A Poetry Showcase by Pasithea Chan

leafless tree in body of water during daytime

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!

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

























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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