Poetry from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies by Pasithea Chan

Modern Art, Ball, Fountain, Water
Mutable Mutations

I remember growing up
knowing I have a voice.
A voice that counts
in votes, not notes.
I remember paying for costs
not landing posts or making votes.
I remember the truth
shared with no costs.

I remember preachers as teachers
not creatures with corruption's features.
I remember family and friends
being security and roots;
not interests and motives.
I remember leaders as seekers
of change and futures
not leeches and killers.

Today I have a voice
drowned in silence
from a silent majority
blinded with tragedy
deafened with tyranny
muted by poverty
crippled by authority
and erased by money.

Life is now a mutable fallacy
spewed on social media as reality;
a travesty of popularity
mutating truth with bigotry
crushing minority for a legacy.

All I see is ballots
flushed down boxes
like turd down toilets
with footage of murders
and criminals going viral
in spirals and hashtags
and pointless petitions
piling above election campaigns
selling people's pains
for future gains.

But who cares?
Is there anyone who dares
do more than a couple of shares?
Likes are now's cares
comments are future's scares
actions are only for those on chairs
searches are internal security affairs.
The rest are content with empty stares
dying at the bottom of society's stairs
waiting for crumbs falling from lion's lairs.
We are all mimers in endless fairs.

We have been reduced to dregs
of the humanity that's
been, a reality erased, yet begs
what have we become - pegs;
hung on lines until bled dry
or suffocated like helpless fry?
We have erased ourselves
from humanity's memory
with our mutable mutations.

*This is inspired by the erasure concept*

Show or Tell

Confusion a door to hell
opens by words that tell
lies with tongues so well
covering motives' nutshell.

Motives are devils that dwell
in disrespect's deepest hell
hiding truths that compel
eyes not hearts under a spell.

Eyes are a guardian angel
summoned by reason's bell
to see not look with marvel
at false appearances' nacelle.

Deceptive actions indwell
shows to souls parallel
with values held noble
bidding conscience farewell.

Devotion is a caravel
of actions that foretell
love meant to excel
through life's carousel.

Love an emotional shrapnel
is thrown at a heart's fontanel
by a charade of show or tell
that can overkill or undersell.

*Inspired by e.e. cummings*

Pages & Stages

We are born with a white sheet
we call life to ink our destinies.
Some fates are scrambled
Others are troubled
many are trampled
even crumpled
and muffled.

Most of us write our stories with pens
but some etch theirs with chisels
I met some who scratched with their nails
mishap's walls to write in blood their fates.
There are lucky ones who type their lives
and others who get a free ride
while many just drown in the nothingness.

There ain't no shortcut or edits
Chances come without a redo
Mistakes happen without an undo.
Space bars don't work, enters leave
marks, co-authoring comes with remarks.

Both authors and collaborators
in life's pages track changes.
Zooming in or out for reviews
is just a preview of what ensues.
You look for marks, reds and blues
but reason in experience leaves no clues.

We set margins for boundaries
outlines for goals and titles for tributes
Along the way some keys we miss
others fall off and we lose our way.
We try to restore from our last saves
only to realize our file extensions
are no longer supported or in use.

Style and auto correct are there
for stereotyping love and care.
Prejudice and pride are themes
inked in greed's bold or italic fonts
Lies' align lives with useless tries
to justify motives and capitalize crimes.

We fill many pages in stages
scrolling through them for ages
reading between lines
trying not to be clinging vines.
We skip other pages
jumping between paragraphs
and even whole chapters
to hide from lovers or haters.

We are just pages in a grand book.
We watch each other's performances;
Listen to them read their lines.
Clap for the winners,
Crucify losers
Comment on failures
Condemn liars,
Chastise thinkers;
Criticize caregivers
Curse haters
and Cry for lovers,

We often forget to read our own pages
or listen to our writings
to gauge our performances.
Many times, we make changes
but forget to update our saved files.
Other times we overwrite files
or delete them thinking we have copies
or that better comes with newer versions.

Life is a story book where edits
are not always what works.
Sometimes you need to change books
other times you gotta tear pages.
In mine, I've closed books,
torn pages, and rewrote things
all over again so here goes:
new pages for new stages!

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

New Poems from Pasithea Chan

When an Oyster Chokes on its Pearls by Pasithea Chan 

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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