I Walk the Line

Should I fake it or should I just lie? Should I tell the truth or should I just die? A fine line. A fine line when you continue to walk behind my eyes. I walk the line. Everything is illusion. In your eyes. Not mine. 

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

Don't Fuck The Dead People Now

I feel just like Winona Ryder in that movie about Vampires. And she couldn't get that 'accent' right....neither could that other guy...

I was taught as a little girl that If you like anything about yourself you're going to be punished, if you were taught that as I was, don't buy it....love yourself and project that outwardly even at times if it means burning with word, in art and your daily in and out job that you are so fortunate to have. Make your statement. Love yourself. You are not doomed nor selfish when you're in that state of being. You're alive and living what is rightfully yours and true. People will judge you so be up for it but don't allow their judgement to infect you into a non-loving state of being. Don't let it color your decision making to be something that you are not or that you do not feel is true for you. Move forward with integrity and be honest with yourself and those around you as you will connect with the right people when you're truly in alignment with self.  Also, keep in mind that sometimes those people judging are the right people for you, too...they may help you define what you will and will not tolerate in this life and what boundaries you need to set for yourself. Be who you are. Celebrate your existence even if it means being alone and celebrating by yourself. Those hours alone are gems, hidden treasures and will open doorways for you. Doorways that not only exist in your mind but doorways into the next reality and remember nothing lasts forever outside of love so keep inside of it.  Love is infinite and it's looking you straight in the eye right now, all you need is a mirror to see.

You've been conditioned to believe that you were born to be a slave to the master. This is untrue. You were born to be a master of love. No crime committed, but a terrible and beautiful vision to see. So many twist and turns on the road in this world we live in today. So make noise in the hallways and command the door to open  as the poems don't love anymore. They will not suffice. It is all within YOU. Not the cold or rainy as I'm not much nourished by modern love either. I've seen the silver knives flashing in my bridal negligee.  Experiment within the maze, your maze and continue to worship the feeling it creates inside of you. I've certainly ripped my heart out on paragraphs but whatever you do don't fuck the dead people, don't fuck them now.

The lonely and the night of hands always relies on self.  Hands and eyes that are our brightest diamonds, yet so faint and sometimes falling from the sky not bright enough. So keep the doors of perception open and open them wide.  Open to higher thinking and open on the alter of prayer. Loving is not only a state of mind, it's a state of being, so let love in ...love, a voice in the night that says,  "You are not alone" and when hunger speaks precise instruction know that you are one of the chosen ones - you know you can never leave yourself, you have been chosen and you are the master.   It's not too early for the rainbow. It's not too late for the dove. This is the shield against the quarrels even if your name was once instructed to be the foundation of the night.  LOVE YOURSELF. BE YOURSELF. Write your redemption song tonight. It's alright. We are all just finches in the mist world but whatever you do don't fuck the dead people, don't fuck them now.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

Mothers Day - Bless Your Creations & Your Inspirations

Happy Mothers Day to all of you courageous, gorgeous, intelligent females out there - I've said it before and I'll say it again...all women are Mothers and for those of you who do not believe this to be true you've got some learning to do....your life is limitless as a human being.

I chose Ms. Marina Ambramovic to represent this day and I chose this particular video as her background has much to do with the way her performances are dealt with here although she actually has no intention of making her work resonate with one meaning only....I think that most human beings stop on the visual layer, if a woman has a child then she is considered a Mother but this isn't true for me as I've 'mothered' many things, beings, lives etc...including my own.

So here's to another breath of life and to the living it - the celebration of living 'it'....'it' being this life and each breath.

Today, bless your Mother and you as yourself and take some time to count the blessings all your "Mothers" bestowed upon you, your life and your breath. Count the Blessings our Holy Mother/Creatrix bestows each day....Bless your creations & your inspirations and Life. Own it NOW. NOW is all we have. 

Keep On Keepin' On....

FIsh & Candy

It's there inside of you
It's here inside of me, too.
Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like that things in life are showing you?
Why did you come here?
Is that really a ?
It's a rite of passage
You know what to do
It was born into you
You were born into this
Birthing
Breathing
All our songs - holy fragrant flowers
I will wait for you
never losing my way
The way to the sun
The way to the moon

Here's my stop
My back, yes still  full of flowers
I know they grow silent in the room of eyes hours
As you roam, search and still you mend your wound
Drenched from the rain
Your thirsty soul stretches out in your temple of doom
And here stands the phantom my ghost - mother rose
Rising like a honey comb our breathe will soon close

Like the mere dust that beckons you to swallow me whole
The things you should never believe, the things you are told
With your heart that has been padlocked
Your brain at war with those locks so deceived

Filled with moon light
Try hard to deceive yourself dry
I'm pregnant with words and so are your cries
I collect glances from men
Validation approval
You never arrived
the lesson is futile

A sort of energetic force that isn't true
The fountain spills over and it's time to sell wedding rings
Corner pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of life things that were once in the dream
Forty years
Forty Days
Forty nights
In the desert
The floods that never stopped

And now with those pieces in place so silken rare
You think form my photographs you smell honey comb in my hair
Like self-love, for instance humbled
I am free from this belief that you cannot see
the old beliefs that locked me and made me stumble often
Into all unworkable relationships  your ship wreck is often

With all who knocked upon my souls door be the test
With intent to own instead of to share so I have no regrets
So I have no regrets
It all led me to here
And here is pretty damn good
And it's time for those the have forgotten to see
Gold, platnium, diamond, sapphire , opals with longing to be
She, she named it and so she has told ....Sappho the poet the one who knows

The ring, this one as its no longer been forgotten
The one that is now almost long and forgotten
The one that a bright halogen light shines upon
It's been polished and cleaned
And so as I do yes, so as I do
I'm still ready for you

Where we touch is unseen
All manners of the chrysalis signals
It is if you are already inside of me
And we will radiate the phoenix
when our flesh comes to be
You and I
Heaven sent in a song to stand by each others side
Confessing it all
Awakening thirst
I swore I met you before
And the sun of hours is here now at our door
Drink hyacinth with me, my love you know
The sun of flowering on our opal shore stone

For we are so simple and yet complex inbetween
We are so more than before
Don't fight what is seen
Authentic power
Soul knowledge is ours
That that is coming up the stairs against the miles

Released you will never be alone in the great find
This great find of self and once realized
Scanning the horizon
You are the heaven that was sent direct to me
The one that was sent when I could not see
This I know is true just as
The river runs south
I will meet you there
With fish...fish and candy, deep enough to swim
Back to me again just like a kiss on your mouth
Just like candy...You are through fishing...
as she is I that desires you

Words © Wendy Rose Watson

The Flower Inside of Me Refuses to Rest

I'm back gonna do, gonna give it my best and the flower inside me refuses to rest. So the seat of my soul can weave this new chapter to a higher awareness as being the flower. That being that was trapped within, a temporary movement or stillness and seeing the seed has been watered into this growth called given. Called being. There are new things to begin right here and right now. I for one can say that all awareness entered my unaware personality through crises as some sort of unspoken vow. I was not attached to and was apart from this thing and I call clear soul energy into my being. I had become seduced into the physical matterness of life -- that's not truly a part of me as that is not living. Then my flow was cut off by some broken measure knowing now this is who I the person was summoned to treasure. So I was cut off from source, the source of wisdom and guidence, cut off in many ways from the voice full of measure. Now to draw upon guide knowing I am destined to be, guided by light that shines from the key. The key that I searched for the one that was hidden, I found in myself finally able to listen. So if you are unaware of what dreams may come time to call the divine in yourself as the sum. That fire of love, it comes and it shines so trust in your vision and listen to the divine.  The keys to the kingdom they always arrive if your soul and your being can embrace the the strange blue note which is such a beautiful life. #AWAKE in THE seat Of the SOUL 

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

My Soul Has Been Circumcised

I have been here sitting still in my church for three hours and can hear the crickets giving a pulse to the night. A moth beats itself,  to what almost sounds like death, inside of my beside lamp shade.  My breast on fire and blouse on the floor and  I still see that there's snow in his eye and his eye and his eye and also in his. I have seen how the great root of night has grown into their souls so I don't mind much that I have rendered a few hearts along the way as it all felt natural to me; I have the heart of a translator. A translator who has tried to render into common usage the high commands of pure energy, free energy.

I cannot help this and I cannot help them. The lost ones. I cannot help that. I cannot help it and  I blame it on the alter as it seduced me to become its magnificent slave. It says here's my stop. Right here and you know what to do, it's been given to you. It was a gift from the living. Here's my stop and my back grows full of flowers just as they grow silent in your tomb. And my body isn't covered in shame. And several days later I had four stanzas of eight lines each for the four hearts, which certified to me that I had received the Holy fucking Spirit. No thank you...yes, my soul had been circumcised with the wine of love. I, unable to weep, stretched my arms wide knowing that I no longer needed Roman nails to go into his open palms or mine in order to stay alive.  I and we no longer needed that. So this is for the ones that are dead to the longing, dead with hope, dead with the spring. You keep writing carefully sentence after sentence to make your meaning clear because I won't. My dress still has a thousand eyes painted on it like Indra but the art of my longings are over and they are never coming back.

Lay an aural of bouquets, an aural of  gardenia and thistle on that alter as it was the alter after all that seduced me into being a butcher of words, the butcher of hearts that the black ribbon of love has fastened around my neck and to this day I sit still in my church, this church that yes, I can still call mine and, yes...with all of this and all of that I can still love you.

Words & Photo © Wendy Rose Watson

The Giver of Worlds

the silent life giver of worlds, what is most important is the nonillusion. morning breaks, the wild reds, the deep blues, hands full of flowers, the chanting birds, my hands run through my hair and i ask myself again...why does hate exist why is the battery of the human heart on charge and why do we as a human race give in to hate, to gossip, to the small mind, the mind not of our truselves but to the mind of the nucleus that it seems to be plugged into, that mind in the box that calls to all the sleeping and how, how do you shut that mind that is not god thought OFF. i know how....that gift is called NOW.

the wild reds and the deep blues are thinking of you and yes it's okay to shove your foot down the throat of the flea that infects, do it ...do that blood sucking pin pricked entity justice now, turn your head while rising your voice and look to the light as darkness has been too far and too long...you owe that to yourselves. yes. this is the gift called NOW.

The Butcher of Love

Only do things that feel good to you as I genuinely think no one’s going to be fucking interested in you and you surely aren't going to be interested in yourself or others, otherwise. We are what we create and evolve to be. Bring the haunt on and kiIl the butler; be the butcher, the butcher of LOVE.

Words©Wendy Rose Watson 

And I Wear This Coat of Arms

My favorite things: A pack of wolves, the flight of birds on their winged migration. Womens voices that are not afraid of shaking...till death do us part! A pack of loose leaf tobacco with a bit of fire to start the smoking, the burn. Soldiers of love. The fragrance of honey, wood, orange and amber entwined together. Frida Kahlos' passionate handwriting.  Songs of Love and Hate by Leonard Cohen. A black dress with a soundtrack. Black mascara lined with pink tinged thoughts. A hell of a capture without setting a trap.  Thinking, saying "Thank You" to those who are thinking.  A light in the darkness. A darkness in the light. Ecstasy not produced from a tablet, because I know it lives within. The garden. The conjuring from my own penning. Raindrops on roses, I am the rose and I've felt the rain, here it comes again.  Maps of courage and the lingering of love inside from all the in-betweens yes, these are a few of my favorite things. (S)he who sees the colour. (S)he who wears the colour with great unease, but with the certainty that all is guided by the “golden section"...yes, these are a few of my favorite things.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson

Happy Birthday George Harrison

Happy Birthday 

(and onward journey)

 George Harrison
(February 25, 1943-November 29, 2001)
Love comes to everyone

 Not unsung

 And

 I remember the ponies in the distance 

And 

YOU

The beautiful gift bestowed upon humanity 

YOU

I know the day will come

When my sight of this world shall be lost.

Life will take its leave in silence

Drawing the last curtain before my eyes.

Yet stars will still shine at night.

And mornings rise as before.

And hours will still leave like sea waves.

Casting up pleasures and pains.

When I think of this end of my moments

The barrier of the moment breaks,

And I see by the light of death

Your world with its careless treasures.

Rare is its lowliest seat.

Things that I have longed for in vain,

And things that I got -- let them pass.

Let me but truly possess

The things that I ever spurned and overlooked.

-- Rabindranath Tagore, 1913

Words Are Sometimes Just Like A Hunter's Kiss

Lay her down in her gingerbread coffin
With cold blue eyes
Black heart so wise
Tea cups when the smoke gets in her eyes

Words from a lover
Like a moment of evil nursery rhymes
A jewel of a sweet water-killing
Floating on a lily of his lies
And
She asked him to ask himself to ask her again
With his eyes
And on the shores of easy
With a ghost-over voice
Buried in disguise
She asked him to ask her again with the words floating in his eyes

He said to her, 'i give you no choice'
Melting in the honey pot
Sweet lustrous divine
So she's the one astonished
She's the one that dives
She asked him to ask her again with his eyes

Like new grass on the spring
Wings cut off of the dove
She laid dry to sing this heaven above
New beginnings
In this coffin
New beginnings
How oh so, often

Mary, Mother , please Mother Mary forgive her for these sins
You're the one astonished
Calling for more...whispers in the grass
And
Violets of smoke pillar across your invisible floor
When all she can see right now becomes green
It ain't what it seems

Those spring filled days when this song played
Those spring filled days when wings flittered away
We weren't glued to the shelf
And their mornings weren't going nowhere else
So into Spring she fled....where she was long forgotten
No sin anywhere everything where nothing is forgotten
It begins in her like a lily flower forgotten
Just like a lily flower
just like a lily flower
Forgotten

No more lies
Daylight broke
And
No more green
The honeys been broke
And
Sometimes it takes a heart to break a heart
And
Sometimes it takes an ice cream parlor to throw it all away and sing
Glisten in the darkness
Sparklin like this diamond ring
That's been forgotten
Away on her wing
She's not forgotten
She knows what she sings
And
She's ready. for. that. break.
That break that begins again

So lay me down in a gingerbread coffin
And
Mold your cold-en four leaf clover eyes
With that deep black heart so wise
So wise I've been forgotten.
Those eyes filled up so with such great surprise
No more lies
Cause I've been forgotten

So you ride on your horse travelin there
And
This is your four leaf clover
A moonlight sonata cause she's so fair
She will not be forgotten
She has a song to sing
She rest her head on the green of Spring

The wind shivers west...and she's gonna find it
In you somewhere
She's got charms
She's got grace
An unconventional face to take you there
She'll win the race
Cause she's going down
To find her true love in the ground
And
A hunters kiss could never keep her away from this
Gimme A kiss
And
A hunters way couldn't keep her away from this
Give her a kiss

So believe me when she tells you blue
Believe her when she sings about you
And
Her bow is raised
And
She saw you coming from her gingerbread coffin
And
You left her lying dirty
While you were taking your time
Someone will find her floating soon again in their mind
But
Her bodies leaking through this grassy floor right now
And she's gone from here and left herself on these pages now
She's a gingerbread figment of your mind
Don't be kind
Cause she's always telling some sort of a story
She's one of a kind
She's a gingerbread coffin
A race you cannot run
Unless you've already been shot with the gun
And still
You should take the pill
For the gingerbread girl on the run
Cause she sleeps no more

from The Man and the Echo

While man can still his body keep Wine or love drug him to sleep, Waking he thanks the Lord that he Has body and its stupidity, But body gone he sleeps no more, And till his intellect grows sure That all’s arranged in one clear view, Pursues the thoughts that I pursue, Then stands in judgment on his soul, And, all work done, dismisses all Out of intellect and sight And sinks at last into the night.

Words © Wendy Rose

SYLVIA PLATH (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963)

SYLVIA PLATH (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963)
I hope you're still Resting in Peace, beautiful one ~
“Edge” is an elusive poem and if there really is life after death I don't know but if so Sylvia still lives on paper as a mind here

EDGE

The woman is perfected.
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.