We take up the pen
to deconstruct our psychic comfort
and use it like a broom
to sweep the dust
from forgotten corners
into the centre of the room.
So much is stored in boxes,
taped shut and packed away
on out of reach shelves
until removal day comes round
and words break the seal
of abandonment.
And ink will get under our nails
as we fill the page with memories
we take with us, and fingers ache
to let go of the old wounds
that possess us, until we learn
to leave them behind.
Izy Gruye invites us to Chew Through Your Own Chains, my first choice for Play It Again! with Real Toads. I have been a teacher since the age of 21, and I love my job but a task I do not enjoy is moving house, but I guess we poets are in the removal business.
Izy, we met in 2010 - a different online space and time - and we have weathered change, distance and the ebb and flow of the online world of poetry blogging. I do hope we will continue to remain in touch in the years to come.
Monday, December 30, 2019
Friday, December 27, 2019
Tarot Suite #9
 |
| Original Tarot Card Design Copyright Kerry O'Connor @nexuscarddesign |
Wheel of Fortune
I sense the universe
with the soles of my feet,
in the elements of starfields
wherein I, and all, find means to grow.
There are things I cannot move
by will alone. Things deeper
than forgiveness.
This Earth, this planet, is part
of a wheel turning
within infinite wheels, a cog
of cosmic ecology, and I
am revolving through
a synchronicity
of inner space and time,
with no more weight
than a single grain of sand.
There is healing to be found
in acceptance, in letting go.
Written for the final Wordy Friday with Wild Woman, Sherry Blue Sky, who has been a constant source of inspiration to me from my earliest days of online poetry blogging. Without a shadow of a doubt, none of this would have happened without her. The Wheel of Fortune brought us together. Now one cycle may be over, but a new cycle will begin in the fertile grounds of the old - such cosmic energy cannot be destroyed.
Thursday, December 26, 2019
Dysmorphia
It’s been a long slow swing
in retrograde through the garden
of my soul’s imaginary dysmorphia
There is a callous comfort
in my latent childhood dreams
which lull me through recurrence
Each is neatly parcelled
to tuck away the vicious claws
and hairy eyes of my familiar demons
A path of no return is visible
but I suspect it will lead back
to the root of the poisonous tree
and the pendulum motion
of the swinger because the truth,
the snake in the garden was always me.
A poem suggested, in part, by Margaret's final challenge in the Imaginary Garden: Artistic Interpretations, in which she asks us to contemplate the theme of comfort in the context of childhood.
in retrograde through the garden
of my soul’s imaginary dysmorphia
There is a callous comfort
in my latent childhood dreams
which lull me through recurrence
Each is neatly parcelled
to tuck away the vicious claws
and hairy eyes of my familiar demons
A path of no return is visible
but I suspect it will lead back
to the root of the poisonous tree
and the pendulum motion
of the swinger because the truth,
the snake in the garden was always me.
A poem suggested, in part, by Margaret's final challenge in the Imaginary Garden: Artistic Interpretations, in which she asks us to contemplate the theme of comfort in the context of childhood.
Sunday, December 22, 2019
Prayer to the All-Father
In Mid-Winter
God of my shadow self, you see
the implacable nature
of my intransigence:
My raven-beaked memory
pecking at old scars
and black thoughts on the wing
through the thunderstorms
of my own self-conception,
my wolf-panting anger
and teeth that tear flesh
from bone of my own demons.
Your gaze is a reckoning:
Knowledge demands sacrifice,
an eye, a befriending
of the severed head,
the subconscious voice
confirming my worst fears
that shadows have more substance
and weigh heavier than the light.
A poem for the last solstice of the decade, in honour of the Old Gods and Yuletide, inspired by the art of Quincy Washington.
 |
| Odin ~ Quincy Washington @albanusdesign Used With Permission |
God of my shadow self, you see
the implacable nature
of my intransigence:
My raven-beaked memory
pecking at old scars
and black thoughts on the wing
through the thunderstorms
of my own self-conception,
my wolf-panting anger
and teeth that tear flesh
from bone of my own demons.
Your gaze is a reckoning:
Knowledge demands sacrifice,
an eye, a befriending
of the severed head,
the subconscious voice
confirming my worst fears
that shadows have more substance
and weigh heavier than the light.
A poem for the last solstice of the decade, in honour of the Old Gods and Yuletide, inspired by the art of Quincy Washington.
Friday, December 20, 2019
Tarot Suite #8
 |
| Kerry O'Connor @nexuscarddesign |
VIII
The Lovers
Love flames to the brink of black
in this cosmic forge,
where the absence of light
is not void, but cogent, beyond
visible perceptions of you and me.
We could not choose but to embrace
secrets of ourselves we found in each other.
I will love you in this darkness of soul.
I will love you as time forgets to count.
I will love you when my substance frays
into the matter of all things
and you, forever counter-weight
of our mutual annihilation.
Merged, we burn
brighter than any new star:
Imaginable.
Written for Marian's Last Word: Imagine.
Also using another line suggested in Magaly's final Weekend Challenge: "I will love you in the darkness of soul"... for old time's sake.
Another part of my African Tarotscapes series of illustrated poems. All illustrations can be viewed on my art blog Nexus Card Design and for behind the scenes footage and storytelling, visit @nexuscarddesign on Instagram.
Monday, December 16, 2019
Ever-Rising Star
 |
| Collage created by Kerry O'Connor |
Let your face be a canvas
An ever-rising star
Radiant!
Make a bold statement
In black & white
You are unique
Born to express yourself
Trust in every new tomorrow
Discover the secret of Love
It’s your time to smile
Say goodbye & live well
A dream come true
I had to create something special for the final Music with Marian challenge in the Imaginary Garden. Thus I set upon an old magazine to find a poem amid the words.
Marian and I go back to before the inception of Real Toads. We met by total accident, or fate.. bumped into one another on the blogs and stuck together through thick and thin. Her blog runaway sentence is one of the first I discovered, when I was entirely new to the forum of online poetry publishing. It has remained true to Marian's vision and her writing is a constant source of inspiration to me personally, as well as to countless poets and fellow toads.
Thank you so much, sister-poet, for all and everything you are.
Friday, December 13, 2019
Tarot Suite #7
VII
Temperance
 |
| Temperance Tarot Card Original Design by Kerry O'Connor |
This is a cautious balancing act,
one foot on the bank,
one in the stream.
I feel Earth’s clasp on my ankle,
and hear clay mouths pleading
with me to stay
even as riverine energy tempts me
to give in to its flow.
I dwell in these wetlands, the days between
then and now, but the future
arrives just as water, rising above
the mark of expectations,
while I attempt to cup my intuition
from palm to palm,
or save at least the dregs.
A new installment in my Tarot Suite Collection of poems and illustrations, written for Magaly's final Imaginary Garden prompt 13 Poetic Bits of Kerr, using the line "the future arrives just as water" from my poem, A Painless Day, available in the Objectivity Chapter on my Skylover Blog.
Tarot Suite #6
VI
The World
 |
| The World Original Tarot Card Design ~ Kerry O'Connor |
This Earth is old, and as heavy to turn
as life, which falters
on the road to resurrection.
There is nothing spontaneous in birth,
nor tragic in death more than a sense
of something no nearer completion.
And the man will trudge beside
the bull to pasture, unaware
that tradition does not invest
existence with meaning;
the lion will evade extinction
but the eagle will feed
on carrion all the same.
I have laid out my funerary garb:
let the lazulite scarab seal my tomb.
Monday, December 9, 2019
Death by Serpent
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety."
Antony & Cleopatra, William Shaekspeare
Haunted by relics of bygone age,
slabs of stone, hand-hewn, a painted frieze against the wall
All that endeavour and detritus,
it is ground to a fine dust beneath the heel of time.
What were we to each other more than
spark to dry tinder? We consumed ourselves
Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
until we choked on the dismal ashes of defeat.
Now history has traced my eyes,
with black kohl, and placed two serpents in my hands.
I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to make order out of anarchy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem began as a companion piece to my illustration of Cleopatra, but was quite hastily written, without much thought for form or meter. Sanaa's last prompt in The Imaginary Garden, to write poetry in the Landay form, sent me back to my poem, which I restructured using the guidelines. I much prefer this version and shall return to the form again because it is very user friendly.
My original free verse poem:
I am haunted by relics
of a bygone age
slabs of stone, hand-hewn,
painted frieze against a wall,
all that endeavour
and the detritus it is ground to
beneath the heel of time.
What were we to each other
more than spark to dry tinder?
Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
we consumed ourselves
until we choked on the ashes of defeat.
Now history will trace kohl around my eyes,
place serpents in my hands.
I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to mend.
Historical Blurb
Cleopatra VII was the last Pharaoh of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, 69 - 30 BCE.
Lover of both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, whom she married in 32 BCE, Cleopatra was a major influence on world affairs during her lifetime. As joint rulers of Egypt, they were defeated at the Battle of Actium, by Octavian. Mark Antony fell upon his sword. When Cleopatra learnt that Octavian planned to lead her in triumphal march through the streets of Rome, she committed suicide rather than surrender, traditionally by asps smuggled into her chamber in a basket of figs.
Antony & Cleopatra, William Shaekspeare
 |
| Death of Cleopatra Kerry O'Connor |
Haunted by relics of bygone age,
slabs of stone, hand-hewn, a painted frieze against the wall
All that endeavour and detritus,
it is ground to a fine dust beneath the heel of time.
What were we to each other more than
spark to dry tinder? We consumed ourselves
Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
until we choked on the dismal ashes of defeat.
Now history has traced my eyes,
with black kohl, and placed two serpents in my hands.
I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to make order out of anarchy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem began as a companion piece to my illustration of Cleopatra, but was quite hastily written, without much thought for form or meter. Sanaa's last prompt in The Imaginary Garden, to write poetry in the Landay form, sent me back to my poem, which I restructured using the guidelines. I much prefer this version and shall return to the form again because it is very user friendly.
My original free verse poem:
I am haunted by relics
of a bygone age
slabs of stone, hand-hewn,
painted frieze against a wall,
all that endeavour
and the detritus it is ground to
beneath the heel of time.
What were we to each other
more than spark to dry tinder?
Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
we consumed ourselves
until we choked on the ashes of defeat.
Now history will trace kohl around my eyes,
place serpents in my hands.
I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to mend.
Historical Blurb
Cleopatra VII was the last Pharaoh of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, 69 - 30 BCE.
Lover of both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, whom she married in 32 BCE, Cleopatra was a major influence on world affairs during her lifetime. As joint rulers of Egypt, they were defeated at the Battle of Actium, by Octavian. Mark Antony fell upon his sword. When Cleopatra learnt that Octavian planned to lead her in triumphal march through the streets of Rome, she committed suicide rather than surrender, traditionally by asps smuggled into her chamber in a basket of figs.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Haven
 |
| Pharos ~ Kerry O'Connor |
When all the lights went out,
I looked for you
but you had already left me,
taking yourself away in the confused
aftermath of your own self-doubt.
And the nights seem endless now,
the starred sky, a bed of nails
and every stabbing wound,
the pain of sabotage.
Wherever you are, out across
the grey wasteland of sea and stone,
you are not asleep either.
I hear my name on the salty wind
and it is your voice calling.
I have fuel enough to ignite the lantern
one last time, to set the beam
and guide you home.
But I do not know when to strike the match.
Art FLASH! in December
The symbolism of the lighthouse which I used: It is feminine, reminiscent of an enclosed area, a walled sanctuary, and a safe haven.
Wednesday, December 4, 2019
A Skylover Wordlist
Brief Candle
“Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow”
Macbeth, William Shakespeare.
 |
| Death of Lady Macbeth Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
Never was night so stripped
of its own illusions,
never the lambent stars
such needle points of ice,
as now in this fatal hour
past indecision.
This is no false step
I take upon the parapet
but perhaps I am a curiosity to you:
in my full and naked power,
nothing left to lose.
The horizon is at my feet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem is written using words from my Skylover Wordlist for December.
 |
| #skyloverwordlist |
If anyone would like to join me in writing poetry from this list of words, and would like me to read and comment on their post, please paste the link to the post in the comments below or you can tag me on Instagram.
Monday, December 2, 2019
Death of Ophelia
Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Ophelia in Hamlet by William Shakespeare
You believe you know all the essential things,
like a name, how long it has been since the first day;
Yes, you may know where you are, and how
you arrived at the shore, recognize even, the divide
But, you do not know the water’s depth;
you find yourself too cold to cross the river.
You do not understand how my soul streams
from the unseen world of infinite dreams
Drowning you in a vision of what may be,
what has already been and what exists now, always.
A poem, quote and illustration for Rommy's Challenge in The Imaginary Garden.
Ophelia in Hamlet by William Shakespeare
 |
| Death of Ophelia Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
You believe you know all the essential things,
like a name, how long it has been since the first day;
Yes, you may know where you are, and how
you arrived at the shore, recognize even, the divide
But, you do not know the water’s depth;
you find yourself too cold to cross the river.
You do not understand how my soul streams
from the unseen world of infinite dreams
Drowning you in a vision of what may be,
what has already been and what exists now, always.
A poem, quote and illustration for Rommy's Challenge in The Imaginary Garden.
Friday, November 29, 2019
The Illusion of Poetry
 |
| Kerry O'Connor Notebook Poetry @skyloverpoetry |
I am an optical illusion.
This is me, witch of the first star.
This star of the first illusion,
an optical witch is me. I am.
I am an illusion of the first star.
Optical witch, this is me.
An optical illusion, I am this witch:
star of the first is me.
This optical star is an illusion
of the first witch. Am I me?
I am the first star. This witch
of an optical illusion is me.
Written for Kim's amazing challenge: The Uncertainty of the Poet.
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Tarot Suite #5
 |
| The High Priestess Original Tarot Card Design Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
V
The High Priestess
As warden of Nyx-door,
I have discovered
an aesthesis for the heavens
so elementary and profound,
I can pluck the chords of stars
with an edge of my fingertips
or plunge head first into
the moon waters of esoteric language
and turn the tide of perception.
Held in my mind is the light
of ancient nova long extinguished.
There is matter yet to be revealed
and energy streaming
through me as an infinite loop
of all-time’s most creative intuition.
For Get Listed! in The Imaginary Garden.
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Tarot Suite #4
 |
| The Devil Tarot Card Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
IV
The Devil
The details are meticulously clear:
red embers, smudging coils of smoke,
the grit of yellow ochre under my fingernails
and the bitter gulps of fermented root
from a black clay pot.
There is an art to madness
and I paint it on the cave walls
of my subconscious.
Scenes of violence, in which I excel
or fail to save the innocent.
Even my words are weapons now
and poetry the grinding stone
of my fatal disillusion.
For Time Travel/ Flashbacks with Bjorn who is our weekend host at The Imaginary Garden.
Monday, November 11, 2019
Tarot Suite ~ Card Designs
 |
| Tarot Card ~ Original Art Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
 |
| Tarot Card ~ Original Art Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
 |
| Tarot Card ~ Original Art Kerry O'Connor @skyloverpoetry |
These three tarot designs are based on African Folktales:
Strength ~ The Love Potion
The Tower ~ The Honey Guide
The Sun ~ How Jackal Got His Stripe
The poem in three parts, which accompanies these illustration, can be read on my Skylover blog.
Friday, November 1, 2019
Graphite on Paper
 |
| @jasonlimberg Autumn Breath Used With Permission |
What does it mean that we move through seasons
untouched by everything that changes?
You are implacable, a mirror of self in my eyes.
Your voice is the fragrance of woodsmoke.
When the fabric of love was made to crumble
how do we find our way in the dark of each other?
The trees surrounding us on all sides may be bare
but the touch of mist, your touch, is indelible upon my soul.
Why is it that in the sky-brain of our existence,
we follow the path of the moon like graphite on paper?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
But yours is the mind I reach for,
mine the breast where you keep your heart.
Art FLASH! in The Imaginary Garden features the work of Jason Limberg.
Thursday, October 31, 2019
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
Monday, October 28, 2019
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Saturday, October 26, 2019
Friday, October 25, 2019
Thursday, October 24, 2019
Wednesday, October 23, 2019
Tuesday, October 22, 2019
Monday, October 21, 2019
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Saturday, October 19, 2019
Sling
 |
| @skyloverpoetry |
This wound is deeper than what you may see stitched above my broken heart.
This poem is written to honour the courage and fortitude of women, who have fought the battle against breast cancer, as October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
Sharing with Sherry Blue Sky's Weekend Mini-Challenge: On Wonder
Friday, October 18, 2019
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Monday, October 14, 2019
Sunday, October 13, 2019
Saturday, October 12, 2019
Friday, October 11, 2019
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Monday, October 7, 2019
Enchanted
 |
| @skyloverpoetry |
When Margarita rides to meet the Devil, awash in moonfire...
Inspired by the novel, The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Saturday, October 5, 2019
Fortress of Dreams
 |
| Untitled Original Ink @mc__monster Used with Permission |
Imprisoned in this Fortress of Dreams
I am the embodiment of smoke
on an inky skyline –
I am the thoughts the owl
speaks to itself –
I am a wolf’s cold stare
reflecting the glimmer of stars
a billion light-years away
a glint upon a frozen lake
a fractal heartbeat of midnight’s prey –
Wake me up!
Art FLASH! in October introduces the work of McMonster, a wizard of ink illustration.
An Ekphrasis poem in 55 words.
Friday, October 4, 2019
Thursday, October 3, 2019
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Ring
 |
| Ink on Paper @skyloverpoetry |
1.10.19 ~ A ring of water holds the sky, blue diamond in a fish's eye.
Rommy Challenges us to Try Everything!
As it happens, I am trying something relatively new this October, in conjunction with the #inktober2019 fest on Instagram.. that is The American Sentence, Allen Ginsberg's answer to haiku (another form I never write). So in celebration of October, I am sharing my first American sentence of the month - of a planned 31!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)