Memory

This is a comic I made some time ago that I decided to submit to the Carleton Comics Journal. Hopefully there will be more submissions in the future! One submission to Unashamed is certainly in the cards =)

Faery Home

..


The other day I found a leaf in a book
Stirring slightly at my touch
Its yawn in the feathery mountain wind
As it awoke in the eveningtime

Stirring slightly at my touch
Its flutter at my fingertips
Grey in the light of eveningtime
A lovely sleepy leaf of yore

It fluttered at my fingertips
A faery, a muse of alpine song
Its leafy form a tale of yore
In birdcall echoes of the eveningtime

Faery music and alpine song
Listen – all the voices tethered here
In the birdcall echoes of the eveningtime
Have come home to mountain land

All the voices tethered here
Sing their gladness to be as one
Home here on their mountain land
Their homeward song at last they sing

Their gladness to be as one
In voices of the eveningtime
Homeward voices, muses, songs
Tethered in a little leaf

Voices in hushed eveningtime
Reside in their faery home
Tethered in a little leaf
The leaf I found once in a book.

Healer

“This is for Aline, who taught her lover to caress the scar.”


Frightened animal
an army of tiny, violent
inflammations had invaded
the skin of her back
her limbs lolled, her eyes lackluster
a twitch at my approach

her feathery frame rested meekly
against the pillow, as if
she wished it no harm
her chin drooped, tired
thin as her sparse rug
as she watched the children outside
playing in the dusty village
she no longer recognized.

I spoke to the little angel.
I said, everything
will be alight
the next morning, when the sun
will rise and give
your ravaged heart
the release
of loving the world
and smiling wild again.
I put the little angel to sleep
for now.



I am no healer.
I have sinned
by saying what I said
with so much certainty
and hope

Walking

..


walking into a store, a tree,
a trap. walking in the way of
a car. the nerd’s rapid scuttling movement,
to the next class. shadowy tiptoes – to peek
at that delicious love letter. walk, just walk
don’t look back, we’re being followed.
that purposeful corporate-walk in the city square,
and many broken shoe heels.
stride, strut, swagger. sneakers meant
for lounging into rooms like you own them. sneakers
for your nonchalance on the sidewalk.
nonchalant, and suave. and sexy.
walk the walk like you mean it.
attitude. in the acid clicks of your
venom-tipped heels on the ramp.
pliant. slow. each soft quasi-step
like a smothered rose, or
a drop of blood. each step
a searing, hissing desert sandbite
in the walk of death, to him who walked
alone to midian. gaunt Atlas takes
each Goliath-step, aeons apart.
civilization crawling
to the cruel laughter of stars.
prostrate. and yet
alive in the first steps of new blood,
the first steps that kiss a free land.
look the Empire in the eye
and do not budge – we walk defiance.
take those steps into Her clawed winds
and Her shrieking cyclonic rage. you will not
sink into the snow. you will not
be silenced by the rust,
or tossed the remains of an identity
for rent. you will not die, if you

walk strident.
walk silent.

At this point in Life, I feel...

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the West

long highways made of sky i hear no cars
no wind just that hollow industrious hum.
roads linked in circuit, tight enough to strum
stretch out my hand they’re much too far apart
or i’m too small. i observe this fearless race
their life of singleness and contrived smells
smooth sinless skin on each fair sylph-like face.
it’s everywhere. just what, i cannot tell
a sense of not-home, alien? i don’t know…
of simply looking nature in the eye
instead of kneeling? humans may comply
but Nature she has her own way to go.

i wonder as i think about these things
would i give up this highway, or these wings?


By Noodle
31st January, 2010