No Fantasy — a poem by a faust

title a nod to the Madwoman of Chaillot:

No Fantasy

or, what what is will have been seen to have been

always and me special even now life amazes

this most from the looks of it moment

the least of which singing in praise for the ages

though the everyday barely would comment

if such transience it into cognizance raises

although proper politeness would blush and demure

still glances perception search myriad ways as

it honest to honesty honestly were: 

seeing mine doubt of nothing 

out of you seeing me knowing 

out of each and both ours 

this perfection becoming 

out of darkness so still hours wrapped up in the cold

thankful again just to be here to feel sunlight and morning

may you and yours your Divinity bless 

answering meet and swiftly our gratitude

with beyond expectation's success

– over Evil the triumph of Good – 

over Evil the triumph – of Good – 

dedicated to yar

Solstice 2015 

by a female faust

People, Or, Why I Don't get Out Much (The Talk To The Hand Version)

"People, Or, Why I Don't get Out Much"
©1980 by a female faust.
Reproductions unauthorized without permission.
Credit where credit most assuredly due:  
"Talk to the Hand" image by aliee-s on Deviant Art. 

Be seeing you.

To Jeremiah Young, who died before we met, I think

 

to jeremiah, who died just before we met, i think

(a poem by a faust)

a friend of a friend 

upon whom did depend

all manner of things now set free

a few days ago through 

some people i know

wrote some words that managed to reach me

after he died, 

after he died --

between that moment and this one he died --

everything strange no doubt rearranged

but how could it be, to me

how is it this way for me?

that each separate word nevermore to be heard

as should be, said by him, properly

now only in silence 

in the mind of a stranger

speaks 

as soon enough mine will, 

for me.

Death sucks.
Be seeing you.

mikey likes the illuminati

i am so tired of the stupid illuminati-as-bad-guys disinfo bullshit.
it was tired when it was born, four hundred years ago.

its tired now.

only difference is that then, the fit though few cogniscenti
all thought it was too silly a flipmode to ever be believed.
Giordano Bruno warned us about the media.....

little chains of love that they bind around your minds.


so, ineffectually perhaps, i played with some equations
as i meditated on these things.

h/t to @ArtofeVan.

 

Be seeing you.

The Nervous Leader, a meme from a faust

badly photoshopped by yours truly.

For more info, read about the 'nervous leader' here.

Be seeing you.

voir not so dire | a work in progress

layout and content by a female faust

 

we wander we wonder forgotten

we were wrong, we tried, and we failed

but what if that was the thing that was rotten

what if judge, jury and jail

threw not the book but their hearts in

could they make you make yourself well,

if you did would you know you were real

Be seeing you.

Sonnet: To My Godmother

No reprint without permission.

Sonnet for my Godmother (perhaps unfinished)

Neither, itself, perfection impossible (proving me, perhaps, passably wise)

would this seem, to me, surely, were it meant for just any one --

this, that I am compelled, yet again, yet again! to revise --

no, nor, even half so literally incapable of being done.

Knowing this is no help at all, notwithstanding my knowing it well;

that and a phone call is calling you; who first proved to me someone could care,

could love without twisting that love to force or defraud or compel,

that love is in fact not about proof at all ;  love is about being there --

-- and about patience, and listening. These I learned, first, from you,

or rather, I thought I had learned, or perhaps should say "want" or "am still"

because learning this theory in practice would be a start at respect you are due

and to teaching my own godchildren, by example, love under will -- 

-------------------------------   and maybe, just maybe -- is it so much?

I would finally know how to get in touch.

People, Or Why I Don't Get Out Much | a poem by a faust

PEOPLE 

or why i don't get out much

by a female faust

this instantiation for xeni

they talk to me & 

wait

to see if i agree & smile

& if i play w/what they say

i know they'll stay  -- awhile

& when they go 

they'll never know that long ago

i learned (they think they share

(& think 

i care) when its 

their

words

returned)