The Seldom-Opened Cupboard

Category: Humorous Prose

Journal: The Post-It Note Passages

Date: 9-18-2011

The Seldom-Opened Cupboard

by Felina Lune Kavi

"What's this?" Michael wondered.

We realized if he didn't know what mystery food was lurking within the Quik Trip sack above the microwave, nobody would. This may have been hidden for quite some time. The cupboard was embarrassingly inconvenient to short people; a clever concealer for the treasures of a giant.

Both of us grimaced at the thought of it.

I uttered an involuntary "Ewwwww!" toward the sack.

He grabbed it, carefully, as it could have contained a slumbering monster for all he could remember.

"Ew, indeed." He agreed as he fondled the sack. "I think it was some kind of...donut thing." He offered as an apologetic suggestion.

"Gross!" I cringed with disapproval and astonishment. I couldn't help but cover my mouth and back away in horror, as if the decaying donut creature would hurl itself out of the sack and into my gaping mouth.

"This can't be good." He stated the obvious as he pondered his next course of action.

"That's probably been there forever!" I laughed nervously. "What the heck is it?! It had to have been yours!"

"I don't know. Donuts...maybe? Or a cookie and sumthin?" He brought it to the trash to put it out of its misery.

Hovering over the opened can like a ghost with a message for the man who killed him, the mystery begged us to be solved.

My husband looked to me. "Do I do it?"

"Ugh...I guess." I admitted. "I kinda want to know what's in there."

He opened it quickly, like a band-aid pulling hairs all at once.

I gave him a moment while he gazed into the sack in disgust.

I, too, peered into the plastic abyss, like a passerby at the scene of a crime she had no fault in. The white, sticky ooze of an iced chocolate donut had mated with a mushy old bearclaw in captivity and created a disgusting bastard of a deformed pastry.

"Ewwwww!" We both vomited out the word in unison as we simultaneously smelled the aged, doughy consummation in which it was left to stew.

He quickly wrapped it back up and dumped it in the trash, hoping that would be the end of that nightmare. But a wife becomes a master at poking at her husband's follies, and I was not to be denied a chance to voice my deductions once discovered.

"You hid it up there so no one would find it and then you forgot it!" I mocked triumphantly. "You ARE a Squirrel!"

And so it was that my husband's Squirrel Totem had taught him a valuable lesson.

Mumbly Joe and Ramblin' Rose

I had to search for this poem last night to read to my husband because when he said 'I love you too' as we were about to sleep, it sounded like he said 'my feet'...which wasn't even close. He's kind of a mumbler at times. And...I'm kind of a rambler at times. I wrote this poem for no particular reason (at the time)...but when I read it to my husband last night (actually very early in the morning of this, our 2nd anniversary)...we realized I was writing about us before we were even an 'us'. ;)

Category: Soul-of-Thought Revival

Journal: *VOICE* ("unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought")

Date: 3-27-2005

mumbly joe and ramblin' rose...

by Felina Lune Kavi

mumbly joe,
as the story goes,
has humbly mumbled
little more than hello
to his childhood sweetheart,
ramblin' rose--
since she broke his spirit
all those years ago.

old mumbly joe
wasn't much for a show,
let alone for conversation...
he didn't want to seem slow.
he'd just mumble one-liners,
hoping no one would know
he was a little bit odd
and his voice was too low.

but that ramblin' rose
wouldn't just let it go
that he was incomprehensible
even at his hello.
and she had a strange affinity
for letting people know
their particular problems
before they have time to say no.

he fell in love with her though,
wouldn't just let her go
because of misunderstanding
from a ramblin' rose.
so he mustered all his courage
and said i love you to rose,
crystal clear he thought,
since he said it really slow.

but miss ramblin' rose
just wrinkled her nose
and let go with a laugh
like he'd told her a joke.
then she rambled on projection
in her usual monotone,
and she rambled on articulation
so joe just headed home, alone.

and that mumbly joe,
as he had always been known,
never told a soul all these years
about old ramblin' rose.
yet it was common knowledge,
after rose had a stroke,
that her last discernable words
were 'i love mumbly joe.'

still nobody told
old mumbly joe,
they all figured he died
a long time ago.
but his legend still lives
in a story that grows
just as tall and as windin'
as a ramblin' rose.

Catching Consciousness

Category: Soul-of-Thought Revival/ Recycled Visions

Journal: Dream Journal

Dates: 4-7-11 and 1-2-07

Catching Consciousness

by Felina Lune Kavi

4-7-11

My subconscious is a vast body of water. It contains everything I know and everything yet to be imagined. Sometimes knowledge is buried deep...and sometimes it resurfaces, again and again, taking concrete form and creating new images.

Other times it evaporates into the clouds of memory, then falls upon me so that I might catch it before it drops into that sea of mystery. When I retain enough of it, it pools in my hands and flows from my fingertips so that I may record it in writing and voice it in truth.

But while I am sleeping...everything freezes...and dreams fall upon me like snowflakes. Intricate knowledge contained in delicate form. As one closes in, I can see the unique beauty of that watery messenger, closer and closer still...until I am awakened.

Upon awakening, the dream dissolves into the warm whites of my opened eyes. The momentary crystals melt again into the mystery of my subconscious sea.

Dreams in Snowflakes

by Felina Lune Kavi

1-2-07

closing in,

yesterday's images recycled

into clear crystal intricacy

like snowflakes falling

into eyes.

where there is no asleep

and no awake,

the time is fixed

on revealing answers sought

in depth.

closer still,

one perfect story

told in riddles

and seen in phrases

cold as ice.

see it frozen,

see it falling,

know exactly what it means.

watch the wonder,

watch the candor,

cold and clear before your eyes.

just as soon as the answer hits,

the eyes awaken in a flash.

the snowflake dream

falls into warm whites,

melts away like memory...

what was found is lost.

States of Alyrica: From Seed to Sprout

Category: Recycled Poetry/Variations on a Theme

Journal: Earth Mother

Dates: 2005-2007, 2011

States of Alyrica: In the Womb

by Felina Lune Kavi

11-7-05

muffled music

of a world outside

where voices connect

and bodies touch.

there is something beyond

the comfort of these walls.

there is something

outside of myself.

tangled noises,

mangled in mystery,

disturb the peace

but awaken the mind.

there is everything else

besides what is here.

there is everything

waiting for me.

Baby Hands

by Felina Lune Kavi

5-16-06

these are my hands.

when i was a newborn,

Grandma warned Mom

i would scratch my face

with these nails.

Mom and Dad dressed me

in pink and purple potato-sacks

with built-in mittens.

i didn't see these things

for a while

unless i was naked or bathing.

later i grew out of those clothes

and was introduced

to mittenless shirts

and footless pants,

and re-introduced to these hands

and those feet.

they're wiggly and free

and i watch and wonder

at them.

now i can

pull out a pacifier,

hold on to a finger,

pet a kitty,

fit a fist in my mouth,

and grasp a spit-rag

like i can grasp

the significance

of why i have

these hands.

Daughter

by Felina Lune Kavi

4-10-07

like my own parents,

your father and i

will give everything we have

for you to grow happy, healthy, and sound--

rise up from solid ground.

give you everything you need

to know the beat of your own drum

and walk with pride from where you've come

toward choices we can't even predict.

no matter what,

i fear you are your mother's daughter.

no matter what,

the possibility is there

that you will reject these things we give

and live like tomorrow has no promise

like foundations can't be trusted

and good intentions misunderstand you.

your hands are like mine,

searching the scenery

for those things you're not allowed to have--

like mysteries

my parents kept hidden from my knowledge,

too young to understand

the complexity of protection.

you want to taste the world

with your own tongue--

placing unknown objects in your mouth,

though some are far too big to swallow.

and i swoop in with a panic--

pushing fingers through pursed lips,

gripping the danger from your teeth

while you bite the hand that feeds you.

and i finally understand

how my own parents

could stomach my angry resentment

and the words that meant to bite...

when i would fight against

a sheltered life.

no matter what,

like my own parents,

your father and i

will fight whatever fight

to keep you alive.

She Strikes the Seventh, Smiling Sweetly

by Felina Lune Kavi

4-3-11

Such a sensible soul,

But a strange one too…

Smiling sweetly as she strikes the seventh.

Lyra, Lyra…

Quite contrary…

Blooming wild, but up toward the heavens.

Little Raven girl

Always talking now…

Singing pictures and asking the answers.

Such pure wisdom

Disguised playfully…

Sacred stone in the heart of a dancer.

She loves the world,

And she means it too…

Because no one has ever betrayed her.

Still she embraces life

As free as it comes…

Saving all the hard lessons for later.