Thursday, September 11, 2014

Occupational Residue

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Do you know that residue resides within the walls?
Residual memories of occupants before
before you
before them
before
A U-Haul pulls up to the front
the man jumps out only to rip and toss the "FOR RENT" sign out into the middle of the road
A sigh escapes from the foundation below his feet.
AH YES another family feasted upon and spit out.
The family, a few short months prior, moved in
a spring to their step
a faint glimmer to the eye of what?
Hope
a fresh start?
Yet they didn't know
they didn't know
 
They didn't know the family before whose children played within its walls gazing through the glass wanting to play out
fresh air
sunshine
yet no - the mother lay within, a heart disease, unable to make the journey of the staircase to escape asbestos and mold
Little boy waves to me with large eyes and pale flesh from the top floor window.
They didn't know that not long before they moved in the mother collapsed and perished as her children watched from down the hall.
Ambulance Screaming, for them, down the road because they were unable to Scream for themselves.
 
Family moves in - 4 children, mom, dad, yet the walls whisper to then overcompensate.
The children are taken outside to remain until allowed back within its folds.
While the Screams inside now manifest.
BITCH YOU WILL....
the sound of glass
A SLAP
and yes... a siren
Wailing up to the opening of its dark mouth
Wailing for the children that can't
 
Yes - Residual memories of Occupants before
a FOR RENT sign should have flyers compared to that of a CARFAX
     FOR RENT
enter at your own risk
can occupy a family of 4, yet holds millions.
 

Friday, August 15, 2014

August 15th - #Writeyourselfalive - particles





 
Can I have another 24 hours?
 
A Blackboard eraser
Just a spritz of water to allow it to run away.
Remember when you were a child at the end of the school day
Raising your hand to be the one to wipe the board away
to pound the dust away
particles of knowledge floating in the air
entering the brains of children through inhalation
 
 
 
 
Knowledge, if not copied, just disappears
they are what they see, they become what they hear.
Can I have another 24 hours to pound away the lessons of yesteryear?

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Day 10 - August 10, 2014 - #writeyourselfalive - A Wave of light so Small Pandora Unleash

 

Definition of Pandora's box

1. Noun. (Greek mythology) a box that Zeus gave to Pandora with instructions that she not open it; she gave in to her curiosity and opened it; all the miseries and evils flew out to afflict mankind.




A box labeled: Vacuum Attachment Tools, topples over as I cut left into my drive.
The scent that spills is that of long ago perfume, spritzed upon cards, holding heartache and empty words.
Promises of long ago that never reached the harvest.

I gather bound memories and carry them over the threshold.
Placing them upon the table preparing the surface for dissection.
This is a massive autopsy of a soul. Memories that run intestinal miles.
Will I every find the blockage?

Vacuum Attachment Tools: how appropriate.

Every card, every word splayed upon the surface.
Piles of parts in organized stacks.
You promised to be an organ donor, yet you donated a diseased heart and your breath of words escaped from cancerous lungs.

Too late for sutures and bandages
The Box is open, yet the box is me.
Welcoming the wind of Memories.
Memories of another gifting them to me.
The Giver to the Given.

The Giver alone holds the memories of the true pain and pleasure of life.
The receiver of memories
Memories shared is a Soul lifted.


“But why can't everyone have the memories? I think it would seem a little easier if the memories were shared. You and I wouldn't have to bear so much by ourselves, if everybody took a part."

The Giver sighed. "You're right," he said. "But then everyone would be burdened and pained. They don't want that. And that's the real reason The Receiver is so vital to them, and so honored. They selected me - and you - to lift that burden from themselves.”
Lois Lowry, The Giver    


No they don't want that, yet too late the box is open.

At the very bottom of the container was the last thing to come out. It was something that wasn't evil. We call the good that Pandora unleashed by the name of hope.



"Not all the ties, for one, a little one, remains, like hope in the bottom of Pandora-s box. A wave of light so small that a thousand would scarcely reach ..."  Outlines of the Evolution of Weights and Measures and the Metric System by William Hallock, Herbert Treadwell Wade (1906)

Friday, August 8, 2014

Day 8 - #writeyourselfalive - tis but a dream









The waking from discombobulating dreams
leaves me disoriented and hovering between the worlds of awareness and mist
half my mind is stuck in elsewhere while the other attempts to shake this feeling of woe
It's all but a dream they say
An envelope filled with sand, sparkles and sadness
 
I would've assisted if you only asked it states
yet how could I ask if I never knew
even though the assistance was not needed, only the asking of you.







Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Monday, August 4, 2014

Day 4 - August 4th - #writeyourselfalive - Lucid Waters Damn the Wall

This might become a jumbled mess of thoughts, a stream, river, yet maybe just a slight trickling spring running down the mountain, free to roam wherever it wishes - UNLESS there is a DAMN DAM - BLOCK - manmade wall. Then it either dries up and cracks or becomes a muddy muddled mess of quicksand.

I find myself at times at the Wall
Towering laughing rumbling
Looking down tossing stones
"YOU WILL NOT BREAK MY BONES" stones
Because I, little trickling spring, am lucid
I move and flow, bend and smooth
Your rockiness I will shape into creative curves.
We all have cracks and yours I can find.
I will slowly wear and run through you.
You might not feel me at first, yet that crack will open wider as my fluid washes away your sediment.
An opening ,so glorious, will appear that the sun will rise and shine through you!

 

Sunday, August 3, 2014

August 3- Day 3 #writeyourselfalive - Where did Yesterday Go?


Yesterday came and gone and I sit and think of all the Things I could've, should've, would've done if....

I attempted this #writeyourselfalive back in February and I go back to my first writing of that time




February 25, 2014
Write your life away they say. Type your life away I do, yet not for my pleasure – for the pay. I sit behind this computer hours on days, days to weeks, years years and more years. My shoulders are quasied and my back is aching. Wrists splints, pinched nerves. I crumple with every clack. My keys are worn along with my body. No letters to remain on the board just memories of my fingerprints feeling the ghost of alphabets.

 Where is the letter N my daughter asks? Well I can feel it for you, but you won’t see it because my clack has worn the N right off the board.  How do you do that type without eyes? It is all programming of the mind. Oh the mind programming we go through to survive this path they call life, yet my mind is on an adventure, yet my body is trapped behind the screen. Almost a semi paralysis, but not really since I have the option of standing up.  So really no comparison there.
 
I am no longer "shoulding" myself. Like YESTERDAY... how many times did I say you have 5 more hours until this day is over... you SHOULD write something! 11:23pm: It is almost Midnight... a new day is upon you... you SHOULD write something! 12:13am - next day... Day Three... where did yesterday go I ask?
It went on a Journey with two little girls in tow to find the perfect pair of shoes in a wonderland of thrift. It went to watching my littles clippity clop around in sparkled heels and purses of plenty that held stories within their folds of previous owners. It went to the giggles of littles hiding in the largest Narnia Wardrobe ever. Yesterday was a room filled with wonders of others, left behind or gifted away so that others could play amongst the broken, used, and tossed.
I will not Should myself because even though the pen did not hit paper or the fingers did not clack, the story still wrote itself upon grey matter.
 
 

Friday, August 1, 2014

August 1st - Day One of #writeyourselfalive - Did She Really Want To?






 
The sound of incoming incoming incoming....
another chime
another bell
Ding
Ringtones
Another invite via Facebook Nation
I look at the Title
WRITE YOURSELF ALIVE
how appropriate since today I feel anything but
 
I have spent the past month doing almost everything in my power to NOT write...
why you might ask? well ....
lately words to me are just that words. At times so meaningless coming out of another's mouth.
Me a LOVER of words, the breaking down of them, the meanings behind them - the blasting honesty, yet Words of Weather - not much of a fan lately.
 
When the invite glared me down I hesitated, exhaled and accepted knowing I couldn't hide any longer, knowing that I needed to purge the word prison within.
I sat for a moment pondering: Oh you really need to think of something creative something spectacular, yet today spectacular isn't just that. I stop myself knowing that I will not do this for the applause that I will do this to continue to grow and fight through these shadows that blur my vision.
 
This past week I have had the urge to write, yet didn't want the waters to wash me away, because if I opened the door I would dissolve, or so I felt.
This is just it - words can be covered in sweetness, yet when bitten into there is an extremely sour center. Uncover the Sour - and write until my face puckers and explodes.
 
So with a puckered face I salivate a thank you for the invite to #writeyourselfalive
 
 
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Little Girl Within came out Screaming today

 
 
 

(Rough Writing then Revised into a Song)
 
Rough:
 
Across the wire the word travel quakes her inner ear
creating a tremble waking the child within
she climbs the esophageal tube
only after the epiglottis swung back hitting her in the chest
could she plant her feet upon the moist section of the salt buds
screaming she pries wide the never frown mouth
slicing her hands as she grabs hold of the incisors
thrusting her head out
screaming NO!!!
you will not go
hands bleeding torn meat
she lays her head upon the jagged edges of tobacco stained teeth
looking up pulling down
a biting end to her misery
                                 ~ Nikki 2000
 
Revised:
Little Girl woke to the scream of travel
she woke to the scream of travel
then she climbed up the back
yeah she climbed the esophageal track
resting her body across salt bud mountain plains
rest her body across salt bud mountains plains
laying her head
over smoke-stained teeth
reach for the incisors
reaching for the incisors
ending her misery
ending her misery
screaming please
please don't gooooooooooo
I said please
please don't go
 
laying her head
back down again
back to all
where it began
Little Girl
                                          ~ Nikki 2000

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Little Boy Land Man


 
 
A piece made a dot to the spot on the floor from the room above to the table below
A piece made a dot to the spot on the floor from the room above to the table below
Little boy swaying to and fro
mouth hid
hide behind shirt
A piece made a dot to the spot on the floor from the room above to the table below
 
Oh Little Boy land man
Oh little boy land man
where did you go?
 
Oh Boy made island
Oh Boy made island
Island of sorrow
 
 
A piece made a dot to the spot on the floor from the room above to the table below
Standing to move the quake inside a can't help moment mouth speaks behind shirt
 
3 hours of spatula later
 
mouth spewed it's poison from the welling up
the ache to break the heart
Little boy land man
quaking halt to slow rock
crushing weight to make Diamond Shine
didn't know it was mining time
Asbestos poison inside ~ suffocating
stench billowing ma mouth
crushing weight accelerate
Diamond lost for a time
Blackest dot on the spot
is much too hard to shine
 

Friday, May 30, 2014

Waltz with my Shadow

I acknowledge my dark side, my shadow, yet at times I think that I tell myself that I need to ignore it so that I may remain positive. What is a positive without a negative though?

William Blake spoke about the need to reconcile these two parts of self. He said we should go to heaven for form and to hell for energy - and marry the two. When we can face our inner heaven and our inner hell, this is the highest form of creativity. (Owning your own Shadow - Robert A. Johnson)

Out in the sun you at times can get blinded, yet within the Shadows there you can find some truth and a quiet resolve. I have been attempting to paint or draw again and I find myself hesitating. Why? normally when I paint or draw it is when I am feeling a bit down or blue, yet instead of letting those emotions flow I go against the grain and choose brighter hues, which then the flow just seems to come to a halt.

It is as if I placed myself in this box saying "that is not you anymore" "be positive" "be strong", yet I forget that I have found strength through my darkest days, which has brought me along to find Heaven on the other side.

I may not be so afraid of my own shadow, yet maybe my fear is of what others will think of my Shadow Dancing.

To feed ones own Shadow is a tasty treat at times:

My Shadows tastes are Slow Low Cello music, wrenching violin, and deep woods blowing through a clarinet.

So now I extend my hand and invite you to dance:
 
Waltz with my Shadow.


Death~ the end or beginning
circle of time were caught
in turning endlessly
                        ~ spiraling on
on this plane           I touch,
                   Feel,   See,
                                    Reality
Maybe
       yet this could be the
Hell walk until I
Cross over to my life waking
 
Maybe
         We are already dead
and through the final
    dying we are born
                         the Birth Canal
                          of Light and Life
Yet
What if there is only darkness
at the end?
Maybe that is why we fight so hard
to stay in our death -walk
our Living Hell             ~ Nikki Bartel


                                              Chalk Drawing done by Nikki Bartel - 2000


Darkness coursing through my veins
I am my own set of works
pushing it into myself
wrap the tourniquet tight
feel the pounding pulsate
blocking my life flow
                            no escape,
you can't trap darkness
like blood it's everywhere
in all things
you can clench it til it stops
yet it's forever forming and reproducing
entering different branches of the
                                    Mind
                                            Body
                                                  and Spirit
Draw it out slowly,
yet to release too much  is to die.             ~ Nikki Bartel




                                       Acrylic Painting and Mixed Media by Nikki Bartel - 2003

Myaeyz hizhare
                    Daughter killed
floating parts in the
                      fishbowl burn
Glass eyed stare - to the
              out world
piece fell out
flopping flesh
Breast full to feed
Feed off my flesh 

*Dead seed
float out
no cushion to lay
thought I didn't want
but I did in a way
dead seed won't grow today
layed out on a mouse
flush them out sewer below
splash a bye - sad to see you go
myeyz hizhare
down the drain
aeRaeven Morgaine
                                                           ~ Nikki Bartel (ode to a miscarriage)
 
 
 
Thank you for Dancing.



Wednesday, April 30, 2014

dream it, do it - the visual journal reminders





The key to achieving,what you want - whether it's a healthier body or increased confidence - may lie in your ability to visualize it. Here's how to use mental imagery to become stronger, happier, and more effective.
 
 
IMAGINE THAT!
 
 
 
This is my Mind-Way
an opening to Dreams
to quiet and solitude
a place that is needed I can just turn the Key
no matter the noise
the chaos or stress that surrounds
I hold the Key to enter within
to rest my mind if I choose
to put it behind as I enter the door
leave it on the other side
if only for a moment
 
 
 
 
 
A tent canopy in an open field with possibly a large shaded tree
Blankets, a chair, a pallette, fresh air, time and face to the wind
Silence with just songs of the birds or flitters of little flyers buzzing by my head.
All images captured on the canvas before me to hold forever the memory of the moment.
Take that painted dream to a wall of my barn to gaze upon during a morning of lazy pajama'd coffee
Steam to the sunrise and a possible goat bleeping
A walk back to a pillow and bedspread.
Yes... I do dream. - Nikki
 
 
 
 
Inspired by:
MoonHeart by Charles DeLint
and
a friend who led me to this author: Kimberly Morris Ropp
Thank you.
 
 
 
 
Moonheart, by Charles DeLint. “The Way is real, but it has no form. It is attainable by any who dare to follow it, but the journey is long and the rewards cannot be weighed by your present values. First you must attain an inner stillness—attain it and maintain it. Without conscious effort. That is the heart of the Way: inner silence. The old language has a word to describe it: taw. It means the silence that is like music. Strength through harmony. Once you have attained it, nothing is impossible.”
 
 
 
Silence No More



 
 

Monday, April 28, 2014

A Wrinkle in Time: Staircases and Wardrobes of Wonder

An empty wardrobe sits in the basement, a staircase that leads up to an apartment, a few steps leading down to a wooden convent door, and yet another that leads to a childs IMAGINATION.
 
All of these I can think back and feel the sense of wonder, yet where has the wonder gone? I at times feel that I have lost that other sense of mine. It is somewhere inside. I can taste it, feel it, and even get a glimpse of it, within the corner of my eye, taunting me to follow, yet I soon shift to the here and now of all that needs done instead of following the magic.

Second star to the right and straight onto morning!
Did I forget to clap my hands?
I Believe.... I Believe!!! 
A baby laughs and a fairy is born, yet did the parent squish it?
When did my sense of Wonder grow tired and overcast?

A little upstairs apartment, residing in the "City of Magic" none the less, is where my Aunt Julie and Uncle Mark called home. Walking up those stairs into it's cozy interior opened the many doorways of my child mind. A couch under the window became the doorway to other worlds of adventure and magic. It was there that the box set would come down from the top shelf and the world of Narnia exploded. It was there that A Wrinkle in time and A Swiftly Tilting Planet stretched my mind into other worlds.

At the beginning of the book (A Wrinkle in Time) , Meg is a homely, awkward, but loving girl, troubled by personal insecurities and her concern for her father, who has been missing for over a year.
 
The three Mrs. W's transport the children to Camazotz and instruct them to remain always in each other's company while on their quest for Mr. Murry. On Camazotz, all objects and places appear exactly alike because the whole planet must conform to the terrifying rhythmic pulsation of IT, a giant disembodied brain.
 
In the end, Mrs. Which tells her that she has one thing that IT does not have, and this will be her weapon against the evil. However, Meg must discover this weapon for herself. When standing in the presence of IT, Meg realizes what this is: her ability to love. Thus, by concentrating on her love for Charles Wallace, she is able to restore him to his true identity.  . The family joyously reunites.
*taken from sparknotes: http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/wrinkle/summary.html


I could relate to Meg. I felt homely, insecure, and weak at times. I didn't deal well with the divorce of my parents at such a young age. A Wrinkle in Time took me to a place that if I could only LOVE hard enough maybe my family would be joyously reunited. That wasn't the case, yet I could Wish on the Star and Believe.  Growing up I, like Meg, would run from the Terrifying IT. I would not conform to your rhythmic pulses. I have my own drum!

Have I become IT with my own children? At times I see the terrifying IT come out to play, yet maybe then is when I need to bring out the drums. Remind my body of it's unique rhythm and allow my children to march to their own tune.

My Aunt Julie gifted me with my own set of The Chronicles of Narnia and my Uncle Mark was the music in my mind while reading those books. He would walk through buildings and make harmonic sounds, he could pick up any instrument and play it. I loved listening to him just sit and play his guitar. The Faun of Narnia he was with a head of hair to match.
 
Try to tell me different. This is one enchanting couple!
 
 
 My Aunt Julie was always this beacon of light. She had a spinning wheel that sat in the corner of her apartment. I was taught how to comb the wool and spin it into yarn, yet when I spun it became yarn of gold and Rumplestiltskin was keeping me company.

Outside we could walk down the stairs and over the black lake of asphalt to a lonely wooden door. There is where three little girls would knock and from that knock two little nuns, adorned in their habits, would appear. "Please can we play with your ball?" They would smile and present the Red Rubber Ball from behind their robes granting us hours of play.

After awhile the knock was not needed. They would just be there waiting with the ball and a smile. I wonder if they looked forward to those three little girls knocking on the back convent door. Did they miss us when we no longer appeared?
Those little nuns were mysterious, magical and kind in the eyes of one little girl. I wish I could return to thank them again for the joy and wonder they brought to my days of littledom.

My kingdom of Littledom is fighting the IT. To not force the IT on myself or my children. At times it is a struggle and I feel as if I am going to split, yet below I will hold this vision and remember the little girl and remind her to keep clapping and BELIEVE.




Thursday, April 24, 2014

Revisiting a Layer

This is my very first Blog I have ever written. This is a journey for myself into my Art of Life Peeling. To always skin off the surface and seek what is true.

I will take this peel way back to the age of 5 or 6

You see there was this one Christmas....

                                                           

  An Amy Bags Christmas



Army had traveled far carrying many a loads. Loads for Strength, Hunger and Survival.
Through the dense jungles he struggled under the weight of lonliness and despair.
 Never did Army think he would be the bearer of a load so precious ~ Gifts.
Gifts to a little girl on a cold December morning.
 



Army was carried through the side door that day.
 
 
There she was ~ a little girl sitting in her pajamas. She turned in amazement and stood up reaching out to receive her biggest gift of the day.
Struggling to wrap her arms around to pull this gift into the room.
 
 
For you see
it wasn't the gifts within the bag that brought joy to the little girls eyes.
The Gift was the one who carried it's weight through the side door that wintery day.
 
 
The little girl looked her Gift in the eyes and said
"Merry Christmas Daddy - I Love You!"
 
 
 
 
 
 
This was a gift I made for my Father for Christmas 2011 and yes... Those pictures of the little girl is me and the last one of myself and my Dad.