Kristine Coleman
Poetry
Waving Wands
a magician’s avowal
as within, so without
easily an agreeable contention
that full is fueled through connection
to the self, to the point
where abandoning material until utter nothingness
delivers inner peace
and another take to take would be
a way to say
befriend our demonic mental monologue
to become oneness, the voice of I inside
channeling togetherness sense between
the many splits in mind
properly fashioning to strip self down
to a state of emptiness from everything else
this teaching by brain chemistry healers
the more touching of the suchness you are
the most freedom of being no one ensues
Telepathic
we lay diagonally upon a red bed
as an island centered amid
manic masterpiece murals
the very first time love making
us, we create life in each other
you, consuming my thoughts thus you may have me
i, pondering the possibilities concluding you must take me
high and deep to the next level of existence in the game of soul evolution
when suddenly we link, sync, think
on the same wave in the same page
we communicate by swimming our streams of conscious
as one song, the universe
playing itself out in ourselves, one mind graced two vessels
until in this moment physicality evaporates as our auras mesh
we are within a balloon of heavy intuition speaking the language of essence bonded
mixing matching vibrations, energies remembering one another
the genuine magical happening of twin flames united
you rise and guide me to follow
i do, shakily, weakened by submission
are we like the sun and the moon?
something like that, a mind message whisper
i fall you exit
though our connection impossible to sever
galaxies apart i still
catch the feel of you
Pierce
you could abolish her soul to the pits of Lucifer’s dungeon
toss her passion off a speeding motorcycle through an abandoned lot
reject her representations, leave her for the sharks, then delete her from your memory
and it wouldn’t be dark enough
she likes it rough and raw and is ready for total annihilation
just to craft a twisted narrative
revealing the emotional masochist at her cracked bone core
so anything you do
couldn’t be dark enough
to satiate her hanged heart
try telling her reasons for existential dread
fuel her through sad endings and unjust outcomes
anger her mess within by ruining realites
go ahead yet it
wouldn’t be dark enough
for she is the most metal hatred dweller
the blackest hollowed out corpse
a demise junkie with a kill will
so try your damndest to smite with the reaper’s scythe
but beware
nothing is dark enough
for the lust of death
Wedding
remember that night
we spelled ourselves out of the third dimension
by casting each other the role of divine lovers
a soul-bearing vulnerable dialogue
confessions of mad folk
resonating in the mutual dualism we embody
lunar shifts within skulls
it’s impossible to come up from the bottom of the rabbit hole
so we gather mud and branches to build a home
pledging prose that those off the scale of relatability
colonize solitude to listen to intuition
for it speaks truth
solving holy mysteries
such as debunking the notion the love is exclusive
honey it permeates as the oxygen penetrating all beings
tune in and let it be
our guiding force the answer a game
and if it’s unfelt
may the resurrection be
awareness that the I in eyes
is a god/dess of sorts
here to enjoy the aesthetic realm of humanity
equally for one moment and infinity
never forgetting our purpose
to emulate unity of mind, body, spirit
and us
Sway Me
pointing at the retrograde
justifying absurdity
perhaps everything and nothing influence life’s flow
the grapes gone sour spewing a dash of yuck
fruitioning into a bad moment
rippling into a shot afternoon
just the same as the subconscious pick up
of your neighbor’s experience with sour grapes
could shape you bitter
direct indirect
it’s all a blended soup in the plane of experience
on the spectrum of totality
it’s all true fiction
huh, yes that’s exactly
how i mean
whatever you believe
Kristine Coleman writes from a place of mystical experience and a darkened heart. She performs her poetry at open mics and subtly in motion during the day-to-day. Other pleasures of hers in this lifetime include drawing, hiking, listening to myriads of podcasts, and improv. You can find her on Twitter @kristine_i_am
or visit her website kristineiam.net