An Excerpt from:

Love Is An Orchid

©Abigail Kloss-Aycardi

 2006

Wings of Forbearance

 Hundreds of people are crowded around

So many words flying about

So many eyes looking at everyone

So many chances to be a target

I can’t look anywhere to find solitude

Hundreds of people are crowding around me

The words are flying past my head, narrowly missing me

The eyes are piercing the air and closing in on me

I keep moving…the more I move, the harder I’ll be to bring down

But there are no more places to hide

Sounds, sights, emotions are wrapping around me

A multi-colored tapestry that is heavy and bold

Folding around me too quickly for escape

Bright and beautiful, but suffocating

I can’t move anymore and I cannot scream

It would be unacceptable

I stand here in silence

I tremble, imperceptibly to most, wanting to laugh

I breathe heavily, wanting to cry

I close my eyes, trying to gain control

My muscles ache from tension and fear

And then, from where I know not,

You came…

Out of the brightness

A figure of calm, of mellow tones, of soft words

You came to my side, turned to me and extended your hand:

‘I can take you away from this place…?’

I saw wings in your eyes

And I took your hand before you could disappear

Felt the tapestry fall away along with the fear

You swept me away from the heaviness

You carried me to a shelter of calm, of mellow tones, of soft words

Wrapping me in them….light, airy, accepting

Now I can breathe

I can breathe

I can breathe

And I take to flight on the wings of your forbearance

An Excerpt from:

Deep Within Creative Minds

© Abigail Kloss-Aycardi

2006

My Passion, My Plague

Again

Here I am

Sitting

In my pajamas

At the keyboard

My altar grand

Prostrate

Before the mysterious glass

That will soon be inscribed

With my sacrifices

Of words

Again

Here I am

Not enjoying the pleasures

Of slumber

Hampered

With images

Too many to be counted

With meaning too vague to be established:

Tennyson with quill and inkwell

At a loss for what to write

Much like me

Again

Here I am

Overwhelmed

With nothing to write

Becoming stagnant

To the point of forming

A literary embolus

That slowly floats about

My brain

Waiting to lodge itself in the

Narrowing stream of creativity

To cause an artistic stroke

And render me as useless

As my passion

My plague

An Excerpt from:

Out of Reach – A Poet in Permafrost

© Abigail Kloss-Aycardi

2011

Contents Under Pressure

{Beware of the artist who is repressed!}

I told you that I’m not one to

Be caged -

Not within a tiny room

Without windows

Or light -

Not within the confines

Of monotony –

Not within the parameters

Of a land made of cement -

Not within the iron walls

Of conformity

Or suppressed emotion

The pressure builds until

Seams separate

Supports buckle

Surfaces overheat

Foundations crack

And with the slightest nudge of a breeze

Nothing more

Than splintered glass and steam remain

{Thank you for urging me, Debra.}

Read more…

Excerpt Out of Reach – A Poet in Permafrost