Born from a sleeping fairytale
was created a girl of nonsense.
a drinker of poetry and feaster of prose
from the stitched spines of battered books
so loved, they fell apart.
Dreams draping the hem of her skirt and
the sky beneath suede heels
with puffed clouds as stepping stones
from a sepia photograph.
A wooden rocking horse and
nested in the cluttered room of the
nonsense-girl, crafting away more stories, more places.
Of make-believe? Of MY-believe!
Of teacups and castles and brass pocket watches
Of spirits and and puzzles and flower fields of blue
Glass roses, fish kingdoms and roller skates are there
with imagination, to become the author of her life.
She cut and tore to make a pet, her paper tiger;
paged majestic, king of the library jungle.
Mustard daffodils in cracked paintings
portraits of ladies in flowing lace
a petal whirlwind to sweep you up
past kites and balloons to the sheep in the sky;
moons and stars and pixie dust
compacted in her heart.
Hold onto your universe beyond the seeing eyes
and keep tight to the dizzying absurdities
before the real world steals them away
and you will no longer be nonsense,
Yin and Yang
What a lovely day, what a lovely place. On my side of the world anyways.
On a crossroads between light and dark, I sit with my twin sister Yin, drinking tea.
I lift my cup, and so does she. So light and flowery it is, I sound my approval.
"Cheerful, aren't you?" Yin is speaking. With the way she speaks, It was barely a question.
My twin; My face; speaking to me.
"Invariably." I reply. " I've always been fond of white tea."
Yin looks down to her own tea; it's black.
We're mirrored; the same; but opposite. A balance.
" Did you know Yang, I sometimes imagine how it would be to have your place." She says in her tinted voice
" I myself, Yin, wonder how your shoes would fit."
I know my side is better. Pride? of course. Perhaps she feels the same way.
My dear, quiet, gloomy, lugubrious sister. And I'm her equal; her counterpart.
Her adoring, loud, upbeat, sanguine brother.
Across the table she sees me, on my side of the earth.
grassy, rich of light and blossoming plants.
My placement has delicate cream porcelain and a green apple snack from my own garden
bright clothes and bright days of clouds, white against blue.
" I would have to redecorate completely" She says, waving her hand.
directly opposite is she, and my view of her side.
A baron land of dust, a cemetery of decay and shadow.
Her placement is calm glazed clay, beside a bland croissant,
A dark lacy underwear corset and flowing dress of black
to match the night where snowflakes softly fall.
" As would I " I say, " I would throw out the stars and the snow, the gloom and the quiet.
I would grow things."
Yin smiles dimly to me, with her own imaginary plans.
" I'd darken your clouds, get rid of the flashy flowers and distractions"
" To be a woman, I'd be more modest and faithful to my gift of creation"
" As a man, I'd be more open and faithful to my habit for destruction."
" A woman of sweet smells and bright smiles"
" A man of seductive eyes and mysterious touch"
" Yin, to be direct, I'd prefer a more feminine sister"
" And I, Yang, a masculine brother."
And in unison "I don't understand you at all."
" But this is who we are."
" A lovely agreement, Yin."
Yin smirks, sipping her tea and nodding.
Who we are.
Yin, Yang. Black, White. Woman, Man.
We are the same. We are opposites.
We are balance.