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.
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.
I stand heart swelling between my pores
pushing
this scared crows beak through atmospheric places fighting for MORE!
Ruin and rapture, left to swim amongst the stars I soar.
As my lips peel themselves around
Paradoxical pastries pleasurable and poisonous
It is my insides that hemorrhage rabid & boisterous.
Adom split, I am divided by three
Frozen shelled it’s my soul that screams FREE!
Pouting, swollen in arrogance
It bleeds through my eyes
Where I remain is far from where my soul flies.
And as I sink beneath the graveled earth, devoured
by swallowing mud and loving larva
it’s Mozart’s beak that reminds me of Nirvana
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.
And in that warm, dusk kissed light,
Horizon stretched
My insanity is etched
A thicket of desires beating through pounds of flesh.
Thirsting for resurrection, I stop only to drink from my own reflection.
Still stood, cold framed
Purged
And sweaty
I soar with Mozart, extending myself, creating compositions, rubbed and ready
Violent they’ve become sharpened steal pointed and pinning
Forcing me to go to the beginning.
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.
Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.
But should you look upon my pushed past in present face
There you’ll find, entombed inside gorged lids, my soul, the God of impenetrable space. 
By: Magnolia Lafleur
What Crones Up Crows Drown
September 27, 2018
And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust.
Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed.
Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning the flirt.
Algebraic equations tunneling the mind, make it difficult for her to follow that big bunny’s behind.
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.
Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.
You’ll find that man who claims to be of scripture filled with Mach·i·a·vel·li·an sound.
And that human who won’t work, it’s only because it left its soul in the hurt;
something those pecking birds feast upon in deserts.
But fear thee not and believe in thy all,
for a Tureen of soup may cure the fall.
And if ye shan’t believe in thy might, I suggest you take an absence from this thing you call sight.
Go ahead, be brilliantly bold, as blind as a blissful old bat,
fill your belly with the stars till its round, fruitful and fat.
Go on twaddle twinkle, trip towards your leave;
as it’s won’t be quite difficult in more than six impossible things to believe.
-Magnolia
Acrylic on canvas ♡
( © 2018 Magnolia HL )
What is Bliss?
September 14, 2018
What Is Bliss?
But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.
Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.
Mixed with chilled white milk and
Stirred inside endless clarity;
Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.
Coated with crying, frothed cream,
just happy to be apart of something.
Half-done, half- raw, half -baked, all-together.
Dreaming of filling in the space of unsealed lips.
If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?
Be Beautiful Bold Brilliant Bright
August 7, 2013
Ego does not exist inside the depths or shadows of your heart, so stay the course and follow your own beat, for that is where true living takes place.
Her Speech
April 4, 2013
By: Magnolia
Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.
Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,
was the birth of a whisper
ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.
Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.
“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,
I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,
if not a dream.
And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds
I have abandoned my internal needs;
Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.
I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,
To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,
and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.
Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.
For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,
alas, has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home
upon electrical wires breathing life into a paralyzed heart.
I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,
that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.
Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.
Fair exchange it was not.
For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,
and merely numbing it in the process.
But now with exhumed vision and frail valves,
I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.
With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,
And with the seed of creation rousing a previously unemployed heart
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”
— |
Plato |
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”
— |
Plato |
“According to Plato, we don’t learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.”
— |
Misty – Diary by Chuck Palahniuk |
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
Midnight Interlude
February 10, 2013
By: Magnolia
To this experience, she was a guest.
Her usual floppy stance became erect and watchful.
Her eyes scintillated and sunken in fright
As a phantom, superior and with bizarre curiosity
Arose, deliberate, detached and delighted while dismembering itself
Inside the lucidity of a half- remembered dream where
All walls collapsed
Atoms took to beat and
Form neglected the boundaries of human conceptualization.
And while reality took to bed possibility
Buildings skipped from side to side, back and forth in comical repetition.
Red became green, blue, pink and plush purple.
Numbers echoed their “I am’s” until they, like a string of pearls, conjoined into a choir of nothing but decoration in an empty space.
Fatality became a companion only to walking apathy
Bombastic unpredictability became soothing potential
Quick became irrelevant
And like the sloth, all had abandoned the clock
And just like that, slow became comfortable.
This outer body experience left her observing the shell she originally inhabited
As all it’s questions, and pondering and confused, rampant vocalization,
Silenced her ghostly lips, and all that remained, was one thought
“Am I dead, or am I free?” a wonder that lasted but a second,
For suddenly the turbulence of beauty sliced into her experience
And the happiness of a moment coded in the feeling of a kiss;
Encircled, nuzzled and clutched every molecule
Below and between the gaps of every impossibility.
And a voice breathed forth the
Absence of fear and the presence of peace into an anxiety filled form
Everything was nothing, and nothing was everything.
And all that mattered, embraced the obsolete.
Closed eyes, and in the silence of her peace, her skin whispered, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
And in the dark, the face of an old man, expressionless, and bound to no sense of gravity
With one look, injected truth into into her barely beating veins,
“My love, thou inhibits all and everything. Boundless, you are the mother, father, daughter and son of creation. And your soft gel like tissues, afloat inside a castle of bones? A mere means of transport in a sea of possibility.”
And while her veins pouted in swollen satisfaction, with her last ounce of strength before her soul cavorted with a sleeping body, she said,
“I understand now, but if I forget later?”
And with no words, he thumped the answer into her heart,
“Then close your eyes and open your child.”
With those last words, she awoke
Drenched in the knowing that there was nothing more to be done,
She surrendered to trying and excavated complexity from the jaws of her trained mind.
And her eyes, drooped in the reckless abandonment of being in love with the infinite,
Tickled inside her enlivened flesh.
For there was no becoming she already was.
Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings
January 26, 2013
On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle
His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle
Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.
Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn.
Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,
He never quite felt he fit in his world.
Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.
Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.
For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.
So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs
Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s
Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.
With tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.
Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.
Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand
In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon
And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.
Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered, they swam.
They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.
Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.
And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub quickly turned and said,
“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I can feel heavy upon thy heart”
Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.
Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.
Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”
Treading and manic, he began to run out of air when the siren re-appeared,
She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”
He screamed “I need air!”
Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”
As he began to swim up, panicked, he found his feet tethered to the ground.
The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement in speech said, “So wake up!”
As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.
And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it.”
Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,
And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.
Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,
And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.
The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red
And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs & became a man, transcendent and magnate.
Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings
By: Magnolia
On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle,
His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle.
Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.
Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn,
Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,
He never quite felt he fit in his world.
Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.
Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius, was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.
For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.
So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs.
Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s
Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.
So, with tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.
Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.
In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon
And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.
Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand.
Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered they swam.
They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.
Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.
And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub whispered,
“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I feel heavy upon thy living”
Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.
Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.
Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”
Treading and manic,l he began to run out of air when the Siren re-appeared,
She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”
He screamed “I need air!”
Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”
As he began to swim up, panicked he found his feet tethered to the ground.
The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement with speech said, “So wake up!”
As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.
And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it”.
Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,
And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.
Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,
And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.
The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red
And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs and became a man, transcendent and magnate.
This 2013, Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying
December 30, 2012
Words to Live By
December 18, 2012
You’ll neVer FeeL hAPpy, Until You TRY!
Here’s 10 pick me up keep me ups for the week!
1)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6)
7)
8)
9)
10)
Sometimes it can be difficult to see the rainbow when it’s pouring, but 
and 
because all your struggles or hardships are not in vain and they WILL PASS.
THE PEACE & HAPPINESS
that comes with a MANIFESTED DREAM is yours. The best thing to do when you don’t know what else to do, and when you have expended all resources and emotion, is to find a way, any way to GET HAPPY. If that means taping your face into a smile, you might have too ; ) but more realistically just try to distract yourself into happiness, and then look at your situation again, and a new solution will be birthed.
Most of all know, you’re not alone and that 
I don’t always remember all this, but I sure do TRY to download it as much as possible.
“Everything is okay in the end, if it’s not ok, then it’s not the end.”
Bonjour world!
August 13, 2009
Name: Magnolia Lafleur
I decided to write a blog about love, art, and the human condition. The good, the bad and all that is in-between. I will go through the looking glass and back examining all that is love the roots and stems of love. We see evidence every second of every day of the existence of true love. It takes the form of art, freedom, beauty, callings fulfilled, nature, music, healthy relationships, etc. Through the transmission of real love we find some of the world’s most awe inspiring people, acts, and inventions, creative and otherwise.
In the old day all people had was their word, there was a level of sophistication, loyalty, innocence and corniness that was not only acceptable but revered as brave, beautiful and honest. It’s not that it does not exist anymore; it’s just not as popular as it deserves to be.
So, ready or not, here I go through the Rabbit Hole searching, dissecting, discovering and restoring True Love. My hope… to pump the sigh, swoon and lift of the heel back into love.
Oh! and where theres LOVE you know they’ll be a little POETRRYY Readdingg!
Fav.Quote:
“Knowledge is the best eraser in the world for disharmony, distrust, despair, and the endless physical deficiencies of man.” -Battista, Orlando A.
Interest:
Film, Screenwriting, writing Running,Dance, Reading, Drawing & Painting, Film Studies, Film Scores, Music, Art, Traveling, Discovering, History, Philosophy, Anthropology, Psychology, Astronomy, Mythology Studies, blaha blaha blaha….more later.
I ….
*Graduated from University with a B.A in Journalism
*Spent a year in London completing an International Business Certificate
*Sublime Magazine Editor
*Professional Track athlete – Trinidad National Team
* Indie-Script in pre-production stages
*Like the smell of wet pavement and have a semi-obsession w/ crunching leaves and hot chocolate.
Please feel free to leave comments and/or email me with questions, ideas, perspectives, etc. : lovsnmua@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter:http://twitter.com/Lovsnmua
“Love is passion, someone you can’t live without. If you don’t start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who’ll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I’m not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you’ll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love – well, you haven’t lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven’t tried, you haven’t lived. ” -Meet Joe Black-
