Tag Archives: Poetic

Whipped cream…

Do you have people in your life that make you feel like a million dollars? Or like a cup of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows?

I do. And I sure hope you do, too.

However, the trick in life is to make yourself feel that way. We all run out of steam some days (or, well, usually all days around four pm) and can do with a pick-me-up. A burst of happy energy. Like a kind word from those lovely people who have sunshine coming out of their behinds.

So what do those people do? Do they compliment us? Do they take us on magical or adventurous experiences? Do they make us sit down and breathe for a while? Take in the moment? Or chase us with a stick to ensure we live our passions? Whatever it is, it’s what we should be doing.

I am all for a cup of coffee when I run out of steam at four pm, but I need something more substantial to keep me going. I need to live my passions, go on magical (and wickedly wild) adventures, compliment myself, breathe in the moment and enjoy this thing called life.

If your life lacks luster…just add whipped cream…
See yourself as others do. For more of my poetry, check Instagram @themagiqueboutique

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Filed under diary, Insights, Inspiration, Inspirational, Musings, poetry, Uncategorized

The incredible dream…

As we get older, heck, even in our twenties, we often realize there are some things we do over and over again. Some of those things are great. We are always on time. We always manage to pay our bills. We always date kind guys. Other times, they aren’t so great. We’re never on time. We only just manage to pay the bills. We always date emotionally unavailable guys. We fuck up in the same way over and over again. It’s our dysfunctional pattern, whatever it may be.

Sometimes, it’s more subtle. We’ve lived in a similar manner for years. What was once exciting has now grown stagnant. It’s no longer putting a smile on our face; no longer fulfilling us.

And change…how do you create it? At times, it seems pretty damn impossible, doesn’t it? How are you going to create something you’ve never had?

There are two ways around this.

The first is structure. If you’ve always been bad at managing accounts, hire an accountant. If you’re bad at exercising, hire a personal trainer. Alternatively, read some books on the topic you want to get better at, then set up a plan. A structure. To stick to the new structure, get an accountability partner.

The second, is to dare to dream. If you’ve never brought in the millions it seems incredible to do so, doesn’t it? Yet your neighbor, has never earned less than 200k a year and, by now, sit on plenty of millions thanks to wise investments. How does your neighbor think? What’s normal to them? What’s a small amount of money to them? What’s a large amount of money to them? For them, not bringing in the millions is as unthinkable as it is for you to bring them in.

When something becomes possible, it suddenly becomes attainable. Not in a foggy dreamlike sort of way, but in a real, practical kind of way. It’s incredible what opportunities come along once you dare to dream up a new possibility. A new way of life. The life of your neighbor.

It’s time to imagine having some fun. Some real life fucking magic. Because it’s possible. Just as if by magic.

You can find my poetry on Insta: @TheMagiqueBoutique

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Filed under Inspiration, Inspirational, Motivation, Poem, poetry

Awakening…

Sometimes we die. Not literally, but it’s as if our flame burns out. We’re tired. We don’t seem to have enough energy to get excited about anything.

Usually we cause this ourselves. We do this thing whereby we think thoughts that don’t serve us. We obsess about our mortgage payments, or losing our job, or failing our exams, or our daughter’s battle with drugs. Or maybe we obsess about how little our parents love us or how little our partner cares. We get lost in a cloud of despair, or hopelessness. Or maybe not even that, it’s just we waste our energy on entirely the wrong thoughts.

Then, suddenly, we have a good sleep. Or we see a man who makes us smile. Or a friend gives us a good laugh. Or something stirs our passions.

Then, then you feel it coming back. Your body starts to tingle. Your mind starts to sing. You feel desire brewing within you. The desire to do what you love. To live your passions instead of your fears. To think about what you love, instead of what you do not like.

It’s like that first cup of coffee in the morning that makes your eyes pop open and your mind become alert. Suddenly, the air is filled with opportunity. And life, life seems a brilliant journey once more.

This is your life. Your journey. Choose where you put your focus. You can do the exact same thing you’re doing now, but live a completely different reality.

Yours truly,

Dizzy Blonde

Awakening indeed. I write poetry on Insta that you can buy as poetry collages on Etsy.

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Bruised bottoms…

There’s no fucking backup plan for falling in love. You fall. You stumble down some stairs, land flat on your ass and look up to someone who now appears as a giant before you. All other men, in comparison, ants. They lack the beautiful traits, the significant looks, and the commonalities the other man shares with you. They seem insignificant in comparison.

The thing is, you have to do it. You have to fall. You have to imagine that this man is better than all the rest, even if you know it’s an illusion. Because without that illusion, there are no butterflies. No tingles in your forearms. No longing so painful and so sweet a mere text messages makes you erupt in euphoria.

You want those feelings.

At the same time, of course, you need to be practical. This man, if any good, will end up your husband. He has to be able to express what he needs, while still thinking you’re some thinly veiled goddess. He has to be able to say the hard stuff and praise–generously–the good stuff. He needs to be able to build a reality with you where you are both happy. He will have to read the books you recommend about marriage, and go on a trip to Beijing even though he doesn’t want to. He has to get up at five on days you have a fever, to make sure you get breakfast in bed. And just like that, you have to do the same for him. You have to do things you’d never imagined just to learn to understand and aid this giant of a man. And that’s when it really helps to think he is a giant compared to other men. It helps to have butterflies in your belly. It helps to be seduced by his mind and body, heart and soul. It’s the fuel that will take you through.

But all of that can only last–the endorphin high–if the hard work is done.

And that’s why many people get off of the floor, dust their bottoms, and start climbing the stairs again. Because they aren’t willing to work. To learn. To compromise. Instead, the giant becomes a giant obstacle, hindering them on their path. Or the giant is uncompromising; unwilling to move.

Thankfully, for all of us, we’ve learned that falling and getting up isn’t too hard. Not when you’re on round twenty-five, or so. You’ve learned you can climb stairs, even in stilettos. You’ve learned you’re OK, even when you’re bruised.

And if nothing else, there’s coffee. Dark, divine, delicious coffee. Laden with just the right amount of honey to sweeten it and cream to tame the darkness. That coffee, served at an ungodly hour will kickstart you once more. Your internal engine humming.

There’s also tea. Drunk together with friends, who pat you on the back and give you another cookie. A sugar rush. Something to bring you back to the moment and forget your temporary insanity when you thought a mere man a giant.

Tea brings new adventures as souls set out on journeys together; discover new thoughts; decide to start up businesses; or go on spa weekends in the country. Tea is the glue that keeps souls together. And we all know when it’s time to put on the kettle and bake the scones.

Then, there’s wine and champagne when we are in need of a good giggle–bubbles bursting on our tongue and tickling our throat. Landing in our belly like butterflies. And as our mind ascends to a pink cloud, we look around and start seeing men. Maybe not giants, but men with potential at least. Men who wink at us and tell us we’re OK, even with our bruised bottoms. Men who’d be happy for us to fall for them–men who might even catch us as we stumble down the stairs on a giddy high. Men who would, potentially, consider doing the hard work. The push-ups that will give them the muscle that make us smile and lick our lips. The men willing to go the extra mile. If, of course, we do the same.

One day, you’ll meet a man who will remain a giant. Till that day, dust yourself up and brew some coffee–head to a friend for tea and go out for wine. Life. Feel it. Brewing inside of you until it bursts out in cascades of stars. Be a star. Glitter. Glimmer. Indulge in every moment. Drink the morning dew. Recognize it for the nectar that it is. Turn up the music and dance around the kitchen. Look out over the rooftops of Paris as many times as you need to get inspired. Run so fast you fall over and laugh uncontrollably with a runner’s high. Drive along the PCH till you feel freedom pump around your blood. Howl at a full moon. Set yourself free–scream with joy and jump in puddles–and discover the treasure right there at your doorstep. Especially if you’re in isolation–make sure that doorstep fucking shines.

At eight o’clock I call you

Waiting to hear your voice

Like a kid waiting for Santa 

Like a desperate woman pouring a glass of wine

Oh even if you don’t pick up

And I’m sent to voice mail

I get to hear that dark grumble

That always makes me stumble

Right into your arms

Where I escape the day’s harms

You’re no hero

No man in shining armor

A tad bruised 

A tad battered

Scarred enough to be a man 

Lost enough to be human

But with an inner compass

Looking for the light 

At eight o’clock I call you

Oh even if you don’t pick up

And I’m sent to voice mail

I get to hear that dark grumble

That always makes me stumble

Right into your arms

Where I escape the day’s harms

The truth is

I learned to walk long ago

Both in high heels and bare feet

Even with sneakers in obstacle courses

And even though I sometimes stumble 

I know that I’ll win the race

Celebrate another day ending

And the next’s beginning

And yet at eight o’clock I call you

Oh even if you don’t pick up

And I’m sent to voice mail

I get to hear that dark grumble

That always makes me stumble

Right into your arms

Where I escape the day’s harms

I can walk 

I can run 

I can pick myself up when I stumble 

I’m fine

I’m free

I’ll bleed and I’ll heal

I’ll laugh and I’ll move forward 

I’ll love and live and pirouette

Around the next corner

For yet another adventure

But at eight o’clock I call you

Oh even if you don’t pick up

And I’m sent to voice mail

I get to hear that dark grumble

That always makes me stumble

Right into your arms

Where I enjoy another 

Of life’s treasures

Yours truly,

Dizzy Blonde aka Maria Montgomery and yes, the copyright is all mine and all that.

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Filed under confessions, diary, Happiness, Insights, Inspiration, Inspirational, Love, Love-life, Motivation, Musings, Poem, poetry, Relationship, relationships

I see me through you…

I always wanted to fall in love with an artist. I imaged we would sip wine while painting each other’s portraits and writing poetry about one another. I’m also pretty pro falling in love with anyone who’d look good in a beanie when showing up on my film sets (beacuse naturally he’d be wearing a beanie on set) and who’d, from time to time, be willing to travel the world and make movies with me. So long as we have a firm base somewhere. He’d also be adventure prone and love France.

Now, this wasn’t really about film sets and beanies (though I still imagine every man I date, wearing a beanie on a film set…I know, I’m so sane it’s frightening). No, what I wanted to blog about was the poetry and the art.

You see, love is a verb. An action. We experience ourselves through our interactions with others. When those interactions are loving, magic happens.

Someone can tell you they love you and that’s nice. They can tell you you’re beautiful and that’s nice (particularly if they’re referring to your soul). They can tell you that you make their world come alive and imaginary flowers blossom when you laugh and that’s nice. But there’s nothing quite like when they turn you into a piece of art, or show their love by doing things. Be it buying you a gift, showing up to take you out, cooking for you, rubbing your shoulders, leaving you a cute note, sending you an epic text, making love to you, or ironing your shirt.

Get me right: the spoken word is powerful. I love hearing how people adore me. But I only take it seriously once they start showing me how much they truly care by actively partaking in my life, looking out for me and being there when I need a hug, a helping hand, or just someone to talk to. And it’s through those interactions I experience myself.

We experience ourselves through others. We see ourselves through their actions. That’s why it’s so important that we choose the people we spend time with carefully. And it just so helps if they can turn you into art. And wear a beanie on film sets, just for you. So that you have someone to drool over.

Dizzy blonde, over and out.

i’d like to see me

through you

please turn me into words

whispers in the night

images you see

so that i know

what i look like

please touch me

so i know what i feel like

By Maria Montgomery

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Filed under diary, Friendship, Inspiration, Inspirational, Love, Motivation, poetry, relationships, Uncategorized

Dancing with the wind…

The wind was blowing and all that was unhinged broke into a wild dance; emotions not quite dealt with, lost lovers not quite forgotten, desires not quite buried and anything else a little bit loose around the edges. 

It was on nights like this you had the perfect opportunity to sit still and listen to what was rattling around in your mind, because you’d find out any unfinished business that you had. Things you maybe rather wouldn’t face, but would be better off if you did. 

Storm winds can be difficult to deal with, that’s true. It’s also true that sometimes in the most quiet of moments we hear our own thoughts. But storm winds have a way of unsettling us; of shaking up the dirt and making us look at it. All those loose ends we thought we’d tied down, but didn’t. Not really. 

Sometimes the thoughts are, truly, rather pleasant. The lover we thought we forgot, but didn’t. The dream we buried, but never let go of. They were nice things and we’re once again reminded of how much we love them. Only by seeing them we know we have to take action; fulfill our own desires. Hence, why we buried them in the first place. 

The symphony of the wind played; making leaves dance, curtains sway, doors moan and windows whistle.

To her it was a peaceful sound. It meant that change was in the air; things moved. It meant not only that people’s unfinished business, hidden beneath their own debris, moved to the forefront of their minds and gave them an opportunity to face it, but that tales from far, far away landed on her doorstep. She could smell the scent of Moroccan mint and warm cinnamon. She could sense laughter, adventure and a tinge of possibility. She could see another life. A life far, far away. 

This is another piece for my story, The Jester. You can find other snippets; some much longer and eventful than this one: https://confessionsofadizzyblonde.wordpress.com/2019/08/06/the-jester/

My poetry. For more, please look at www.instagram.com/CarnavalDuDesir

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Filed under fiction, life lessons, Magical Realism, poetry, short story, wisdom