Art, Beginnings, feminism, mythology, Poetry, religion, sexuality

Like Lights

I was raised on a religion that broke my heart & now

I am forever feeding on this sacred host

& drinking it’s blood for life

like a vampire praying for release

from the bondage of eternal life.

Life that broke my back in it’s stride

& seems hellbent on forever tossing me in the fly of its waking,

dreaming,

learning to heal, I slept seeking

a refuge in every other religion

imaginable

I want to absorb All the knowledge,

read everything passed through

historical IV networks of written words

I used to feel wise

It seems the older I get the less I know

& now 19 year olds are calling me Fool or Foul

& I am stuck on repeat

& I’ve memorized my patterns of pain

so perfectly I can replicate it them all through

my subconscious mistakes seamlessly.

Is where we are broken truly where beauty is found?

Does the light really filter in through our cracks?

I used to think healing was something you

did once & for all

& Then you lived.

but I am learning that salt has a way of always

finding your scars, & once your marked,

You’re marked for life.

So I’m floundering as all the darkness pours

in through all those crevices.

The only thing I’ve learned is that at some point

the tide always recedes

& the glass is always both half empty

and half full, Both,

you hear?

& as my mother crouches closer to death

she starts babbling louder about saving people &

I wonder does fear do that to you?

But see, we are all like that, often it seems so much

easier to save someone else,

other than ourselves,

& my friend Shanti told me once that she viewed Faith in 3’s

for if you don’t have faith in yourself,

the situation,

& those around you, then

what truly do you faith in?

Shanti means Peace in Sanskrit – I think there’s some

kind of wisdom in that,

& these days I am loath to admit that my faith is shaky at best,

deterring on eyes of distrust & “is that really what my intuition said?”

But I keep on breathing, placing

one foot in front of the other, listening

to the hum of fallen angels raining past

my ears

& I keep looking with wide eyes

both up, & down &

all around,

Inside, sometimes with wonder

& sometimes often trying to not.

So if one thing of beauty made life worthwhile

would you live it?

One thing.

Would you choose this path just to see the sunset

divide your heart into multi coloured hues

one more time?

would you cry just to feel the wonderment of wetness,

reigning down your eyes in a tantrum of a tempest?

& would you live just to howl from the very depths within you

at the injustice of living?

For fairness is a mystery we tell ourselves

as we lick our wounds

so that others cannot see them

& once you wonder why me? Why is it always

me? when its is truly ALL of us – forever united

by our smiles that mask & reveal

the great fires, ever burning,

so wickedly brilliant,

white hot,

within us.

Copyright Adrienne Adams December 18th 2013

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fairytales, Poetry, Red, religion, sexuality

What the wolf doesn’t realize.

The wolf knows a lot about you but he doesn’t really know you.
He knows how to trap and trick you
to have you falling for his charms over and over again.
But what the wolf doesn’t know is how to love you.
or to admit that he needs you as much as you need him
maybe More.
You both may know how to transform blood into knowledge
him, yours,
and you, the blood of all the women who came for him, before you.
like the bee that stings dies soon afterwards,
a Wolf needs the blood of his victims to survive.
but what he doesn’t know is that you know how to pull all your blood back inside you.
That no matter how many times you bleed, you always produce more.
– 0r – maybe he does – and this keeps him coming, Back, for more.
what he doesn’t realize is that He lives Off you
and he dies a little every time you walk away – le petit mort
then he wanders, searching for other victims but may not have the ecstasy of Your blood again.

its particular taste and texture

The wolf doesn’t know that you have grown secrets strengths inside you.
He is not your first Wolf.
You are not his first victim.
He doesn’t know that You know how to survive wolf’s
that, no matter how drunk you may be on his blood sucking ways
you know about being sober,
IT carries its own rewards.
You –  may forget this as well –
swept away by tides
But the Wolf doesn’t realize that one day, you will remember how to leave.
That you have done this before, and so can do it again.
You may go searching for other wolves, or become one yourself.
He thinks he’s taking your blood From you.
What he doesn’t realize is that he is teaching you about eternity,

that you have given it willingly.
that love grows you in secret stores of strength,
and is the only thing that truly grows as it is spent,
that you adore the ecstasy of depletion
that you have witnessed your own replenishment over – and over –  again.
and may it has left your heart bitter.
you still thinks it is an all amazing Wonder.
That bitterness has the grounding power to teach you about your own iron.
what the wolf doesn’t realize is how much mettle you have,
or that bitters are essential for optimal digestion.
Sweets are often like poison to the body and the soul.
that blood ferments into Whine and becomes liquid gold!
The wolf doesn’t realize he is teaching you how to hOWL.
That the sound of your sorrow will echo to the very depths of the earth
shaking the ground beneath you Both.
The wolf will not realize what he lost, –
but you will.
Even if it hits him,
the wolf will never get to experience the fullness of your beauty or the opening of your soul.
If all he ever practices is how to take he will never know the joy of receiving giving.
the ecstasy of surrender,
the blissfulness of obliteration,
or the affirming power of realizing ones own resilience.
That love is a gift that women have often given to each other
when all other sources have Run – dry.
the wolf may never learn what true love is
or experience the depths of your gravity
and so the avalanche of your heights.
that giving and receiving are equal on playing field
that one cannot take without giving and his greatest gifts,
are all the lessons you will learn about yourself.
The wolf doesn’t realize that you have secrets stores of beauty within you
and that one day when you are sick of the games and the lies and the dark ecstasy he knows how to generate.
You will secede pulling away each stone from within, you
that will fall as you empty yourself of your collective sins, leaving a trail of forgiveness behind you.
That your greatest suffering will be knowing His poverty for never having experienced the satisfactions of truly loving you.
Because you will see your beauty and your strength and your resilience glowing lustrously like a great beacon of alleluia within you.
The wolf doesn’t realize that he – the con artist – is carving you
so that one day you will pull out all of your true gifts like liquid gold and leave fires glowing in a wake of dust behind you.

the wolf doesn’t realize you have been smoking his smoke.

– the whole – fucking pack.

Copyright Adrienne Adams June 28th 2014

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Art, fairytales, mythology, Poetry, Red, sexuality

Catch me. If I FALL…

How many times have you been outrun by the Wolf?

And how many wolves can you go through

before you run out of a pack?

I am forever stopping

to smell the flowers,

embrace ALL life on the way

to delivering the goods.

Helping old ladies

climb downstairs

just as my mother taught me.

these days I’m missing

teeth and syllables one too many

knocks on Wood

All you have to do

to entrap me

is

Peel back my hood and LIck.

So I Wrap

myself in Red

because I’m Hot

running a fever, trying to sweat

scarlet letters

for all the delicious sins (Sumptuously Insurgent Near Synchronicities)

I’ve committed.

the Devils HornS

are also red

shoes are made for dancing

it’s my first love

either that or the ocean – take your pick.

both could win Passion

is a virus that runs

through my veins, I am forever

now afraid to ignite

all the fireworks within me

because I know how badly they can

I am capable

of consuming whole oceans

and Spitting OUT

all the Rocks

in the process of cooling

the fires inside

but

it doesn’t Mean

they don’t

Drown me or Leave

me Gasping for Air.

FULL of needles and pins

beating my limbs

on the worn path

just to

Feel – again.

I am Forever

Curious

about what Lurks

in the forest I try to

Follow Rules.

but there’s one my mother never taught me

which seems to win justice

over & over

again,

No good deed goes unpunished

especially when you like to run wild

and free

amongst the company…

CRY wolf,

cry, Cry, CRY!

him back to me I have

no Sheeps’ clothing to skin

scalding the Fur I’m in.

It’s a mess of hair-tangled thoughts

that addle my brain in addictions

to the taste of your skin

and the texture of your hair, this body

closet you have locked me in.’

I drink Whine in hopes

that some

Sacred Host

will open up and let the light in my grandmother’s

Blood has all been spent and still

I long for wisdom to come from within.

Does Abuse send you backwards?

in time, spiraling down the maturity line?

Is love like heroine & how

Can I be my own?

when I keep disappointing myself

over & over

I’m so in love with the story that I’ve lost the plot.

chasing metaphors in every cell,

I Find myself Locked in.

Breathe. Go outside.

to pee Little Red escapes

by her own wits

But what if you’ve fallen so hard for the Wolf you actually want to BE him???

The light of the moon

transforms the where into wolf

and the hunting begins…

Little red crosses the river, rescued by the washer women

Who entrapped the wolf in their fresh, clean pressed, white, sanitized Laundry.

Eve Ate the apple.

Lilith Swallowed pomegranate seeds

Pandora Opened the box &

Persephone was Always in LOVE with Hades

not just her mother….

this is the x-rated version of history.

Winter. IS. necessary.

As Necessary as spring, summer &

FALL

on your knees

over & over

Praise the darkness

within you that offers itself up to light the stars

are born and die in bursts of passion

We are all Stars burning

so bright we Blind

each other in our passing.

And though I may be Ravaged by the baggage of living

and Bleeding, at least

I,

Know

by my very quickening blood

I am Fully unabashedly ALIVE &

therefore Capable

of being cut and hurt to the greatest of depths

& of loosing myself

in Surrender

the great passionate ecstasy Burning

every so dangerously

within me.

Catch me… if I Fall……

Copyright Adrienne Adams June 25th 2014

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Woolf's Voices 4!

Woolf’s Voices is a quarterly event where women and feminine identified persons are invited to present work that honours the feminine – however they interpret that. Poetry, spoken word, music, storytelling etc. are included. The purpose is to create more cultural space where what is considered feminine (in my personal interpretation things like, softness, kindness, beauty, vulnerability, beauty, compassion, domesticity, motherhood, female sexuality, fatness, curves, male feminineness, cooperation, and on and on etc. – you may interpret the feminine differently) is honoured and given voice – a room of its own amongst a pack of howling voices. Join us! Next Wednesday at 7:30 at Shelf Life books to co-create this space together!

events, Poetry

Woolf’s Voices 4!

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feminism, mythology, Poetry, sexuality

I seek

I am seeking a feminine voice echoing

across golden ages of curves that is

fat and kind and round,

with wisdom dripping off her rims

in dregs of toffee ground tears.

A voice that squeals with the high edge of

masculinity stretched beyond its breaking point

to give birth & bleed salt

into my years of knowing

just how deep I am & you are.

I want to take your hand in a warm caress of

passion, stroke it against my thighs

until you are enveloped in a love so

lush and soft and full

grown wrinkly like an old

for skin we will wrap around

each other in waves.

I am seeking a voice

that is valued for it’s very vulnerability,

recognizing strength in its years of innocence

spent gathering oneself

into one’s self

so that I can leap

with unburdened joy

& not be ashamed at how truly excited I am to see you!

laughing like a school girl

and dancing ’till the tips of my toes

carry me over the brink of life

and back again.

I seek a voice full of motherhood

not just for all the children

but for all the burgeoning things living inside

my friend’s heart of hearts

so that we are nurtured in a way

to know we are loved infinitely

& All-ways.

I am seeking a voice that breaks the very bonds of its

oppression by dissolving

like water and flowing over

everything that has tried

to quell it.

This voice is a phallus crying

to be engulfed in heated convulsions

of sticky tides

speaking cunt language softly

with the sagacity of love,

one word

with so many meanings

sucking on the suckling of sprouting

until we bloom and die and return

again, weakly, monthly , daily

howling at the moon

which

move the tides of our enslaving in a steady stream

of transformation.

I am seeking a feminine voices that howls at it’s own,

content to be heard and valued for nothing other

than what it is.

I am seeking a feminism that embraces the feminine

in a humanitarian hug of x and y

chromosomes jumbled up to spell glbtq

forwards and back again

until we all know finally and forever

that we all Come from our mother’s mothers hearts

down an unbroken chain of eternity

that is boundless and flows

with the very life of blood

the first

sacrament

to partake in.

This is my body,

Eat!

Feast!

Devour!

Amen

Copyright Adrienne Adams August 23rd 2013

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Art, Beginnings, fairytales, feminism, mythology, Poetry, religion, sexuality

birthing Be-ginnings

Aphrodite's_voice_logo_webres_1Okay so I have decided to break the limits of my life, to trangress my fear and start publishing what I WANT to be out there in the world. We bring the world we want to live in to being by creating it. This is my act of birth. my Art, my Poetry, my Voice, my Authenticity, my Be-ing. Space Feminine Divine. Aphrodite’s Closet breaking out of Pandora’s box to be a nugget of love in an ocean of uncertainty…. love…ly.

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