Poetry

Solitaire

The solitary woman plays solitaire
On the weathered foldout table
She keeps where she can watch the sunset
Draw three?
Risky…
Draw one?
Safe…
Withered hands on automatic
Move the cards
Reset the deck
Over and over
To find that card, this card
A card she needs to move forward
Peripherally, she sees children laughing
Lovers kissing
People living
There is the man that used to love her
She drew one
Safe
He has found another woman
Another deck
She resets her deck again
Jokers with wide, acidic smiles
Spectators in this game
Gaze knowingly
Ha, ha, ha
The hilarity of it all hits her
The futility of it all breaks her
This is absurd
This joke has no punchline
Hysterical
She laughs until she cries
She has dealt herself a safe hand
An unwinnable hand
No time to reset
Ha, ha, ha
Fuck

Poetry

Cellophane

Mr. Cellophane walks alone
Passes through crowded streets unknown
Walked around and through
Collided with
But still unseen

He has a “wife”
He has “friends”
He has pretend things
A childhood game of make-believe
That took on an all-to-real adult persona
Faceless in the city streets

He is the painted clown
Sent in for your amusement
Is his expression real?
You wonder
But, don’t care

Mr. Cellophane
You look right through him

I am his mistress
His transparent follower
Pining after even his attention
If I paint my face, too
Would he want me?
If I get a little prettier
Could I be his baby?

If he does not see me
How could you even spare a thought for me?

Poetry

Asymmetry

Surrounded by greens and blues
An idyllic landscape
In a fantasized utopia
That is almost real
It brushes the soft tips of my fingers
Like a feather
Like a dream I just barely remember

Even near this paradise
A life-giving generous oasis
My mind looks into mirrors upon mirrors
The dark side reflected
The shadow that is my own face
Dissatisfaction creeps
My form
My figure
My function
My forced reality
My fearful asymmetry
Futile, it seems

When occupied
I am a goddess
I am purple personified
Elegant, regal, spectacular
Fascinating and fascinated
Then
For a quick, subtle moment
The mind is idle
Then, all at once focused and unfocused
Blurred memories, dreams, and speculations

The dammed tears
Threaten their damned barriers
Fueled by a past that cannot be helped
A future that is unknown
A present that cannot be embraced

Sleep
Awake
Social
Smile
Outside

The sun rises
I am smiling again
I have forgotten
For the moment
The things no one remembers
The things no one yet knows
I am happy
Briefly

Sunflowers bloom in the distance
I am black
I am yellow
I am wistful
I am hopeful
I exist
Therefore,
I am
And
I am not

Poetry

Black Garden

I don’t want it to be true
I don’t want to love you
I don’t want the memory of you
Beside me
On top of me
In me
I don’t want to remember
Your eyes as we gazed upon each other
In the afterglow
I don’t want to remember
your sweat mingled with mine
I don’t want to remember
That final kiss before you slept

Do you remember
The scent of my skin?

Do you remember
How you felt between my thighs?

Do you remember
Those special smiles
The ones that were just for you?

Do you remember
What I cannot forget?

Do I want to forget?
Indeed, I do.

My eyes are dull and gray
The roses that bloomed between my thighs
Have wilted and grown thorny
Entry not allowed in this dead garden
There is much pain beyond the gate
Passion is dead
What once was wet for you
Turns to ash on the tongue
My heart and legs are closed
They only drip with blood

Do I want to forget?
I grow weary of remembering
But, then I recall the scent of you
The feel of you
The smiles that were just for me
And I know I will not

Who will care for this black garden?
Who will nurture the dead?

Poetry

Swans at Crossroads

Here she is at the edge of the tunnel
A crossroads on a narrow path
Sun on asphalt
Eyes adjusting to the bright
She teases the wind with a finger
Now two
She can’t tell its direction
She is scared
A small step back
Into darkness
Into comfort
There she does not have to wonder at her shadow
At the future it foretells
There she does not have to wonder at her greatness
At what she could be
At what she already is
But won’t let anyone see
She could stay here…
She fears the light shed on her scars
Her idiosyncracies laid bare
There are cracks in her skin
A needle and thread in her heart
This quirky, patchwork woman may frighten you
She frightens me…
When reflected upon broken glass
Muddied puddles
But, she is glorious art
She has Mona Lisa’s subtle smile
Exudes the sexuality of Venus
Stepping out from her dank isolation
She sparkles in sunlight
She has little confidence
Feels inadequate
But knows she must change
Choose a path
Persevere
You will be mesmerized by her performance
Enthralled by her dance
See the black swan transform
No…
See the white swan embrace herself

Movies

Movie Depth: Solo: A Star Wars Story

One of my intentions with this blog was to do movie reviews, among a myriad of other things that I’ve been neglecting. Lauren is slowly coming back into herself and I’m working on writing more on a little of everything. I thank my dedicated, patient followers. Anyway, this seemed like a good one to start the reviews back up with…


So, I decided on a quiet Saturday. I was going to continue watching Season 3 of The Original Series of Star Trek, but then thought, hey… Avengers: Endgame comes out and I have Thursday night tickets so, let me do an Marvel Cinematic Universe marathon. Went on Netflix and saw that Solo: A Star Wars Story was on and that whole plan went to hell.

I’m glad I didn’t see this one in the theaters. It wasn’t a bad film, but it was deeply underwhelming. It seemed like one of those prequels made solely to throw out Easter eggs for the fan base. My list of thoughts are below.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

  1. Ok, the backstory was decent. An orphan turned smuggler – I buy that. Not as grandiose a background as I might’ve hoped for, but I’ll take it.
  2. So, his name is “Solo” because an Imperial Officer that he was being clever? Come on… That’s on the level of “it takes Juan to know Juan.”
  3. Given how arrogant Han initially was about his relationship with Leia and how he was portrayed about only caring about himself, I found it difficult to believe that he cared so deeply for someone before that, i.e. Qi’ra. But again, I can go with it.
  4. Thandie Newton killed that ish. Girl went out like a soldier.
  5. Han disobeys orders which leads the crew to losing the shipment of coaxium in their fight against Enfys Nest. Beckett’s wife Val has literally just died for the cause. If you were Beckett, wouldn’t you have killed Han instead of apologizing for punching him in the face? Yeah, me too.
  6. Wait, wait, wait!! Qi’ra is just conveniently with Dryden Vos who Beckett is working for???? Shenanigans. (Nice cameo by Paul Bettany, by the way. In fact, the whole cast was quite superb despite the garbage pile of a script.)
  7. Ill-placed, somewhat cute emphasis on what a “good guy” Solo is. He isn’t, though. He’s not a bad guy, but he isn’t good. Again, given what we’ve seen him, I don’t believe that he would be so willing to help Enfys Nest’s cause except as anything, but an afterthought.
  8. Don’t trust anyone. True.
  9. Lando wears capes. Also, he apparently used to wear his hair natural? I wonder at what point int he Rebellion he decided he needed to change it up? (Kind of like Black Widow being blonde in Infinity War – did that piss anyone else off?)
  10. I wonder if, when the original story was written in the 70s, anyone really thought about what the Kessel Run was supposed to be…
  11. I think I would’ve shown significantly more devastation if the love I’d been chasing after for three years abandoned me for the Sith for her own survival. I mean, how can you misjudge someone so egregiously? Also, where was she in The Phantom Menace?
  12. Anyone else feel like Han and Lando ended this movie with no foundation of a relationship whatsoever? Maybe a casual, cordial tolerance at best. Not enough for Lando to later welcome Han to Cloud City. Of course, he betrayed him, but than he helped save him afterwards and I’m just not buying that Lando would even remotely care for anyone’s cause but his own. Lando literally said, “I hate you” and bounced. Speaking of Lando, was he in love with L3 or what was the deal there?
  13. I did like that they threw in a throwback to Lando (or rather Billy Dee Williams) mispronouncing Han. That always bothered me in the original films.
  14. Anyone else notice Ron Howard’s little brother? Again? (Dude’s in everything.)
  15. Han shot first. You saw it. I saw it. That was a nice throw-in for the fans of the original cut in A New Hope that shows Han shooting Greedo first. See… he’s not a good guy. He’s a survivor, too…

All in all, I didn’t feel like this movie really set one up for A New Hope even though the events are supposed to be about ten years prior. The pieces were there. Obviously, Han and Chewy were leaving to find Jabba on Tatooine. But, after doing a little for the cause, why go to the smuggler life? To prove he’s not a good guy? He didn’t convince me either way. And Disney is not convincing me that they can handle any of this.

Overall rating: Meh.


I can do a review for Us (which I saw Sunday), Avengers: Endgame (which I will see Thursday night), or The Last Jedi (because it relates to this and I have a full-blown rant). What do you like?

Poetry

Yellow

Yellow is my favorite color
It is the color of the sheets I lie on while I think of you
The color I sleep on
While I dream of you
Of other pleasant times
Of other nightmares
The color on which I lay my head in regret
Or wonder what the universe has planned next
It is the color of the sun’s rays
Penetrating me
Darkening my brown skin
To match the bile within
It is the color I wear to glow
Strangers think me exuberant
Innocent bystanders scammed out of their wits
It distracts from the truth in my eyes
From the yellow cowardice within
I wear it as armor
As a lie for the masses
For who would they be
Without their strong, confident leader
Who would they be if they knew I am weak
Gray patterned and vague inside
Unable to stay
Unwilling to leave
Exuding yellow sunlight
But following the black night
Castor and Pollux see behind the ruse
They know the yellow, mutable muse
The nomad who can’t stay
The two-faced changeling
Who is both beginning and end
Send in us clowns
We’ll make you laugh while we cry
We’ll make you yellow
Even when we’re blue

Poetry

Rise

The bottomless pit of hunger
Is akin to the bottomless hole in my heart
My appetite is for you
The taste of you lingers on the palette
I never want it cleansed
There can be no one after you
No course that will fill me
You were my last supper
You left that night
I died the next day
Where are you?
Come back to life
Rise from the dead
Raise me from the dead
Sustain me with your body
Let me feed on your blood
Save me from the fate you sacrificed me to
Because you did not know yourself


I realize this sounds like an Easter poem, but that was totally by accident…

Poetry

Masterpiece

I can see the music in your aura
Flowing through your veins
The passion is brimming over
Without words
I understand you wish to play for me
Play with me
I fall into you
Submissive
As your symphony begins

Begin measure

The melody starts simple
Your touch is light
Like the soft sounds of a violin
Like a caress of the piano keys
Equally attentive to black and white
And pink
You progress to high notes
Lyrics form in my throat
Low and gutteral
pianissimo

To the other end now
To the low, seldom touched notes
Your form is unmatched
Your eloquence unequaled
Ready for a quick sixteenth
A long fourth
The eighths in between
This consonance will be the end of me
My beautiful Apocalypse
mezzo-piano, mezzo-forte

rest
End of measure
coda

For a moment, you slow
My song pauses
Then, you bring in the orchestra in full force
fortissimo
I become a thorn bird
Singing the most precious, beautiful song
As though I will never sing another
We rise together in crescendo
I come alive and die in your arms
Our final forte

rest
End of measure

It is silent now
Our masterpiece ended
Instruments dim into a quiet harmony
My ears still ring from the sound
My body still trembles from the strum
I emanate vibrant colors
You gaze upon the wonder of your art

da capo al fine?
From the beginning, shall we?

Play me again…
Make me sing…

rest
End of measure

fine

Poetry

Love and Lust

Is this madness real?
Or is it the fire within me
Trying to break out
Looking for any target to engulf?

When our eyes lock
You see me and through me
At a quick, furtive glance from you
My secrets lie down at your feet

So, do you know?

It might be love
It might be lust
Be it neither or both
I must have you

What is in your mind?
What are the musings you blow to the wind
With the smoke from your cigarette
As you consider the sky and stars?
You are depth and substance personified
I am your eager student
On my knees before you
Teach me

What do you taste like?
Let my tongue wander and learn
I will wrap my legs around you
Squeeze you and push you deep
Until I feel the essence of you
In the marrow of my bones
I want to forget where you end and I begin
I am a dripping sponge
On my knees before you
Take me

Let me lay my head in your lap
Give into love as you stroke my hair
Let me lay my head on your chest
Give into lust as you stroke my bare skin

I ache to be in the vicinity of you
Shudder and stutter in your proximity
I’m ready to open any gift you give me
And, in turn, unwrap myself for you.

Maybe today,
I’ll gather the courage to say hello.