I trace your path
to remember
You
were once here.
-Eva M.M.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If it’s ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
— Your lungs–
Your lungs
paper-mache worlds caged by lonesome bone.
Your lungs
lined with the smoke of your impermanence.
Your lungs,
faded pink, breathe in the words of great minds
that taught your heart how to live.
I think:
This world can only hold so much pain,
That humanity cannot refrain
from evil,
from billowing clouds of thought pollution
and
the allure of dancing on life’s deflated lungs.
Your lung’s edges
melanized like my contaminated heart.
Your lungs
like clay that has yet to be molded by the hands of time.
Your lungs
vast oceans of air
that are oceans from mine,
tiny capsules of loss.
It is said, “Death is the mirror in which the entire meaning of life is reflected.”
And when I look into it’s crystaline surface,
all I see is the vacancy of breath upon breath
and your lungs
writhing beneath a cloud of stubborness.
Your pretty lungs,
haunt me sometimes.
-Eva M.M.
Note that the quote on death being a mirror is from, “The Tibetian book of living and dying “.
Thank you all for reading and sharing your feedback and thoughts with me.
the looking glass ( 3.28.17)
Still as the moment,
I stand on the shore
watching the stillness,
water pulled into glass
and I look back at myself.
We only see what we want
to see
is to deceive,
to believe
that we are infinite finite beings.
I slowly trace circles against my wrists.
I muse internally and eternally
that nobody else seems to notice
the slow draining of life from our world,
that freedom is a bursting of arteries
and that we all question the power of compassion.
I am motionless
watching,
waiting for something to s h a t t e r the illusion
that I exist separate from existence.
I hear
the crinkling of crisp autumn leaves embracing the earth,
footsteps approaching.
I am not
alone.
All is tainted with the faint music of holding on to Now as it passes.
The gentle whisper of the trees, mother and child, soothing,
a conversation muffled by the sweet melody of weary birds.
The breeze raises tiny mountains on my arms,
the slight smile of sunlight upon frailty
and all labeled , existence.
I taste
the salt, the mineral flavor of red.
Foot follows foot.
I wave into the glass.
It taps against my ankles
cutting a lattice work of penetrating cold.
I watch the stillness shatter,
shards of light breaking down light.
I no longer see myself in the disturbed surface.
I wade further in.
The water, saturating my clothes,
suctions me to the moment
and I know
we are all afraid
to go deeper
I desire,
dive beneath the blurred blackness.
I open myself to all it has to offer.
My eyes milky with the film of microscopic life.
My lungs burn.
I fall
and then
I exist
still.
-Eva M.M.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
Thank you as always for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments below. If you are new to my blog and would like to know more feel free to ask me any questions. Have a wonderful day and thanks for stopping by.
Graduation
First and foremost I wanted to say thank you to everybody who helped bring me here. Honestly, when I started at Trinity school I never thought I would make it all the way. I wasn’t intimidated by what lay before me or lacking in any confidence; I simply could not see that the uphill climb before me would feel as effortless as walking across a stage with a diploma in hand until I stood beaming on the side of the stage. I can name on the fingers of just one hand the number of times in my life I have felt this free and joyful. I already know there will not be any moment as abundant in happiness as this for the next four years at least. I graduated! I made it through some of the hardest and yet most important years of my life.To all who have aided me though this journey, taught me life lessons I will carry with me beyond, and most graciously to everybody who had faith in me , helped me pull through, and held me up when I could not hold myself up. I can’t wait for the adventures that lay ahead, the uncharted lands and things yet to be learned. I cherish the bittersweet memories and look forward to sharing and creating new ones with you as I move on.
This chapter is done.
My pen awaits.
With a warm and glowing heart. Thank you and hats off to the future.
– Eva M.Monhaut
“Me and the pen, we are one. If it’s ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
Adulthood and sickness.
First of all, I wanted to apologize for my long and unannounced hiatus from you the pen. No I am not suffering from the world’s greatest case of writers block, in fact, I feel like I have more things than ever to share with you. The reason I have been so distant is because I have been very busy with preparing for my graduation party and finishing up the last things that needed to be done at school but also because I just could not muster up the strength to open my computer and let flow everything that was whirling around in my mind. Today, coming back from school after a practice graduation run through and picking up my cleaned laptop, I decided I should share with you some of the thoughts whirling around in my head.
The other day I was lucky enough to be chosen by some mysterious illness that sprang up on me in the middle of the night and nestled itself into my system. The next day I thought I felt a little strange but crediting it to the overly spicy food I had ate the previous night I decided to go babysit. Turns out my immune system was on vacation and I was sicker than I thought. After putting on a movie for the children and numerous awkward shifting on the sofa sessions, I hurried home as soon as possible that evening. It is odd how when you are sick timing often happens in both the best and worse ways possible all at once. I was spared vomiting in-front of the two exuberant children but the minute I got home I knew this wasn’t just going to be a lot of uncomfortable stomach cramps. I will spare you the visual but what occurred for the next seven hours was a lot of noises, shifting around on the cold bathroom floor ,dehydration, and the motivation for this entire post, calling for my mother.
After I had calmed myself from the initial attack I realized I had lost a lot of water and needed to get something to drink. I stood up. Nope. Guess not. It was like that moment when you drive through a tunnel where everything goes dark and you are wondering why they don’t install better lighting in the tunnel because you are pretty sure there is some wacko invisible driver about to ram into your car. My vision blurred and darkened and everything went fuzzy. I figured attempting to make it downstairs to get a glass of water might not be the best option but my sister was working on the yard outside and didn’t have her phone on her and I doubted my cat would be helpful. I did what any sick person usually thinks to do; I called my mommy, crying, asking her when she would be home to take care of me.
Keep in mind, I’m at that stage in my life when everybody around me is covered in tears thinking about how much they are going to miss their families. Don’t get me wrong I love my family and I will miss them in my own Eva way but I have never been the type to get sad about something so freeing and joyful. I am more than ready to go out on my own and be broke and make terrible decisions like I do now and have to take full responsibility for them and then have to call my mom to ask her silly things like how to write a check or which brands of meat to avoid buying at all costs. Yet, people who know me also know that I am probably one of the most nostalgic people out there. So while I was wondering if my stomach would stay where it was supposed to or end up on our bathroom floor I realized, nobody ever seems to take care of you like your mother when you are sick.
I was thinking about all of the vomit my mother had to wipe off the floor, our faces, and out of our hair hair. I don’t even want to think about the other things involved with being sick. I cringe when a kid hands me a slobbery toy, I can’t even imagine all the things my mom had to handle because of me. Sorry mom. I remember how she used to have us lie down in the bathroom near the tub and would bring us these tiny glasses of Gatorade every hour.
My mom finally got home and she made me some chai tea to soothe my stomach and brought me some more water to drink and I was thinking to myself this whole time: How do grown ups be sick. How do people throw up without their mothers there to smooth down their hair and bring them something to settle their stomachs. I am completely on board the adulthood train and more than ready to go. I’m overjoyed! I just hope I don’t get sick because nobody takes care of you when you are sick like your mother.
-Eva M. M
Thank you all for reading, commenting and letting me know any questions you have about me and my writing. It is wonderful to be back sharing with all of you ink angels.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
I let you (3.20.17 ) ( with audio)!
I fear you,
repetition of repetition,
dazed and glazed.
you,
darkness upon darkness,
destroyed me with your lust
for love
is an acidic cloud of doubt.
I fell into you,
thorned briars upon briars,
tumbleweed
that whispered in the desert dim.
I embrace rank romance,
forbidden love, festering
words rotting upon the decay of flesh
upon flesh
knows not the radiance of forever.
I let you destroy
everything I stood for
I needed to feel adored,
wanted;
There is no value in vulgar validation.
I wanted the moonlight
and the warmth of the sun
but drunk on the moon shine
and scorched by the sun rays,
I fell through time,
a slow unwinding
of sinew and bone.
I let you in
but you were never there
so I let myself out
and I, still waiting,
waiting to go home.
-Eva M.M.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
Morning Meditations with Audio!
I am so happy to announce I think I have figured out how to share audio with you guys but am still in the testing it out stages so let me know how giving it a listen went. For now, I have just reshared a poem I posted about a month ago and added the link ( in blue) for the audio. Thank you for reading and listening!
the trees are dusted with the light of the sun
the grass is veiled with the dew of the morn
-ing rises, sleep slowly slinks away–away
and I
posed
with me spine to the rays
and my head tucked away
–away
the icy breath of waiting to be known
the burning pause of being alone
solitude, festering fear fades away–away
and I
posed
with leg over leg
palms pressed away
–away
the radiant tendrils of tranquilty
the dominant tastes of freedom and peace
being, I feel this life pass away–away
and I
posed
with my back to the earth
breath floats away
–away.
-Eva M.M.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
Reflections on poetry and a friend from a foreign land on a rainy day.
Some things I can not know
like the scent of rain upon feather
or the sound of heartbeat enthroned;
you,
or shall I say,
I
am
merely atoms and mutiny,
traitor to all–
myself
in dingy corners
and
dissonant words,
all pungent,
saturated with the lacy odour of decay,
the fragrance of death and earth,
mushrooms and smouldering roses.
Stillness.
Thought paid to assassinate thought,
anilihate idea,
eliminate invention.
This,
I am,
or should I say,
you are
the echo of glorfied heartbeat
comme le parfum des plumes qui glissent sur la pluie,
know somethings,
not I…
Not I.
-Eva M.M
Thank you for reading and staying with me though I have been very distant lately. I have been both very busy and suffering from a severe depletion of energy even open my laptop even when I do have the time. So thank you for still reading and waiting patiently.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
Fallow
Creased hands
and beads of sweat
brave upon the cliff of your brow,
haunt me.
I feel the memory of being shattered,
set free against a hazy sunset.
I am bound even now
by the razor bladed trailing of your lips
And
scorched in the radiation of your sorcery
sensation beyond words, born in me,
spread
like a cancer,
its tendrils sweeping across my canvas,
nerves wrapped around nerves,
we were breath upon breath.
Now,
Ahamed,
Confused,
No longer the flushed minx,
The nephimp who dreamt a thousand worlds
But
Bare,
nude against the desert of lonesome bone,
severed sinew from weary lungs ;
I cower,
cradle tremble in tremble,
stare some nights on moonlit vacancy,
the mirrored reflection of my abandoned land,
undulating flesh that once,
streaked with the grip of youth,
now lies fallow,
Void of knowing.
Now,
Silent,
Still,
no longer the symphony of movement,
the voice that spoke out in a moment of submission
But
Meek,
timid against the tundra of crisp melancholy,
blurred noises upon subtle vibrations;
I close,
fingertips that shelter faded roses.
I fall some nights in revelatory ravines
in which I see only fragments of mirages,
veiled realities with the odour of smoke and deception,
smudged with the trailing of innocent betrayal.
I lie fallow.
Void of knowing.
– Eva M.M.
Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts with me. I love each and every one of you, my little ink angels.
the carnivore
Two years ago
I embraced its fangs,
the shred and torment of its teeth,
the passionate pollution of it.
The carnivore ekes out it’s living
from the silver tears of youthful hearts
but it bows to one greater,
palmed paradise,
palmed,
the cunning of laced skepticism,
blind rage,
and carnivorous letters read eagerly in dim light.
For I have a spliced heart,
divided infinitely
and through its trenches trails barbed wire,
the thorns of disregarded wisdom.
It lurks in tangled shadows,
shifting shapes with eternal joy.
Still, we all buy a ticket
to drench ourselves in the honeyed sensulality of the carnivore.
-Eva M.M.
Thank you as always my little ink angels for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments below.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
