such a blissful bitch to pack


©caitlin ann  7/21/7

Currently listening : Colourful By Rocco Deluca & the Burden Release date: 06 June, 2006

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great big breath
Current mood: 98.6
Category: 98.6 Writing and Poetry

until

my past is mine.
..and only study: "once was" 

borne  and spent
wisdom bought,  penance blessed
muse forlorn..  recycled test

now  belongs to morrow's death?
and up until named  Well Enough, III
(with my best guess )

it seems a flicker ghost of that last hope   

the ripped-edge silence of perpetual next

it IS this choice to breathe.

pardon my pause,  i was holding on one with the God who knows Tomorrow
abiding ulcerous expectation and lessoning myself about
last  time ...trying to untie that choir of all for naught in double knotted binds
mindful of long lost prayers for rain
rain that MIGHT just drown the sleeping dawn..

yes yes, for all that pensive when—(self-talky-psycho-possibabble)
insert  and/or punch me in the: here,  so i can see  

...The Future ...
 

not a glossy fog   *Ta Da*  in our Mystery's thinnest veil
whispering invitation to fancy up some evermore..
 and lightly o so  shimmers  in the pale

----hey, that's mine! his—yours—ours---
and don't forget Their every then,  obsessing only if..

… "what now?" became next, in my last heaven-pent momentary breath.                         all       at  once  

(more)

i snatched it---  with a quickfire glimpse
the brand new same, safe inside this lover's lip  ..

this big breathing 

it's not so tough     

2:48 PM - 19 Comments - 40 Kudos - Add Comment

milk cartons
Current mood: ;) hoping you read my JIC FYI
Category: ;) hoping you read my JIC FYI Writing and Poetry

mother's mercy
© caitlin ann, 1/30/7

all the days conflated
moth-mouth month of midnight sun
grazing outside the lines o'the Times
...maundering derelict of sickness blurs
watching thought balloons in Latin Chinese characters
of the patent patient shuffling past
one...
another
all eyes averted
dead feathers on the sidewalk chalk for shoe-gaze-song-birds
"...every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time..."

i paint by numbers of random selection
commissioned by A.I. dictators of domain demesne reign
shuffle on little swan welcome to Modzilla's buffet
all you can eat spontaneous coincidence . . .

parallels... (dizzy spells )
blame me misery,  blood sugar blamer
miserably overweening all blameful kitten tamer
spiteful suffering suckatash of ill
and gauzy veils of will
that once wore threadbare like elegance
that once warmed like fur against chill
and shivered...
like a lover's breath on sweated skin

i'm on the other side of ampersand
while the clock stalker lurks in the stacks 
sniffing.. "1650 unread email(s)"

Eeeny...
Meeany... Miney...
alack-a-quack-zodiac almanac evenly
interspersing every other oddly
inspirational boot-strap-adage

..and then comes Mo with yet another good word:
gone missing
neurally misfired (Mod know's when) into my tattered abandoned
Charlotte's Web

...they are milk-carton children to me---- and my cramping womb complies to cry:

"Out!" 

in shush-hushed latent  fear... that i might better remember them  with mother's mercy

rather than keep them all in dank little basements
on iron lung and needle fed with backs of scrap
like sustainable dreams fishing from hospice beds
like cluttered concrete rafts .. with slack ventricular lines

awaiting

the gentle tug of the next nibbling byte . .
dreams sustaining ghosts of hope
humming  lullabies that once cradled verse in matronly silken falsetto

..and yes i chuckle now.. for the dramatic pause       
and punctual percussive strike!

for the dissimulative sake forsaken
with half a smile aside,  and  
for the quick dismissal of a self-deprecating fidgety cunt.





 

Currently listening : Plans By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: 30 August, 2005

2:11 PM - 13 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

the movement of still
Current mood: sated babe
Category: sated babe Writing and Poetry

i have

i have written something today
       in wordless thoughts and crisp winter blue
i have sung
          unspoken charity in soft breathless blanket
and pattering snow-melt blinks

i have loved
             eternally ...
in sonnets unscripted still.
and still

and i desire
                  more-than-ever 
our bodies' crux of movement

                                 
                                       of being

©caitlin ann, 1/22/7

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vortex shrine
Current mood: glad i'm done w/ smoking for good!
Category: glad i'm done w/ smoking for good! Art and Photography

i built this on 12/26 at the Cathedral Rock vortex in Sedona, AZ.
it was a super cool experience! see doug's
(dOUglAs did the photo shopping)

1:22 AM - 11 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

music box
Current mood: relaxed :o)
Category: relaxed :o) Writing and Poetry

music box

wind it just once more… play me softly in this
only.. spare this moment for a heartswept smile
and miles forever yet
spin down slower still.. and waste these cares to rest
in measures of my blistered bliss
..as mettle spelled with unsprung hope
choose my breath to praise the truth a wish
..in half a verse of tinkling notes
.. . . . .
wind me up again.. caress my stare to listen
this.. music hears my lost and found unspoken
(whisper kissed) wills my rhyme unbroken
every trespassed track in virgin snow
forgiven
..as i close my eyes so sung unto this sound
beholding evermore enough to crave
the rest of gentle sooth

(keep me dearly near)

:for the rustle of a winter woods
..at the crunch of my best step
:for each fat flake that should collect upon her lash
...or dance to taste upon his tongue
:for upturned child-faced life
....beneath all ageless starlit peace
:for hearts to chase Achilles' pace
.....with precious unspent laughter

(keep me dearest: here)

:for the grinning Grace in man

....music remember it for me
...wound and intertwining now
..bestowed of evermore enough

to believe



©caitlin ann 12/23/05


**may your peace be full of hope**

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