I Knew My Pain – Aurora Phoenix

I knew my pain when it was a screeching
sunset
spurting cotton candy carnage
across the feathered heavens
mocking all that is soft and soothing
drawing my gaze
up and up, tearstained
\thundering scarlet refrains\
reverberating clang of your loss.
I knew my pain when it was a snarling
saber-tooth
birthed of my rent ventricles
spewing aortic dirges
feasting on festering anguish
\clamorous gluttony\
heartache grew fangs
fueled on midnight howling
and my heart gnawed raw itself.
I knew my pain when it was a stinging
nettle
clinging needy-puppy to my shins
\all scratch and scrape reminders\
of the bite that replaced the soul
in the deep chocolate of your iris.
I knew my pain when it was creeping
ivy
camouflaged among wistful greening
arisen from the fetid heap
\itching a glitch in my hopeful healing\
tendrils sneak snake-oil slick
renders my skin hopeless raw
where it lingered
in the shadow of your touch.
I knew my pain when it was tempered
steel
inlaid with soulful etchings
\mother of my surviving pearl soul\
I raise the blades coated
in my fevered blood
hammered now, the plowshares
of my hard- won stance.


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

I Knew My Stature – Aurora Phoenix

I knew my stature when I was a shrinking violet
wilting wallflower
hangdog hanging in the corner of the gym
stewing in the stench of pubescent sweat
and hurricanic hormonal surges
a bit too fleet of mind
and broad of hip
to be asked to dance.
I knew my stature when I was a shriveling teen
angularly angling
for acceptance in the seat of those size 4 jeans
gaunt of cheek and lean on ease
I nibbled on the knowledge
skinny girls get dated
while I wasted \wishing\ away.
I knew my stature when I was a curvaceous coed
unholstering my sexuality
like the black market weapon it was
filed down and ripe for the bidding
overpowered and unequipped for battled
shooting myself in the foot
greenhorn that I was.
I knew my stature when I was a birthing Bessie
nursing \wet and dry\
bequeather of sustenance and succor
repository of binkies, hugs and tissues
beneath notice as an independent woman
selling my soul for a closed bathroom door.
I knew my stature when I strode that shore
clove in rhythm
with the seething tides
shedding the skin
of a thousand judging serpents
one with the wilding waves
as they sing my siren song.


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

I Knew My Place – Aurora Phoenix

I knew my place when I was cooking
barefoot
scrambling to please
the indomitable hostess
fierce in a frazzled up-do
sizzling while he sat at ease.
I knew my place when I was chewing
my cheeks
cognizant of my inconsequence
biting back that biting retort
while they chewed conceited cud
confident of their pompous placement.
I knew my place when I was toiling
drudgery
forbidden from the boardroom
as I covered incompetence
silver coffee serviette
service with a smile.
I knew my place when I was massaging
his ego
and his member, crafting a pleasure cruise
dutiful and doting
at the expense of my own satisfaction.

I know my place when I am standing
strong
solid on my own two feet
above the clamoring fray
going my own way.


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

Hamburgers- Aurora Phoenix

there was a wham and bam
but no thank you ma’am.
I should have protested
but how does one cry out
from the sodden synapses
of brain steeped
in collegiate excess
and marinated in good-girl
acquiescence?
I chop at the roots
of agglutinant shame
that grew a little more
intransigent with each
midnight- egging “why?”
I gnaw at noxious rhizomes
planted in schoolgirl lessons
\strategies to safeguard sanctity\
when my sexuality
nascent and unfettered
could turn

-rapier in heat –

weaponized
prick against me.
I cuss a blue streak
\my warrior midlife self\
at Victorian misogynistic notions
that swaddled me in responsibility
for those who strained
to strip me.
swear mightily as I may
I can’t drown out
the habitual penitent on kneelers
\perseverating\

should I have asked him
to go for hamburgers?


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

Hel Hath No Fury- Aurora Phoenix

woman-with-arms-crossed-and-cigarette

 

you must mistake my small stature

indicative of diminutive status

ripe to be buffaloed

as you bully through the china shop

eyes wide and nostrils flaring

        you must have missed the titanium

infused within my bones

does 5 foot 2 well-mannered

invite your burly boots

to stomp upon my spine

where bigger men than you

know better than to tread?

        do you expect subservience

because you stand over me in rais-ed voice?

 

in my diction and demeanor

you read my due indoctrination

in that default response

for women with decorum

“play nice”, “don’t rock the boat”

    I will not go down singing pretty

on your mis-captained ship

you are disinclined to dissuasion

if push came to shove

you could bulldoze right over

my buck forty frame

leave me black and blue

    I eschew backroom brawling

of the brutish persuasion

 

you underestimate my mettle

forged in fiercest battle

the regal blood of Hel

cauterized my wounds

flows fiery from my fingertips

 

with forceful argumentation of logical articulation

I knock your tower of babel down

I have read the writing on your walls

and it’s all smoke-etched mirrors

 


 

Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

Requiem in Red- Aurora Phoenix

 

she etched an elegy

 

for herself

 

in her arm.

 

\it was not that she wished she were dead,

 

it was that in her heart, she already was\

 

with each draw of the blade

 

she eased mournful notes

 

skillful as a virtuoso violinist

 

from her love-starved skin.

 

this one, scratched doleful in minor D

 

laments a childhood forlorn

 

lost in the tumbleweeds

 

of mother’s hypodermic windstorm.

 

tentative lacerations mimic

 

the rent fabric of comfort

 

in which she was never swaddled.

 

that one, carved in hesitant desperation

 

released a cacophony of hushed howls

 

an orchestra of screeching duduks

 

protesting the predators’ parade

 

that prowled unguarded through her dreams

 

         day and night. –

 

cuts, breaking your heart if not

 

her parched and thirsting skin

 

berate the moon and sun

 

who sheltered her not, while each

 

beseeches the silent heavens

 

“was I not worthy of protection?”

 

 

 

she proffers her arm, bared

 

         as her anguish –

 

this belligerently fragile woman – child

 

as eloquent a threnody

 

as Bacon ever painted

 

\triptych over tendons\

 

her practiced insouciance

 

imploring you to care.

 

 

 

yes, assert your eyes

 

weary of caustic consternation

 

I will listen to your tales

 

\of hades and his dethroning\

 

 

 

you sketch her a thesaurus

 

lilting bagpipe harmony

 

reveille!  immutability

 


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

Woman- Aurora Phoenix

she wept

and the coliseum

crumbled in the wake

of her long -pent

anguish.

in her tears

she relinquished the burden

\rough-hewn marble headstone\

in the dammed ducts

of all the sisters,

daughters and mothers

who carried on

\dutiful and diligent\

when by all rights

bequeathed by Minerva

hard fought battle earned

they yearned to carry on

\keening and lamenting\

in disharmonious distress.

 

she raged

and Pompeii, lost

no longer, rises

from Vesuvian ashes

in riotous inferno

fueled of righteous

fury.

in her uproar

she releases the ghosts

\literary, literal and liturgical\

who, catlike, stole

tongue and very breath

of women on whose backs

\on their backs\

stripped and striped

cornerstones were planted

when by virtue

of their labors

they should be upright

\ranting and raving\

from birth to birthing

 

unleashed in the tempest

Eden’s serpent

for whose perfidy

she took the fall

\oh! how far she fell\

rises

and they dance

samba with the mamba

celebration of cerebration

until the snake is spent

and woven, powerless

\mainstream Medusa’d\

among her seething locks.


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”