Category: Poetry

Muse in the Morning

State of the Onion IV

Art Link Coming Out Layers of Being Like the layers of an onion I peel away the layers of who I am boy student athlete man draft-dodging longhaired hippie freak Like the layers of an onion each new layer of myself reveals nuance taoist husband father soldier socialist  teacher commie pinko pacifist Like the layers of an onion peeling further uncovers a richer me woe-man poet tranny activist lesbian artist gay homo dyke queer Like the layers of an onion is the truth of the being of the human –Robyn Elaine Serven –November 4, 2005

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.  Currently mine is a little constipated when I would prefer it be syncopated.

Muse in the Morning

State of the Onion III

Art Link Flower Flower It started as a piece of detail in another work a small barely opened bud. Then it bloomed. Or is that the story of my life? Sometimes I forget. –Robyn Elaine Serven –November 3. 2005

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.  Currently mine is a little constipated when I would prefer it be syncopated.

Muse in the Morning

State of the Onion II

Art Link Purple with Beading Thursday is Queersday Long away and far ago when I was young and naive wearing purple on Thursday meant one was most likely queer as it was called at the time Though I didn’t truly know couldn’t really comprehend what it entailed to be queer I still didn’t wear purple on Thursdays or any day For that I am yet ashamed The power of fear is great –Robyn Elaine Serven –March 16, 2006

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.  Personally, sometimes mine seems corrugated.

Muse in the Morning

State of the Onion I

Art Link Pencil and Wax Words The words take control demand to be written I help guide them dress them up slim them down searching for clarity, brevity, emotion hopefully all three I’m not sure where they come from perhaps from the pains and joys of my life The words are the blood in the vessels of my mind just as feelings are the blood feeding my soul Is there any separation between me and the words? –Robyn Elaine Serven –January 10, 2006

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.  Personally, sometimes mine seems corrugated.

Muse in the Morning

Surfaces Assume Control Make a choice of a future of a pattern of spacetime to imagine Make choices in the present to instigate that future to happen –Robyn Elaine Serven –June 3, 2008

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.  Personally, sometimes mine seem corrugated.

Muse in the Morning

Becalmed Breathing A few people standing on the deck of this boat blowing at the sail will not move it Newton ensured that We’ll always have that equal and opposite reaction Moving this boat will require the collective breath of millions who are not on it –Robyn Elaine Serven –April 4, 2008

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.

Muse in the Morning

Window Reflection and Refraction I see the past in the mirror of tarnished memories and often misaligned contemplation The future on the other hand is best seen through the window of imagination –Robyn Elaine Serven –June 1, 2008

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate…maybe even castigate or exonerate…our muses.

Tunnel Shiny Objects Words arrive at the edge of consciousness searching for meaning, rhythm and grace Visual emphasis focuses the mind and heart connecting to the words through what is seen and what is not Words are spilled one life’s blood hoping a gatherer happens to pass this way The thoughts are moderately decorated into a shiny object to attract attention –Robyn Elaine Serven –May 29, 2008

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.

i really didn’t have time to write much. but i didn’t want anybody else to take this evening either. it is the last writing in the raw i’ll do from the states for a while, so even with a sparse essay, i think i’ll keep it for myself.

actually, it’s after 10pm as i start writing this. so it will be brief.

i’m packed. ready to go. exhausted. i’ll definitely blog from the airport tomorrow. i usually pay to get into the business lounge… for $45, you get fruit, cheese, coffee/tea, cookies, alcohol, tv, internet and a little desk from which you blog, and a comfy, quiet place to zone out for a few hours. premium wine/alcohol will cost you… hey Mu, might be one of the tips for your travel space.

okay. so that’s it.

well, and i’ll explain the title. just a bit.

getting on that plane tomorrow is amazing. there have been difficult times and yet, somehow, ej and i managed to hold onto to each other. over the phone. one-line e-mails. packages filled with small fetish items. a sense of humor. and well, we just get along. whenever i’m with him, by heart rate slows (unless you know…), i become very at ease. i smile a lot. i’m actually funny when i’m relaxed and not thinking about George Bush et al.

i sleep really well when i sleep with him. and when we get up, he has this funny little fresh face, squinty eyes and he’s smiling. maybe he looks a little like a baby bird or something. but it touches my heart. and it inspires me to get up and make coffee and cook breakfast.

we hold hands. we like the way each other smells. we think it’s funny when strangers fall down or break something in a store (but we don’t really want anybody to be really hurt). we love to go to museums. or find secret gardens. we like to wander in cities and towns. oh. and we both love madly medieval cathedrals and churches.

he likes to cook. i like to eat. he likes to complain. i like to sit, cross-legged, and listen and laugh at him and how he, in a very animated fashion, counts off each absurdity with his fingers.

i tell him everything has a shelf life. if we’re lucky, we’ll just die together, around 99 years old, in a plane crash or car accident. because i always see us together, old and beautiful. and i just know i’ll love him even more then… the two of us always walking, looking at the world together, my hand in the pocket of his old jacket.

this is one of those moments. when love wins.

Muse in the Morning

Muse in the Morning

Muse in the Morning

Ribs Mixed Media A song and a dance words caressed by the music of memory Colored pixels dancing a future that never was Words   from an emotional place words of pain and sorrow of disappointment of heartache and also proclaiming what can be Graphics added to set the mood or perhaps illuminate those words –Robyn Elaine Serven –May 28, 2008

Please join us on the inside to celebrate, venerate, regenerate and/or motivate our muses.