Season 1, Episode 006: Mrs. Fantastic Kiss

season 1 of raconteuse radio

Guilliean reads three of her poems; read along with the poems while you’re listening!

Music: Happy by Orlas from ZapSplat.

Mrs. Bumblebee

Over cinnamon apple tea,
technicolor pictures galore,
she dreamed of her lover,
and so much more.
I was a starving artist,
oil streaked carnations, arm's reach.
I danced with peasants,
and ate with kings. 
The rustle of the quail song,
Pounding against the riverbed.
The opera of the nightingale,
to usher in a peaceful slumber. 
Tributes of the birds, the bees,
of emptiness and the trees,
and my lover's calls.
I spoke layman's words
but dreamt of a space
at the dais of the demagogue.
I used to scrawl carelessly,
painted his portrait a thousand times
- or maybe just his smile.
I cry out in my light sleep,
I tell that girl everyday,
asking why God had to have His way.
 One day the rain fell as thick as black oil,
as dark as my work-in-progress on the soil.
Asking him to stay, he faded away
A kiss of fog on a sunny day.
 I sketched him with my hands,
I sculpted the wound with my feet,
I molded the lust in vanilla beats.
In this rocking chair,
I mumbled into the night,
until the voices told me 
to take flight.
I stopped at this door,
craving to paint more,
of the lover I lost long ago.
 Over oatmeal cookies,
acrylic paint galore,
I lecture on my lover,
and so much more.

S’embrasser

Quand il m'embrasse,
je ne sais quoi faire.
J'entends les rouges-gorges chantons,
et la glace dans mon esprit se brise.
Je me sens meilleur quand il est prés,
et mon conte de fées est complet. 
When he kisses me,
I do not know what to do.
I hear the robins sing,
and the ice in my spirit breaks.
I feel best when he is near,
and my fairy tale is complete.

Déchirure dans la lumière fantastique, or Trip the Light Fantastic

Screaming into the wind / Silenced by the rush / That whips by the open window


Intrusive thoughts from the top down
Grandparent, parent, child, apo
Unable to unfold itself
With the snap of gods finger, the air calmed and
I was left with the scars on my skin
And the blood on the page.
With no explanation
No response to the questions that rips
Into the light fantastic.

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Guilliean Pacheco (she/her) is a writer and editor of Filipino heritage and the host of the City of Writers podcast. Her work has appeared in TechTarget, Nevada Humanities, and Helen: A Literary Magazine. She has an M.F.A. in Writing from the University of San Francisco and is an Anaphora Arts poetry fellow. She’s a misplaced California girl who lives in Las Vegas normally, if one could call living there normal, on Southern Paiute land. Follow her on Twitter.

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