A Story of a Minotaur, or “What a Lot of Bull.”

And this is how the story begins, with a letter, freshly written on rumpled lined paper, barely brushed free of sleep and hidden dreams.

Dear brother,

I walked down the maze,
and saw the Minotaur
eating human flesh.

His keepers wrapped a rope
around my delicate neck.

The stocks were for me
and my whole family.

And all that was left
of old Mr Plod,
was a cap
floating
in a cauldron of hot cat.

The Minotaur’s trainer
began the Appetizing Game,
Showing the wild monster
some blood
without screams.

(He did not wish
to put the beast off)

The stabbings began
and I was stretched on a rack;
The Minotaur slept
after a complex mating ritual.

What a lot of Bull.

The lid lifted on the maze.
The sun dried up the blood.
The mad Minotaur
screamed in pain
as the light shone bright
on all his mutated ugliness.

And his lovers
were shot, by a passing helicopter
of Armed Defenders.

They discovered the Magician
still clutching trembling wand,
curled up in the corner
repeating his own name.
They chopped off his fame.

Dear brother,
I saw
the mad Minotaur
as they turned him into mincemeat
and dug him into the garden.

Where now I sit.
Enjoy the sweet scent of blossoming Spring.
Dear brother,
It was a long time ago,
and I sincerely want you to know,

the madness of the maze
has been clearly exposed.

Your sister,
in truth.

===== Also on video courtesy of YouTube ====

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Opinions are beasts of burden…

Opinions
are beasts
of
burden

Carrying
the weight
of emotions
experiences
mixed media messages
forced through tv sets
computer screens
radio ears
ipod streams

Delivering
life or death on a plate
of words, gentle as honey
sharp as a dagger
and
when
looked
down
upon,
stink
like
a
dead
cat.

The tale bent
where it was run over.

—-
In response to Project O at aopinionatedman.com where a huge selection of posts are building up, each one devoted to one blogger’s opinion, on opinions. The more I read, the more I realize how an opinion is acceptable to those who are of the same opinion. And that there are broad groups that align to certain opinions, or ways of thinking, or a way of life.

Those outside those groups are deemed to have smelly opinions by those inside the groups.

And although the outsider may express their story, it can reach the ears of the insider in a distorted fashion. As crooked as a cat’s tail. (Did you spot that the poem is concrete? Do you see the cat’s bent tail?) The poem-cat offers a strange perspective, just as some people’s opinions are judged as strange due to the angle they are viewed from. Notably, the cat is upright, and its ‘tale’ holds weight.

The cat is seen as dead, a state in which no opinion is called for, from a cat. So, an undesirable opinion is like a dead cat dressed up in funeral clothes handing out appetizers to the begrudging gravediggers who hope to have it buried by lunchtime.

An opening exists for the Opinion to Shine. There are a pair of listening ears, an eager mind. Powers of thought and reason disciplined by love, and nourished with respect.

The large group turns away, black-suited backs braced against the smell.

While the sweet scent of light, truth, and understanding, intoxicates the open mind. The flame is passed on. The burden of truth.

Twitterpoetry

Thoughtful response to another reminder to beware, after hearing of one more fake suicide.

single crystalline white petal
unfolds the truth
glows inside a white fire
diamond heart which shatters
with your pure voice.

~

Don't!
Lie to me
Tell me the truth
Leave me
Do!
I see you
You need me
I know you
Never!
Say I love you
Walk away, no goodbye.

~

I (don't) believe in you
You are (no) different
So (dis)honest
You love me (not)
My mind is (never) made up
Truth is (un)real

~

My hands shook my knees too
My eyes darted, where to?
Hide or run away, there is no place
like Here to Stay, Stand Firm.

~

MIA said Do You Care?
SAD replied No.
And yet too much.

~

Love
Not Test.

~

Sue Is Siding with Loveless
Life is Scorning Sue
The thing to do?

~

Depression damp and heavy
Blanket
my mind rusts to the truth
which used to be sharp
Poison Tipped Shiny Dagger
in your hands.

~

Closed doors bar my mind entry
into the Night before
The hinges rust off and I am free
to see inside it is not pretty 

~

The cloak of anonymity discarded
for the secret of being me.

~

A mind sparkles, aflame and aflare
Brightening the night, with blinding glare
Eyes close in peace
Not one missed jigsaw piece

~

Your mind has encompassed the world
and lazily traverses it 100 times a day
while plodders stumble and toil
on their own soil

~

In dark hours your voice is a strong lifeline of presence
While shivering your words shelter me
A fire ignites in my heart

~

don't worry I'm still here no suicide note I see you care
and yet it's all a dream because I do not believe you know me

~

The aching need to find the truth of who cares at all,
who cares the most, deeply strangles my red raw throat,
I die, you cry

~

Adoring fans won't admit the betrayal
True friends growl and turn away
Inside my fishbowl
Silently watch
Cold watery truth

~

home calls
urgent incessant nagging
tugging at my heartstrings
pulling at my conscience
meowing at the window
Open the door!

~

Pick up a book
chew on a pen
throw down a thought
chew it again

Morning thoughts on psychopaths, as you do…

I was thinking in poem form, about psychopaths as I woke this morning (as you do), and this is what I scribbled down as the words bulged to a mass which threatened to overload available memory, of which I have little.

All psychopathic serial killers
                          slip up
And it's their silly mistakes
              that catch them out
Charm and deceit wear thin
          they become transparent
And the honest truth shines through

The one who conquers them
    does so with Love
And he sees them brought low

Eternal justice prevails.

Inspiring Young Poet

This girl is amazing.

Shine a light poets!

 

~

Found it first on my Reader here: http://youthandeldersja.wordpress.com/2013/06/20/brilliant-south-african-11-year-old-poet/

More here: http://guyaneseonline.wordpress.com/2013/02/14/botlahle-winner-of-south-africas-talent-2012/

 

2010 poem: People Like Me

They stare
    and they stare
     Their dull eyes don't care
   Their noses jut up into the air

    You there!
     What are you?
     Why are you here?
      Who do you know?
     and why should we dare
            To know you
         (Not love you
            that would not do
          We do not LOVE
              People like you!)

Now really, now really,
 Why are you still here?
    Did you not FEEL
          the WEIGHT of our stare?

And as you should know
         as no-one has told you,
    To LOVE
      is IMPORTANT
   and our job to do—
     But
        NOT
        for people like you.
     That simply would not do.
                We do not KNOW
                    people like you.

Earth

delicate… balance

incomprehensible complexity

in every grain of sand

every subtle breath of wind

through every fleeting, lucid moment.

 

It’s DIRT-y

ConTeMpT-ible

TreaD it DOWN.

Pierce it, Flag it

Mark it as Owned-

TERRiTORy.

 

balance upturned

scales of justice

swing

 

for the blood lost

for the innocent

for the pure

gentle

kind

.

you

will see

the balance

ReStored

.

Precious jewel in the sky

our earth turns

in time

.

RUIN RUIN RUIN

and then

They are gone.

 

Breathe

a miracle sigh

Relief.

Reflect

Reflect back

my actions

with

Love or Malice

Mend or Break

my faulty heart

Spanner thrown in

Not a design fault

I reflect my

damaged

Prototype

Like a clone.

I am human

I carry the name

I carry the shame

Until

I am forgiven.

§

(Inspired by OM’s poem at http://aopinionatedman.com/2013/05/16/humanity-you-me-and-them/)

I can’t help being human.  Along with mulling over OM’s poem on humanity, I also read something on ‘becoming’ (by a blogger I am thankful for and cannot remember the name of!) and started to think about the power of stating ‘I am.’  Then I related it to what I know of prayer.  It related to believing that we will receive what we ask for in prayer.  I pray to become filled with love, in Jesus’ name.  His life is worth *all* of ours, so he paid our death penalty, if we believe that he did.  The statement ‘I am’ is not a whimsical affirmation. ‘I am forgiven’ becomes true because I believe I AM.  I believe I have already received, so my prayer to ‘become’ filled with love, is actually “I AM filled with love.”  Amen is ‘so be it,’ signing it off as a done deal.  It is already done.

The proviso to ‘I am forgiven’ is ‘as I forgive others who wrong me.’  And the next proviso is ‘if they come to me and say they repent.’

My heart is pure if I am Ready to forgive.  It is clouded over with anger if I am Not.

I am filled with love.

I am One with Love.

I Am Love.

Anyway – that is what brewed in my mind overnight while I slept, and this poem ‘Reflect’ distilled this morning when I woke.  A poem is a man of few words.  And he is a massive man of thought.

Unity

My head is spinning

with thoughts of Unity

Truth

Good

and Right

 

The hurricane hurls horror

and discovers Unity

in the homeless hordes

 

So next time,

it targets

Just One.

 

Terrorizing and tearing to pieces

Only one witness

And the evidence swept away

in a tunnel of destruction

winding up through the air

to rain down over the vast deep sea

where there is no justice

 

Just One

Homeless

with no-one to tell.

 

Where is Unity?

I search the Oceans

To look for mine.

God

Power of Life and Infinity

Beyond grasp

and limit

Not ours to control

 

(No manhandling, manipulation, putting into place

No molding to convention, religion, politics or race

Impervious to puny rants and rage)

 

Those tiny men of Lilliput, tie down Joe Bloggs with strings and tape

Until…

The morning sun flares

Sudden brilliance

Exposes them to public shame

 

A single gust of breath

blows them all away.

 

I look up

into the sky today…