Art Spark

All they said was it was dead
all the magic in my head
so said the department head
I'd need that spark get ahead
without it they must go ahead
without my arts (or overhead)

And what they carefully left unsaid:
no time to waste on this pill-head,
this nutjob! (me) No thoroughbred,
a broke-down mare! I drew, I read,
but not enough for those who led
They didn't want a flower bed,
they wanted glitz in infrared
and glittered themes, Venitian red
(and even Santa in his sled)

Soon, I knew, with mounting dread
that they just saw the magic, fled
my interaction with that med
(that fogged my mind and blurred my head?)
was nothing to them, not one shred
I thought they cared; I was mislead
despite my doc's words 'bout the med
HR wouldn't hear me, blindness spread.
It was enough to go ahead
and terminate 
my job instead. 

I was so stunned; I barely pled
(too med-sick even to see red)
I cleared my desk and bowed my head
and shrank for home, 
and hid in bed.

But that doesn't end this story's thread
I healed, I calmed, I plowed ahead
and gradually that old death's head
shrank down in size. I left my bed.

Back to my easel I dared tread;
ideas flowed! My brain was fed
by all the colors, 'round me spread
like springtime in a tulip bed.

And now without that looming dread
demanding: Art! NOW! Go ahead!
I swim in musings so widespread
that, for today,
my soul is fed.

(C) 2014 by Rosetti C.
Translunary Things

NaPoWriMo day 30! A quick thank-you to everybody who is willing to keep reading my nonsense. I’m coming out of April a totally new person from my winter self. Writing, painting, drawing! Not long ago it took herculean effort to get up, shower, dress… I won’t say I won’t still have downs and the occasional crash; I’m realistic about that (depression’s a nasty beast). But I’m glad I can share with you this side of me, as well.


Not a Phoenix

...And you realize you are not
a phoenix--
And that the fire that adorns you
consumes your flesh
And you twist and writhe
as it eats the scream 
from your mouth 

Yet at the core you are all of winter
Rage trapped beneath ice
Each movement needle-cold

Don't Move.  Don't dare.

Don't speak, 
lest you sear those around you
with your killing frost.

(c) 2014 by Rosetti C.
Translunary Things

I wasn’t Outed, I was never In

It was never really a big secret. See, that was probably my first mistake.

I thought, old art-lady that I am, that I was past naïveté. (Bzzzzz! Sorry, Contestant. Wrong answer!) (more…)

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