photo by Michael Held (unsplash)
When Silence Speaks As I rest my tired chin on your hands rest your soul to the pout of my lips. Close your eyes and tilt your head for my eyes shall watch over you. Listen to my tormented soul as I listen to your lost innocence. We are drifters whose paths have crossed on the desert of mishaps. Your tattered clothes match my coat both were withered by storms. As the dust lingers to your hair so do the sands in my eyelashes I may not speak your language but you speak to my heart in ways more than humane each time you caress my mane. The trees are our walls the skies our ceilings and the nights our cloaks We camp here under stars. Our fears are one: hearts that are blind. Let your gentle nature be your guide and I your companion for life! Magician's Ombre He trumps with masculine beginnings under Mercury’s will to command Renegados: heart, mind, and soul He is skill’s regal teacher playing will’s red suit against a black intellect. His motive is untainted innocence draping red passion and experience unto humans’ conscious existence He belts his waist- a divine bridge for both worlds: spirit and human manifesting desires into reality. Eternity is his tiara shining over elements of an alchemist table fit for a banquet for three players. Wearing mismatched red and white lilies for slippers of majesty: good and evil He leaves you plagued with creativity. Drinking a cup of emotional fulfillment filled with imagination and beauty. He will dance you to productivity. He eats from a pentacle of brilliance molded for perfection, baked in patience- to serve you excellence and practicality. Armed with the sword of mental clarity his judgments are sound and canny with ideas so profound with relativity He is master of illusion and duality a shaman and a charlatan prodigy- who’s game only for the witty! Author's Notes: Tarot cards have been associated with card games all over Europe mainly the 3 player game "Ombre" of Spanish origin- known as well as Renegado". This poem discusses the traits, personalities and behavior of the tarot card " the Magician" as part of a reading and the personality of the zodiac sign or person it is associated with. Poetic Procreation Emotions unsorted are ovum aborted. Words unrecorded are sperms wasted. Pieces of writing unshared left crumpled are pieces of us neglected or distorted. The mind releases its emotional ovum to meet words’ sperms on ink. A Fallopian hand etches them unto a papyrus uterus. There they grow and divide into stanza or couplet cells. They latch and feed from imagination’s placenta. Once their gestation is complete satisfaction’s cervix expels them as full grown separate manifestations of their mother and father’s minds. Passion is words' dedicated mother. Style is words' proud father. Poetry grown and born on papyrus is born twice into creativity’s world. Once when read by its poet and again when it kicks its way down the lips of its readers unto their hearts, minds, and souls. Once it is set on paper, a poem leaves creases in your conscience, a taste in the back of your throat for memories, colors, and emotions. It bruises your senses with allure, drains your frustrations with compassion’s conjure and meaning so dejure. Like paper, souls can be blank until life, experience, desire, loss, death, trial, and truth fill them up in words and meaning. We were all born blank with a chance to be dank and swank. So let your poems breed content in passion, and set your dreams free. Creative Flow The mind said: I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it. The heart replied I never said: it would be hard I only said it would be a good start. Listen you two, the eyes said: because of you I can’t tell what’s what for I only reflect what you two said So where do you suggest I look? So the soul said: I never said you two get to judge. I only said that you two say what it means to me as I see it. Night fell and all four said: Creativity is a conversational flow between a heart, mind and soul seeking to glow. Where there is memory, a feeling must play and a quill must dance and spill a heart's will. Where there is a moral, a story must connect a mind's philosophy and outlook with life’s brook. So long as this conversation flows, creativity blows a soul into the body of words leaving a poem a living breathing, talking, and moving creation. The Void and Wind She pressed her ears to the ground- to feel the vibratos of his words. They tiptoed into her senses- barefoot bleeding tact on facts. Flustered with assumptions- they trampled a mockingbird! It raised its head unafraid- gasping for its last breaths. I won’t catch a cold- said the bird- from ice- my soul is humanity’s hospice. This is my soul with which you have toyed. Circumstance is a variable clad- that shrouds my heart an opus of closeness- My life’s strives to reach justice. I am not heartless- But life taught me to use my heart less! You need to see to understand. From a distance everything seems grand! I am not a canvas of an ogress- to be painted void and heartless! Your quill stabbed my heart like a cutlass! Sometimes the mouth slays quicker than the hand! A wingless muse is a mermaid- that’s lost its tail to a pair of legs! Unable to swim seeming more like humans- she tries to speak but no words can express- you took her by surprise, you were her friend! All you saw was null and void! Welcome to the void under the aegis- you’ve created from earthly tethers. You’ve raised me once from a mockingbird to muse. So why can’t you stay beneath my wings- my mystic oris and be my wind? Author's Notes: I am not heartless, it's just that life has taught me to use my heart less! 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. Love and Poetry by Pasithea Chan When an Oyster Chokes on its Pearls by Pasithea Chan 4 poems by Pasithea Chan : Daily Revelations, Empty Words, Skylark of the Dark, Aloof Poem by Pasithea Chan : Bruise of Ruse (inspired by Beth Hart) A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan Poem by Pasithea Chan : “A Stone that Hits Home” Poetry from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies by Pasithea Chan 3 poems by Pasithea Chan : Fist in the Mist, Frozen Smiles & Melting Moons and Threading Stars
Fevers of the Mind 
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