Tag Archives: poems

The untamed wilderness of heart-song…

Each heartbeat a longing for desire

Each step a call to the wild

The wind stirs up the dust of lust

Dancing in the moonlight

Circling your soul

Heat radiating from the Earth

Warming your thoughts

Power rising in the night

Simplicity and eternity

Woven into the galaxy

Stars twinkling with a mischievous grin

Sweet fragrant blossoms of the midnight hour

The scent of untamed beauty

The opening of a heart

The echo of a promise

The lure of a future

If you only step beyond the imaginary confines of your mind

And out into the wild

To wield your magic into the night

By Yours Truly a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Living your truth + your dating profile = it’s about to get interesting…

The adventurer in me seeks the adventurer in you

For soulful journeys across oceans

And spiritual realms

For love induced delirium

And caffeine inspired moments

We’ll walk through the back alleys of cities

Getting lost in photographic moments

Of gritty dirt and beautiful arches

We’ll jump in the sea

Just to play with the ocean

We’ll sip tea in secret gardens

And have wine in hidden rooms

We’ll meet poets and playwrights,

Scientists and academics

We’ll have conversations

With lost souls and enlightened hearts

We’ll look for the meaning of life

Whilst getting high on the reality of the moment

We’ll seek answers we’ll never find

Whilst dancing on pavements

And giggling at raindrops

We’ll cry our hearts out at the pain we encounter

Then dry them with the beauty of life

And the occasional slice of chocolate

We’ll settle

But never be settled

We’ll have homes

But also places to roam

We’ll never be ordinary

And we’ll never be rude to the waiters

But maybe we’ll throw about our baggage

And stab each other from time to time

It’s OK because all wounds heal

So long as they aren’t mortal

 

We’ll know reality

But we’ll turn it to poetry

Because living is an art

And we’re the ones with the blank canvases

Waiting to be filled

With the paint of our hearts

 

You’ll need the heart of an explorer

And the eyes of an artist

The mind of an adventurer

And the courage of a bear

Love is the hardest journey

And the most beautiful of all

I realized that if I am to live the life of my dreams, I have to get real about who I am and what I want. I’ve written about taking responsibility for my choices. I’ve written about breaking down my life into manageable chunks and creating joy in the moment. I’ve written about facing my emotional fears. But this is me. This is the poet in me. This is me living the emotions I hide, yet the very same emotions I seek.

I won’t find them unless I dare live them.

Every day I feel a little bit happier as I let that poet shine through a little more. That hopeless romantic who prefers traveling the world without a map, just so as to be able to get lost in cities and encounter moments she never knew existed (OK, so I do like carrying a map, just occasionally not using it). 

To create your dream life, you have to dare to live it. You have to dare to be who you truly are. Otherwise, how can you create what you truly want? How can you create a living expression of your heart if you aren’t prepared to first show that heart?

Magique is about creating poetry in the moment for people. Magique is about wielding magic to create beautiful experiences that evoke all senses. 

The movies I have rattling around in my mind are about sharing poetic (and funny) moments with people; about showing people the poetry of life. 

And the life I want to live is a life filled with everyday poetry. Magic. Beauty. Truth. Freedom. And love. 

So here’s the vulnerable person in me, cheering the vulnerable person in you – let’s create poetry together. Because an arm of possibility is stretching across the ocean this morning, leaving a trail of mist and sparkling sunbeams. It’s a call to adventure and a promise of peace. It’s everything and nothing. It just is. But it’s all about how you view it. I view it as an ocean of opportunity and a moment of poetic bliss. 

By Yours Truly, a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Filed under Artists, poetry, Soul, soul path, Thoughts, twin flames, Writing

Love and pigeons…

The Dance of Love

I want to tear the confines of my soul open

Dance across the shattered pieces of barb wired fences

Stand naked in the glory of the unknown

I want to sip the dew at dawn

Without consideration that this might be the last

Or the first

Of Everything

I want to sit surrounded by love

Knowing that the false pretense

Is all gone

I want to experience

Every nook and cranny of my soul

I want to dance

On the thorns of my past

And see myself melt into the nothingness

Which is Everything

I want to be free

Yet I scratch my back at the barb wired fence that I built round my soul

I tear at it

I scream in pain

And as blood rushes over me

I yell at others to make them open it

To set me free

I push them, hoping they’ll get so angry

They’ll tear me to pieces

So I can open

So I can be free

So I can love

I’m holding onto my fence

I tear at it

It hurts

I wonder why I can’t make it open?

Why it can’t go away?

Then I let go

I lick my bleeding hands

I take a step

Then another

I dance

I feel my body turned onto the steps

I awaken

I breathe

There’s freedom within my movement

There’s life in my steps

I love to dance

And love, love changes everything.

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Pigeon Thoughts 

The pigeon is looking at me

Impressions in ink

Thoughts sliding across the mountain

Like tiny dots of fluffy white

Waves crashing against the shore

Reminders of the wild

And the untamed

My Africa

Adventure pulls at my soul

My heartbeat quickens

A smile twinkles in the corner of my lips

I stand

I go to cook dinner

Maybe tomorrow.

We Are

We are all the ripple effects of each others’ consciousnesses

As we laugh

As we cry

As we reach for another cigarette

Or whatever our kind of poison

We touch a soul

Somewhere in the distant skies

So maybe

If I smile, just a little

I’ll tickle your soul

With a feather of delight.

old_9554Ralph Gibson; Leda

The Battle

Opportunities palpable

Breathing; whispering in the distance

Chances pulsating through the night

Giggles rising as your dreams chase them

You wake

Thoughts overpowering

Logic so illogical

Debates inside your mind

Pros and cons

Predicting the future with your head

Round and round

So many thoughts

So many roads to get there

So many things you could do to manipulate fate

Instead you slumber

You listen to your heart

It asks you to set it free

To let it roam

And trust that one day the thoughts will be silent

And your path revealed.

The Confines of Your Mind

I dance

Outside the confines of my mind

A choreography of lunacy

Illuminated by moonlit spells

Truth emerges

Until the confines no longer confine me.

Lovers

I’ll be Rimbaud, you’ll be Verlaine

I’ll be Kahlo, you’ll be Trotsky

You’ll be Byron, I’ll be Lamb

You’ll be Shakespeare, I’ll have black wires on my head

You’ll be Da Vinci, we’ll be arrested for sodomy

The path of true love

Never did run smooth

And we’ll go down in history

Because lord what fools these mortals be.

Ludicrous Enlightenment

Between Jungian metaphors

And split consciousnesses

You’ll dance

I’ll play the fiddle

Dreams in waking hours

Sleep deprived nights of lucid moments

Echoes of truth

Amidst foolish thoughts

A wolf tooth for wild adventures

A dolphin’s call to play

Idiotic synchronicity

As the stars chase your name

And I knit the fabric of my soul.

By Yours Truly, a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Autumn chills…

Autumn Thoughts

Cold night air
Dew
The scent of burning wood in the air
Crispness and a bite to the chill
The moon casting its glow
Amongst sheets of fog
Onto the misty darkness of the grass and the trees
You feel funnily awakened
By the dark night
And sigh at its beauty
And the feeling of life

My Hidden Africa; in Plain Sight

Yesterday I spoke to someone
Someone who’s been arrested for murder three times
He was playing with a little girl
Just another day
In Africa

By: Maria Montgomery

fall

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Vanilla sunbeams…

Isn’t it random how one thought leads to another? How stuff comes out of our mouth, or is written by our hands? Of course there’s some logic to the madness, but still…it fascinates me. Often I don’t even know what I will write before I’m writing it. My New Age friends would say I’m channeling, but I suspect it’s only the stories stored in my soul that come out to play…

An L.A. Man

You make me coffee

I’ll make your dreams

High on caffeine we’ll swirl through the ether

As one does

When one has New Age friends

Who are vegan and care for Mother Earth

As our roots dig deeper

We fly higher

Till we reach the sky

Our spirits soar

Mixing with the matter

Of our ancient souls

Stardust

And you pray that it will last

And I pray that I won’t fall

Then we’ll wear our suits

Attend the parties

With our New Age friends

Who are dressed for the paparazzi

Eating vegan food

And you’ll tell me that one day we flew

But that day is gone

It’s been mixed with the matter

That is now our soul

Which we sold

To a devil named Oscar

Vanilla Sunbeams

Vanilla ice cream

Sunbeams

Fingertips touching

And you melt

Salt crushing between fingers

As I touch your hair

Magic

By Maria Montgomery 

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Night my dear, is a love affair…

Out here the night has released her curtain and let it sweep down from the skies – enveloping the world in a blue grayish daze. It is misty tonight. The lights reflect in the tiny drops, creating a hazy look. The stars won’t be seen tonight – only the lights across the sea, the sharp light in the lighthouse and the yellowish light from a single streetlamp. Otherwise, darkness. Well, maybe  just a tiny splash of moonlight – only there to let us see how dark it truly is.

At this hour poems tend to fly through my mind like lightning – it is as if my mind has been illuminated by stories, beauty, love…and nature. Nature when she is a mystery, because nothing can be seen, yet everything can be felt. As the rational day fades away, maybe we are forced to look inside? We seem to get lost in the dark alleys of the city and of the mind. We walk through the night in search of light, in search of love. We dance through the night. We talk to strangers at night – open our hearts and show what’s on the inside. Come the morning light we are once again razor sharp, pure, ready for challenges, but at night… At night we dream. We let ourselves loose. We walk into situations that in daylight would seem crazy, but at night we do not ask questions. We just let ourselves be swept off our feet. We dance along to her tune of mystery, allowing ourselves to reveal our deepest secrets, as we feel safe behind her blanket of nocturnal bliss. As if we were hidden.

Night time slows us down. You take time to do the things you would have never done in bright light. You gently sip your tea whilst leafing through a book. You have time, because what’s there to do at night, but wait for the new dawn? Even if you have a million things to do, you slow down. You adjust your pace to the night.

Dawn has always been my favorite hour – when the sky lights up in pastels, when the mind is clear, focused…when the energy of the new day awakens us, re-enlivens us and fills us with power. Adventure is lurking. People are getting ready for it, yet they do not know what they are getting ready for. Fresh scents fill the morning. Life hath, once again begun afresh.

For all my love of morning though, I cannot deny the magic of the night, or that of any hour. If you only take the time to breathe it in, each hour of the day is filled with magic. After morning there is midday – the sun a tad more yellow by now. Time for a break from duties. People talk. Laughter is shared. Food, too, is shared. Delicious foods. Every day you get to taste life. You are life and life becomes you.

Then comes the afternoon with her orangy light. The magical hour of photography, of sweet, romantic light. Everything soft. Warm. The fast pace of the day is slowing down and people ease up, relax in the glow of the afternoon sun.

In evening people are set free from their duties of the day. They feel the approaching darkness and huddle up together. Share stories from their journeys through the day. Heat up by the fire as cool winds come by. Reward themselves with meals, laughter, wine…

And then, there is night. Night of mystery and wonder. Night of dreams and secrets. Night of revelations and revealing truths. Night, when we see not the world, but ourselves and we wish to escape into the arms of someone else.

So now you know what I think like when twilight hits the world.

(Twilight is) the safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don’t you think? – From Twilight, by Stephanie Meyer

Dreams are illustrations…from the book your soul is writing about you.  – Marsha Norman

The stars are the street lights of eternity.  ~Author Unknown

Is there not
A tongue in every star that talks with man,
And wooes him to be wise? nor wooes in vain;
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
~Anna Letitia Barbauld, A Summer Evening’s Meditation

By night, an atheist half believes in God.  ~Edward Young, Night Thoughts

Night, the beloved.  Night, when words fade and things come alive.  When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again.  When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.  ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The night sky is a miracle of infinitude.  ~Terri Guillemets

It seemed to be a necessary ritual that he should prepare himself for sleep by meditating under the solemnity of the night sky… a mysterious transaction between the infinity of the soul and the infinity of the universe.  ~Victor Hugo

Sensations

On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:
But endless love will mount in my soul;
And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy,
Through the countryside – as happy as if I were with a woman.

Arthur Rimbaud
March 1870.

Night time in Paris…the city of light…

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