Just Open Your Window

It quickens, it thickens, you can’t put it down now. It takes you, it shakes you,
it makes you lose your thought. ~ Cake

I yield to the limits of what
my basket can hold, strange musings

fierce regret, unaccountable joy.
Moved into prose with a calendar

flip. My desk clears, notebooks brim,
I realign my mornings to accomodate

a different muse. No brevity here,
I enter the sea, moved by the greater

currents. We say we have no power
yet we call the world into being

with every waking breath. Asleep
and sighing, we shake from certainty

into the deep magnetic i-don’t-know.
Carelessly or with intent, we use

our now to create. I follow my fingers
into a new world blinking, astonished.

Inspired by: Basket, Regret, Strange and Yield.

November is here, and I must yield to my #NaNoWriMo urgings once again. I’ll see y’all December 1st. Happy writing to all!

Enjoy some Cake! (You think she’s an open book but you don’t know which way to turn to, do you?)

Running Dishes

He let me know this spooky
dress-up costume Mommy sent
is not for me and so we leave
it in his bag. After all,
I’m going as a poem
in spite of his advice:
poems are not scary!
I grin and scribble more.
Shine a light on family
secrets, spark irate debate
from friends and huffy sighs
from lovers. In between
we sing a little star that
twinkles. He ad libs
verses of the shiny moon-
friend, cows jumping and
a rebel spoon. Sparks
winking in innocuous
rhymes all the time.

Inspired by: Irate, Light, Innocuous, Spooky and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt dress.

Hidden Karma

I plan to extricate myself
from this poisonous family
yet my immersion is total,
I’m accountable for all.
Like an unhappy city dweller
eyes fixed on the stars
certain that on Mars, there
is happy. I look around
unseeing eyes tell lies.
Earthbound earthling like
an eyelash longing to be free
of the source of all ills
apparently. I grab the axe
and chop so desperately
at surface roots. Ah,
will I never see
I am the tree?

Inspired by: Total, KarmaAccountable and Extricate.

Being Schooled

Lately these mornings as he runs
by, a flower cries.

They won’t let him
stop, he’s buckled into blacktop

rules. On the way to school
he mourns what is uncrushed

the perfect blossom lonely
in the morning rush.

Tomorrow he can come and
linger here, gather dew copious

like tears on his finger
near these blooms he knows

so well. I’ll give him room
a spell, re-membering, hearing

petals fall in ecstasy
being squeezed by one

so small. The exquisite pain
of love so grand

staining skin
absorbed in this tiny hand.

Inspired by: School, Copious, Crush and the phrase “A flower cried.”

White Men Keep Telling Me What To Do

“I do not like that man.  I must get to know him better.”~Abraham Lincoln
I
Their brand burns deep into my brain,
a forced filter to inform my knowing.

My life inscribed by words to the wise,
imbibing heady spirits they’ve poured

bypassing my heart. Seeing through glass
darkly with these prescripted eyes.

The lakeshore is vivid today only.
Golden-yellow gleams sun’s tribute.
Scarlet-orange carpets green.
Purple-mahogany deep drama.
Every tree a poem
deserving 1,000 new words.

No need to crowd
the lines of gawkers missing

by an hour because some bone-
head saving daylight sends

them into cubicle-cages
through the darkness

wealth-seekers know. Sliding
over my rough spots like butter

while I’m too tender to resist.
I absorb it, changed, make lists

of ways I can succeed. Until a friend
requests, tune in,

and suddenly I’m walking the devil’s
backbone and this is no place

for sleep. Every word I know a white
man’s barb into my flesh,

it only hurts when I begin
to pull away

and then, oh damn,
there is no easy way out.

II

Tree praise blazing
in the center of my
cultural lament.
It doesn’t fit.
Just like me
so glorious we stay.

Inspired by: List, Heady, Glass and Butter. and the Devil’s Backbone in Pine Hills Nature Preserve, a 100-foot-high stone ridge barely wide enough for the trail to cross.  (Photo courtesy of https://visitindiana.com/blog/index.php/2019/07/10/pine-hills-nature-preserve/)
Continue reading White Men Keep Telling Me What To Do

Everything is New

Do you heed that clear
voice denouncing your dealings?
Or does the world pull you past
all your feelings?

I slow here
in all my weird ways,
seeing true
as I enter the sacred
space of you.

I once ascribed to a
foundling theory, over-
whelmed by white male bluster.
Needing to scream, ahead of
my dreams.  I abandoned
my frass, called it survival, never
knowing how to thrive.

I could burst this bubble
with my embrace.
Just give me space
to duck under
where I know the roots
of our true love grow.

Inspired by: Bubble, Ascribe, Ahead, and Scream and Frass (Robert McFarlane’s Word of the Day: “frass” — the dust & refuse produced by boring insects as they tunnel into timber, leaf or stem. Figuratively, therefore, a writer’s rejectamenta; the words discarded in the process of composition (from the German fressen, to devour).

What Appears To Be

It is time to practice how to attune to the new reality that Gaia is preparing…See people awakening and walking their own paths towards the new.
The circle of humans that stand in the light of the new reality is larger and larger. Rejoice and give thanks.~Marko Pogačnik

In the ubiquity of fear and smear
of politics and media, oh,

we fall asleep standing right here,
declare we’re copacetic—cheer

thrilled as the festivities appear.
We forget that we are desperate

addicts, looking for a fix, oh,
we won’t call it that, hush, dear.

As Gaia makes this quantum leap
in her own evolution, the sphere

we are vibrates into light, oh,
breathe into us the words: all clear.

We’re fingers on the hand waving
into the mirror. We are love, oh,

look into our palm, life peer,
the lines are trails into the new.

The web we weave spinning, oh,
into the space appearing now.

Inspired by: Copacetic, Ubiquitous, DesperateFestivities and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, oh.  (The rules: Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.  And today it was sooooo hard not to edit.)