exhalingcatalysts
EXHALING CATALYSTS
Welcome to Exhaling Catalysts. Here we celebrate the selected work of tumblr prose and poetry writers, recognizing the outstanding unknown and established writers by reblogging their talents.
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For the last few months I have been in and out of the hospital and had my ammi there each time with accompanying me. We’ve developed a routine of sorts which consists of seating ourselves in this two chaired bench in the waiting room each time and today we did so once again. We’ve grown quite fond of this bench for a multitude of reasons but one of them being there was no arm rest as a barrier between the two spots. I could easily lay my head on her shoulder or link my arm with hers. So yes this bench has been our spot. And so sitting across from us this morning was another mother and her two maybe three year old daughter and the daughter had been resting her head in her mother’s lap with her small body curled up on the seat while her mother soothed her hair. I couldn’t help but watch them in the least creepiest way possible because there was just something about the sight that warmed my heart.
I’ve been thinking about mothers a lot recently. Today had me thinking about the times where I would lay my head on my mothers lap when I was sleepy or when she would carry me inside from the car or when she would give up her chair for little me who was feeling tired or how she would give up the last sips of her water on a hot summer day if it meant she could quench my thirst, or putting aside her own entertainment and time alone to watch me go down the slide.
There is so much sacrifice from mother to child. Since the very moment of my conception my mother has continued to give and give and give and I continued to take and take and take. It’s such an interesting relationship I think, mother and daughter. And how no matter what I do; nothing will ever amount to the sacrifice my mother has given towards me.
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he's doe-eyed and lovely
a cool breeze kissing
sun-kissed skin
never a secret he
wears the world
with a warmth that fends off
my winter hues
he exists so beautifully-
so painfully-
and i, like a wilted flower
beauty long-forgotten
and rot in my petals-
i fall at his feet
every night in my mind
leaving my sacred hubris behind
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Might as well fall
Like we all will eventually.
Climb underground
With me.
It’s always dying
With you and me.
Always on the brink
So stop pretending
With me.
Let me sink
Into the earth beneath
Where my heart
Can rest in peace.
Wrap me in a sheet
This is just the ghost
Of me.
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Cimmerian Days
Steeped in hardship
Joys are scattershot
As ennui drifts inward
Like a surging tempest
Before faultless ruin
wpm
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It just seems a most appropriate thing
That world poetry day is in the spring
The trees are budding, the bright flowers bloom
We find escape from unending gloom
The frosts are all waning, the days grow long
The endless heavens are now thick with song
We're storing our sweaters, going for walks
Watching the daffodils sprout from their stalks
Something like hope is springing from the ground
Laughter lilts softly, such a welcome sound
Soon we'll see groundhogs emerging with glee
From winter's cold grip we will be set free
Days growing warmer, shadows disappear
The taste of joy becoming stronger than fear
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In the warm dead snow
Its a long way down to the sadness
So farewell lover
I am summer coffee
Now as before I have loved you
Now as before so must I go
We shared the strangeness of passages
The bitter wine of luminescent decadence
We were always of a kind
So rushed as the black rivers white water
So consumed as the diamond in the mine
Alone was just a momentary statement
Said in haste to stave off the sublime
So I wept as with your passing
Came replacement and rewind
A new ballad sung to unfinished skin
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Perennials
Snow falls steadily
covering every branch,
creating a blanket of hope;
whispering frost is not eternal.
The cold once provided
a sweet consolation
as the flakes fell slowly
upon my lips and I savored
their taste melting on my hot tongue.
I find myself craving heat
and the suns rays caressing
every inch of my untouched skin.
I stare at each passing storm
with my black eyes widened
conjuring an early spring.
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we're all falling.
some more than others.
plunging toward nth degrees,
ensnared by fashionable ideology,
chasing the unfamiliar to its
obsolescence.
voices clamoring repetitive,
crowds of conjecture in sync.
the faces move lifelike,
but i no longer listen.
re-creations made in their own image,
self-replicating multitudes -heedless.
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brief
take off your long coat
let that dark dress hang
like a concupiscent dream
a moment born on the
drift of desire
a shaft of light slips
across the wooden floor
to meet your calf
halfway up while pigeons
swirl outside the window
reflected in your eyes
like two way mirrors
as the clocks tick
a thousand tocks
gears mesh in a stream
of rotation counting out
photons of radiance in
your face onto my hand
when you look away
the light seeps off on
thistledown wings
finished slipping up your
thigh moving on beyond
passion passing with it
to recede like falling ash
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Fading
Kandinsky's shade mixing paint
the velour of this sunset
needs something vibrant
to make its memory feel real,
Don't talk to the breeze
its words are disingenuous
senseless similes
meaningless metaphors
it meandered through a garden party once
and it dreams of eloquence
pretends to understand passion
though its never received a kiss in return,
Smell the wet exhale of a muddy field
while the shadows gather all around
patient children waiting to hear
gray weathered wood stories of when
we wore freedom and not leashes,
Do we dare speak of when
all of everything felt like
the foreplay of first time lovers
trembling desires held back
by hesitant hearts that always see
the ashes before the fires even burn,
All of this can never be the same
since eyes saw it from the other side
of these days that we think once were
our skin will never again
touch for the first time
in the velvet shadows of a room
in a house that no longer exists
all these experiences stand
like lovers waiting outside the gate
looking at the lights and wondering
if there is a welcome waiting within,
Smile because at least
once upon a better night than this
we were safe and warm and we wanted
every single hour we could seize
upon a pillow together
we whispered myths and fables
we swore would become real
and isn't it beautiful to know
that we were there once?
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Remnants
I was already the paling of cornflower
blue and canary yellow when we met;
a second hand tea dress made far
too delicate by neglect.
In those days, when we knew of one
another, I often took the tender
remnants of your words: the cuttings
and clippings of intricate sensuality
to piece together riddles–
I would softly send these off into
your ear
as you gave yourself away from
my arms toward sleep.
Ask me if I remember the tender
places you made yours and
I will show you how I keep the
untamed tamed,
and then I would recount how I
rendered to all the markings
of ardent love in your name,
before the mind addled after
your leaving.
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i.
so we’ve been stars
and dust and a thousand other things
in the sequence of life.
ii.
time fades a line into the distance,
mourn the self
that left these footprints over sand,
the wind whispers them to the sky.
iii.
over dunes
the sun fades
and the shimmering haze
of dusk sets
into night, calm washed in warmth,
so is reality;
this quiet edge of tomorrow —
dispersed, effused,
afflux.
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Periwinkle skies
The starkest winter morning skies,
When cold permits a pallid veil,
Ere bright and white the sun does blind
A forlorn stare of thousand miles,
And from its zenith-throne rescinds
The ribbon shreds of dreamer's haze,
Then, twixt the crowns of barren elms
Who guard the sage of outstretched fields,
Their crooked spears and silver shields
Turned indistinct fore greyish blue
As hoarfrost's mirror overspills
Into the endless horizon;
As such, and then, and only there,
When my gaze but drifts uncertain,
I witness shades and figures blend;
Your periwinkle eyes, again,
And as my soul does genuflect,
I whisper but the simplest yearning:
May you so haunt me
Forever.
---
10-1-2024, M.A. Tempels ©
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searching for the night in the moonlight
breaking off our share of the vast obsidian glass sky
held up by a floating sheet of cardboard
firm, edges papercut sharp
no fear of failing flight
we are freeing the stars
& they are turning, burning away
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