Burnt Out

My nose is cold
my fingers, they crackle
a fire burnt out
is too much to tackle

My lines are forgotten
my song, it falters
a melody learned
it too hard to alter

So... stillness becomes
companion, near friend
clock hands turning
'til emptiness ends

Duality

She sees right through me
with a practiced eye
and a knowing nod.

The power within her
pulses outward toward
my kneeling form
enveloping
the entirety of my
unease.

And just like that,
she swallows my discontent.

And though it catches in
her throat
and her
eyes bulge with effort,
she does not choke,
but smiles
as I stand
to save her.

Islands

Beautiful island in my soul
Can't find the shade,
Can't  stay here alone.

Tried to bring you with me
only to find,
you have your own
and can't live long on mine.

Passing by

walking along corridors
filled with colors
so rich with
smooth brown skin
enriched with pinpricks
heavy loads
cast upon
our backs

a momentary glance
eyes deep with
last night's echoes
tomorrow's false starts
on the edge
of revelation
shadowed by
apathy

a guarded look
unseen
shuffling past
faces lit
by miniature screens
connections
unrecquited
moving off
into the night

Funny how words that mean nothing also mean everything.

And so the seasons have turned and brought me back to the warmth of myself.
I am back beside healing waters and the sound of fresh tides wash across my path.

My new challenge? How do I incorporate the shrieks and cries of my babies and the pull for needed sustenance into the sacred arena of my mind's thinking space? Beyond dreaming of their existence, how do I incorporate dreams come true into the fabric of my fantasy?

Funny how I've resisted true writing practice, ritual writing practice, so caught up and caught back by the needed tasks of blogs expected.  Things I want to say and share, but not the exact direction of my thoughts, but still a good place. A good place for me to visit and rest among the warm vibes and good feeling and peaceful happiness.

Funny how words that mean nothing also mean everything.

Happiness...I can't touch it,
but I know when it touches me
ripples of its body rush toward me
in waves.
Sometimes, I ride above them,
wind in my hair.
other times, I dive beneath them
to the bottom
and though the weight of
the water threatens
to overcome me,
I feel myself
rising without effort
bursting through
gasping for air and
blinded by the sun.

What does it mean when I ask you to pray for me?

Awaiting tomorrow
A moment of weakness has
brought me to the brink of fear,

the place where I can feel
the uncertainty of life directly
beside me, directly before me

and some change is on the verge
of driving into
my consciousness.

I feel the weight of worry
the pressure of dreams
steadily descending

but, when I call out
and ask you to pray for me,
to lift me up in your consciousness
to share the power of
a lifetime of sunrises
with me--

It is only because
I still see a glistening beneath
the falling stone
and it is your light I see,
radiant and fresh.

When I ask you to pray
for me...
I won't tell you what
words to use.
Your language is unknown to me
but, I will feel the door
you open,
the slow hiss
of a new born wind
between the stone fissures.

I will be freed as I walk through
and your power
will continue to work its way
into granite and sandstone.

When I ask you to pray for me
I am not trying
to push you to your
knees.

No, but I can bow down
palms flat to the earth
breathing in the sweet scent of fresh
grasses
the taste of dirt and
dried leaves
and earthworms
filling my mouth.

When I ask you to pray for me...

I hope you will immerse yourself
in our world,
to smell it and feel it
and hold it with me...
to taste it and savor it.

Our strength combined stretches
across the cracks
and we can sing together
in silent reverence
repeating a wordless prayer
remembered,
recalled,
retrieved from our bones.

Lost Child

Out of the corner of my eye
I see you standing there
hair moving with the breeze
some stickiness from your last
snack on your soft cheeks

wafting across from there to here
I smell your oatmeal
and brown sugar scent

I can almost catch
the sound of your
breath,
light and even

 I reach out
to pull you close
and I find
my arms embracing
emptiness

Drifted

I have lost you to the world. It has taken you away and even though I was looking and ready to lock the gate against the assault of new ideas, louder voices, closer ties, I failed.

You have walked forward and into the dawning of the next phase. A momentary remembrance of the songs we once sang have stopped you from saying good bye, but I feel the words in the air.

Oh how I long to lure you back with a witty story, an outrageous joke or even pitiful tears...but I have lost my magic. There is no need to hold my hand...

it is too cold.

Covered

From within a well
of sweltering rage
I find my rhythm to
fly, feel, flow
forward.
I race up
but still
I falter,
sinking
down.

Trapped under
a blanket of despair
holding me in darkness
yet keeping iciness
at bay,
my soul is protected
from the frigid waters
of
indifference.

Painted Turtle

pausing
you rest upon
the damp,gray log
warming in
the sun
raising your head
sharing your serenity
open to my
gaze
but still
hidden
across the bog
beneath your shell

Our life

When the rain is falling
and the stones are wet

If the streets are crowded
with uneven squares

As the laces drag
off the edge
of my shoes

In the darkness
before the alarm

Pressing into sheets
enriched with your
scent

In the stillness before
first breath

I am held
by our life
together

We are held
together
by our life

Mother's Sorrow

Streaming from
eyes
remembering,
reliving

peace,
a wish
a hope
a dream

arms wrapped
soft lips pressed
to forehead
just once
more

part of me
gone from
seeking fingers
living in
my
soul

Unknowing

vacationing from myself
amidst the tangled pines
I found
an answer

soft brown needles littered
the earth
stripes of pale
pink
held my hands

frozen as the sun
fell from
my sky
I stood
head bent
breath held

knowing
entered parted
lips
and washed through
filling
spiraling downward
pushed back by
hesitation
rising up

free again
shaking off
my embrace
to flow
between shadowy branches
and midnight mist

and blowing away
on the evening
breeze
leaving me
perched on
uncertainty

Fragile Strength

Beneath dreams of feathered wings
Amid  hopes of shiny grandeur
Behind a shell of porcelain
encasing her mind,
small droplets gather.

Built upon by words unspoken
unbroken in spirit, free to roam
engulfed in thoughts alive with breath
standing on triumphs
perceived in repose


Sliding past skin lined with laughter
ever faster downward path
seeping in cracks slowly widening
burned by steaming fears
smoldering with devotion

Seeking Serenity

rounding the bend
my inner fragile girl
thrilled to the sound

peepers sliding up
through the mud
rejoicing in a frenzied
but even
rhythm
I could just barely
blink along
and my breath
could only
play low
accompanying chords
in answer
and still
a dream washed over me
cleansing
worries


Rounding the bend
curved wood dressed
stream
feeding their
spring mud
rang vigorously
singing along
silently
promising
cool
mists
quenching my
injured spirit

and then...
your rumbling motor
invaded my reverie
just as
I sensed
a serene
path ...

your squawking
request for direction
robbed
me of
mine

Aha

Upon the path to getting there
I'm up and down and
here and there and
often find that I don't care
enough

to take the mess you will unload
you speak
and then my head explodes
red hot with sparks
and no one knows
they'll sizzle
on
your dewy skin
and burn a hole
and let me
in
to see past
insecurity
to know
that you
are just
like
me

Aha!

Earth Hour 2011 Official video

Conviction

Wondering if
maybe
the twist
in my gut
is...
real.

Should I be
making
plans to
act on
these
convictions?

Who
cares
if
I
weep
for the
withering rose
wilting
on the
vine?

Big
deal
if I
gasp
at the flashing
image of
hungry
children
and
caged puppies?

What I feel
can fill
my soul,
but
it
won't
heal
gaping
wounds.


Gnawing
unease
strangles
my
breath.

Should I
stand
and shake
off
this
vice
of apathy
for all
of us?

And if
I should
do I
have enough
courage
to
raise a
clenched
fist
and
shout
as
loudly
as
I must?

If I
climb over
this
brown
muddy
earth

and scale the hillside
under a new day
will I find you
beside me

or
will
I
stand
alone?

I will take the nightwatch.

weary world
be still
rest a bit
I'll be here
when you wake

your face is lined
with the effort
of the burdens
you must
endure

your hands
they shake
from the toil

your feet
they crack
and bleed
upon the cliffs
you scale

relax your brow
let the darkness
fall
around you

put down
your tools
your weapons
your wares

I will take the night watch

soak your feet
in warm
southern seas

wrap yourself
in velvety
peace

let the song
of your
turmoil
slow
to
lullaby

sleep
dream of
tomorrow's
dawning joy.

Sustenance

Carrying a heavy bundle
sharpened sticks
scraped clean of
protective bark

ends rough
peeling, boring
into bare skin
shoulders
aching

basket filled
treasures grown
feather like buds
plucked waiting
balm

seeking water
three drops
one for thirst
another to cool
the last to cleanse
her steps

she walks past
barren fields
and fills
our bellies
with
hope

Tears Together

Awash in a salty
sea of unease
welcomed
reluctantly

reaching out
with empty hands
finding
easily

Dripping eaves
of regret
mothers
sidelined
by pain
soothing

disappointment
dreams erased
clinging closely
pushed away
finding

joy overwhelming
cleansing
miracles
one small
sound
easing
a night
of phantoms

singing through...
cracked voices
rise together
giving
missing pieces
taking
broken shards
of light

hold them
so close
they burn a
white hot
memory
of 
fresh winds
blowing through
hearts
newly
cleansed
ready
to move
forward
again

Windsong

Raging outside
in the darkness
of that starless sky,
you beckon
to me
pulling my eyes
from the page
searching for
form.

Knocking limbs
setting chimes
alive
tinkling
off key
bowing to your
displeasure
you twist
the day with
your
impulsive will.

A stand of
crooked pines
armed with
sharpened needles
breathe in your
barrage
expelling only
softness.

Watching
through my
protective lens
I cower
here
inside...

but plot
retaliatory
stillness.
.

Heart's Desire, Tush on fire

Before the screen
upon my tush,
psychobabble.

My brain
is mush,
slushing 'round inside
my head
gushing out
my ears.
Instead of sitting
here all day
my spirit hovers
waits to play
for me to say
enough
...
no more
times up
take
a break
shake my head

and make some
space
a place
to house
a fantasy
of riding off
 running free
beyond responsibility
past insecurity
to that home
meant for my feet
where I just
breathe
and feel the beat
no more gushy, mushy
bore
shake my tushy
'cross the floor

Navigation

Moving forward

sliding through

without

you beside

me.

Will I perish?

or...will

momentum

cut a new path

for my

soul?

The Road: Nick Cave and Warren Ellis

                                                                                                  

Cementing the Holes

turmoil within
stirs an empty belly
bubbling up with
discontent
wrought with sores
from overuse

breath held to
block out
the stink
of injustice, emphatic
disgust on the edge
of his words
on the tip of his

tongue cut free
from vile embrace
of unsavory rhetoric
laden without
words to
nourish
his wisdom

left to his own
devices
he rises up
unarmed but ready
to fight
blind yet hitting
the target
off center
still
piercing
front to
back

He kneels before
his audience
and peers through
the holes he has
torn in their
armor
gasping
he falls


standing free
behind
steaming platters
filled with relief
he sees the
backs
of his
sworn opponents
holding up
the people
offering them
cement to
plug up the
holes

Fireside

Warm heat pulls my brow
down for a relaxed
state of not
moving.

Thoughts free streaming
as I ease my soul
beside yours
and let it rock,
creak-thump.

Snow may pad
against pane
wrapping away our
freedom
we stay, letting
the fire burn low,
easing closer.

In the darkening
room
flames calm
to quiet smoldering
flowing embers
warming our faces
as our backs
chill.

We push
together.

Wordsmithing

I am the people’s poet;
I write rhymes.
I am the people’s poet;
I sing songs.
They sit around me and look
into my eyes and
they want to know
if I have the words that will serve up
salve for their souls.

Their souls…
that they would let me even begin
to touch the essence of spirit
that makes them divine and beyond
this world is mindboggling,
is pure power and joy that
could lift me higher to a new level of
glorious wordsmithing.
Yet without recognizing the
crookedness of my spine and
the weakness of my breath,
I can do nothing.
The magic lies in
the not noticing.
It is spun when the words
Flow
And I look at them later
And…find they move me
And weave back into my own experience.

Cradled

one or two
notes
is all that it takes
to slip, slide
ease me
into
this day

words unimportant
crooning alone
takes my soul
outward and onto
the floor
a lonely stringed
angel
reminds me to sing

and sinew and marrow
react, contract, give back
to my pain
release every bubble
caught in the cracks
snapping
popping
whopping
whooping, tapping
rapping

free as wood
strikes
and pulls me back in
to my being
my self
take my skin

off that shelf...
leave regret in its place
wrap it 'round where
the cold has seeped
and let it keep
me in

cradled
smooth cheek
rough feet
lined brow
held now
whirling
free in
me

Hand over Hand

Despite the best of intentions and efforts, hierarchies and pecking orders can invade the consciousness of even the most fair-minded love slingers. When caught up in the rungs of this type of ladder it is easy to lose sight of the hands that grasp tightly to the rungs in order to both keep the body steady and pull it up to the next level, but they are there. They grip tightly and beg to be attended to with healing salves and comforting massage therapy. They scream out with the effort of the climb and the simple steady leveling that defines their existence.
Though some proclaim their arrival at the highest rung and look upon the view in wonder, those beneath continue to climb. Though the soles of those allowed to pass while hands paused to soak and soften, warm and wash… though those souls may rest upon the rung beside delicate fingers, they haven’t the power to destroy. One cannot crush another. The rung furthest down is just as round and smooth, and the cedar smell of the wood from which it was carved fills the nostrils of all poised upon the ladder. In the light of the day, after the briefest of nights, the ladder becomes a wheel and the soul atop soon climbs again at the turn of the corner. Turning corners is hard work. It requires a loosened grip and a moment of unbalanced dangling, as bare feet find their way amidst many seeking fingers.

New Year's Day

In planning for just past today
the now, the this,
the games to play.

I look upon my velvet box a
dream of more of
something lost...
of sitting still
of being me
of understanding
who I'll be.

Taking hold and singing songs
matching wits
with butterflies
and catching dreams
just flitting by.

Holding back to meet
the sky
making sundaes,
drinking wine.

And I'll resolve for
something new
to clasp my hand
and pull me through
the roughness that might overpower
and knock me down hour
by hour
Rushing on to meet the day
when dust to dust
I've gone away.