Mozart’s Beak

January 16, 2019

-ONE MUST GO BEYOND TO BECOME-

Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.

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Here, my blood boils between sighing senses and a sewn In gut
Like cats teeth
I gnaw and claw at my weakest strands
Pulling apart the places where I failed to take a stand.

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I stand heart swelling between my pores
pushing
this scared crows beak through atmospheric places fighting for MORE!

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Ruin and rapture, left to swim amongst the stars I soar.

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As my lips peel themselves around
Paradoxical pastries pleasurable and poisonous

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It is my insides that hemorrhage rabid &  boisterous.

Adom split, I am divided by three

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Frozen shelled it’s my soul that screams FREE!

giphy (2)Pouting, swollen in arrogance
It bleeds through my eyes
Where I remain is far from where my soul flies.

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And as I sink beneath the graveled earth, devoured
by swallowing mud and loving larva

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it’s Mozart’s beak that reminds me of Nirvana

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Flapping feathers furrowed then freed above
fluffy mounds of blushed cotton,
Breeze brushing backwards beyond dreams begotten.
Tonight I dream of leaving it all, of basking in the forgotten.

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And in that warm, dusk kissed light,
Horizon stretched
My insanity is etched
A thicket of desires beating through pounds of flesh.

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Thirsting for resurrection, I stop only to drink from my own reflection.

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Still stood, cold framed
Purged
And sweaty
I soar with Mozart, extending myself, creating compositions, rubbed and ready

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Violent they’ve become sharpened steal pointed and pinning
Forcing me to go to the beginning.

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And in the beginning, “the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”
My veins weep as my breath, it leaps beyond this eternal sleep.

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Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.

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But should you look upon my pushed past in present face

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There you’ll find, entombed inside gorged lids, my soul, the God of impenetrable space.  beakMOZ1

original

By: Magnolia Lafleur

What Crones Up Crows Drown

September 27, 2018

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And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust.

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Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed.

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Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning the flirt.

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Algebraic equations tunneling the mind, make it difficult for her to follow that big bunny’s behind.

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And since I am no neologist, dreaming in ratios and gold, I can understand what the Jabberwocky’s point was in being told.

Oh and ahhhh the joy in those frabjous words interlocking the tounge with the mind as it does.

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Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.

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You’ll find that man who claims to be of scripture filled with Mach·i·a·vel·li·an sound.

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And that human who won’t work, it’s only because it left its soul in the hurt;

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something those pecking birds feast upon in deserts.

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But fear thee not and believe in thy all,
for a Tureen of soup may cure the fall.

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And if ye shan’t believe in thy might, I suggest you take an absence from this thing you call sight.

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Go ahead, be brilliantly bold, as blind as a blissful old bat,
fill your belly with the stars till its round, fruitful and fat.

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Go on twaddle twinkle, trip towards your leave;
as it’s won’t be quite difficult in more than six impossible things to believe.

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-Magnolia

Acrylic on canvas ♡

( © 2018 Magnolia HL )