Illustrated Poetry
Woman, in Excess
By MAYA Garcia.
Charming I may be,
But sincere where apropos,
This you should know about me.
Saying much, speaking little,
A wellspring of wisdom flows from within,
When I speak my truth listen up;
For I do not repeat my words;
And if you miss it you will only see the riddle.
I will refill the cup,
And make you wait to believe
This heart will open towards thee
My love may be free,
But my soul belongs to me;
It does not surrender easily.
When I finally give myself I will do so completely,
So you'd better be ready for me.
But sincere where apropos,
This you should know about me.
Saying much, speaking little,
A wellspring of wisdom flows from within,
When I speak my truth listen up;
For I do not repeat my words;
And if you miss it you will only see the riddle.
I will refill the cup,
And make you wait to believe
This heart will open towards thee
My love may be free,
But my soul belongs to me;
It does not surrender easily.
When I finally give myself I will do so completely,
So you'd better be ready for me.
Conversation Hearts
“Ascending Hearts,” by MAYA Garcia.
Sitting alone with a broken arm, and a broken heart.
Feeling like I'm in an alternative reality.
A state of suspended consciousness
And a parallel universe, riddled with stasis.
Someone else is living the life I should have had by now.
"If the train doesn't stop at my station it wasn't meant for me."
Yet I keep, hearing assurances to the contrary.
But still, I've no road map, no directions and no compass.
Is this just a life or an extended nightmare,
and I've been fooling myself occasionally to think otherwise?
If it's not meant to be and I'm truly stuck here, why won't you leave me be?
Why won't you get out of my head, my ears and my dreams?
Or is this nightmare just a temporary blip and I'm missing the lesson somehow?
Too angry to learn, too stubborn and rebellious to bother to even study.
Who are you?!
And what is this?!
Feeling like I'm in an alternative reality.
A state of suspended consciousness
And a parallel universe, riddled with stasis.
Someone else is living the life I should have had by now.
"If the train doesn't stop at my station it wasn't meant for me."
Yet I keep, hearing assurances to the contrary.
But still, I've no road map, no directions and no compass.
Is this just a life or an extended nightmare,
and I've been fooling myself occasionally to think otherwise?
If it's not meant to be and I'm truly stuck here, why won't you leave me be?
Why won't you get out of my head, my ears and my dreams?
Or is this nightmare just a temporary blip and I'm missing the lesson somehow?
Too angry to learn, too stubborn and rebellious to bother to even study.
Who are you?!
And what is this?!
“What is Heaven?” Words of a Dying Man
“Bluebird.” Photo by MAYA Garcia.
“Don’t take me yet, I’m terrified”,
The old man might have said,
Had he not suffered a brain hemorrhage
And been left for dead,
It was then that dread
Turned to wonder,
His fears suddenly cast asunder-
He surrendered his resistance,
And he really saw what’s on the other side,
A magical land where spirits and cosmic light creatures collide,
Where beings of all shape, color and size
Cohabit an existence
Not of flesh and bone,
But of rhythmic
And furious energetic distance.
Or, he could have chosen a blank, dark space,
An empty canvas to place
His strongest desires,
The universe is in tandem,
A twin who conspires
To fulfill all those random
Wishes he couldn’t contrive
In his waking life.
Perhaps death is just a state of eternal rest,
A dream from which one’s best,
And brightest hopes
Are made manifest,
In perpetuity.
You will never know the truth
Until your head succumbs to that warm bath,
Completely.
MAYA Garcia, 2019
The old man might have said,
Had he not suffered a brain hemorrhage
And been left for dead,
It was then that dread
Turned to wonder,
His fears suddenly cast asunder-
He surrendered his resistance,
And he really saw what’s on the other side,
A magical land where spirits and cosmic light creatures collide,
Where beings of all shape, color and size
Cohabit an existence
Not of flesh and bone,
But of rhythmic
And furious energetic distance.
Or, he could have chosen a blank, dark space,
An empty canvas to place
His strongest desires,
The universe is in tandem,
A twin who conspires
To fulfill all those random
Wishes he couldn’t contrive
In his waking life.
Perhaps death is just a state of eternal rest,
A dream from which one’s best,
And brightest hopes
Are made manifest,
In perpetuity.
You will never know the truth
Until your head succumbs to that warm bath,
Completely.
MAYA Garcia, 2019
N-E-T-W-O-R-T-H
A modern take on a triptych. By MAYA Garcia.
Long, never-ending spell of rain,
Morning migraine,
Too much cream-screen fun.
Hot coffee, cold shower,
The fixation that never loses its power,
This fix,
This fix,
This fix,
Psychotherapy by social media,
Exhibition,
Addiction,
Transition,
New baby
Look at her, she’s so crazy!
Feeling oh-so lazy,
Can’t eat,
Ate too much,
Feeling fat,
Taking care of business,
You go, girl, you got that!
Miss thang,
This drug is such
A head trip,
Or an energy drain,
Courtship over music,
Heartsick by Tuesday,
A one-night stand kept undercover.
An intriguing proposition, leading to thin air,
The Ethernet has collapsed…somewhere.
Sharing all of your secrets before sundown,
Read all about it!
Where is that 5G sound?
Perhaps it’s underground,
Down, down, where the clowns
Of broken despair deposit
Their masses of hubris and shit
On the rest of us.
Let’s escape this one-horse, electric town
And get out of it.
There’s still a real life and a real love,
Out there.
Morning migraine,
Too much cream-screen fun.
Hot coffee, cold shower,
The fixation that never loses its power,
This fix,
This fix,
This fix,
Psychotherapy by social media,
Exhibition,
Addiction,
Transition,
New baby
Look at her, she’s so crazy!
Feeling oh-so lazy,
Can’t eat,
Ate too much,
Feeling fat,
Taking care of business,
You go, girl, you got that!
Miss thang,
This drug is such
A head trip,
Or an energy drain,
Courtship over music,
Heartsick by Tuesday,
A one-night stand kept undercover.
An intriguing proposition, leading to thin air,
The Ethernet has collapsed…somewhere.
Sharing all of your secrets before sundown,
Read all about it!
Where is that 5G sound?
Perhaps it’s underground,
Down, down, where the clowns
Of broken despair deposit
Their masses of hubris and shit
On the rest of us.
Let’s escape this one-horse, electric town
And get out of it.
There’s still a real life and a real love,
Out there.
