Garden of the Gods

When I read the email interdict
something finally clicked.
Forbid me to meet and laugh
and tease, deny as frivolous
conviviality on which the soul feeds?
The pressure’s on to be
a callous cog
on the ruthless wheel
building the soulless world.
We’re trained we must not be
the being bursting
with creativity. No, we must
bow to the needs of survival–
pay the bill to stream
carefully crafted scenes
the only way our soul can feed.
Today I sing my own decree,
follow my intuitive nudges
dance with my grumbling grudges
and dreams about how it should
be–the shoulds that keep me
blind and deaf. The music’s
now! These groaning trees,
this patch of snow, the bit
of blue and white as the gray
grows to include a vastness
cursory glances ignore.
And I embrace poetry
and warm gazes, holding
hands and awkward hugs,
invitations unfolding
and when I can’t be with you,
I’ll be with me, glorious
wild woman spinning free.

Inspired by: Convivial, Frivolous, Pressure and Can’t. and this soul-food photo from an earlier time, a hike in Garden of the Gods, near Manitou Springs, Colorado.

Soundcloud recording here.

Someday I’ll Wish

When man up is extinct
and we escape the patriarchal
clinch, embrace instead
what’s rarely said in macho
bravos–lunatic fringe
simply a piece of our
extended tapestry–in short,
when we appear just as we
are, with deep respect
(the long neglect of hope
suspect when we must always
correct some fault that’s deep
within our ancestry) when
that day is here
I declare
the evolutionary leap
the shift is in the air
we breathe and suddenly
we see the edgy intricacy
of our imperfect beauty
simplicity when we
bowing, stunned, aware
there is no better you
the one that we receive
and care, unplumbed
perfection when we dare
admit the hidden pieces
the critic sighs,
looses and releases.

Inspired by: Rarely, Extinct, Hope, Clinch and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Man Up, the last movie I saw.  Once again, the demand to create a stream of consciousness post stretched me beyond my comfort zone.  And I’m glad!

Soundcloud recording here.

Medicine Bag

For E, choosing high school soon.

On the brink of this vast
wonderland, hurray resounds
off the cliffs of middle
school, where you’ve been
humming as you grow.
This tall man’s body you
inhabit with all the melodies
of childhood still alive
vibrating chords you can pluck
at will. I celebrate
your strength, tap your shoulder
to show your lineage,
this wave of life that thrums
to live in you, through you.
I offer crystals to support
your journey, grounding your
utter brilliance as you
navigate the openings,
releasing the false tones
to settle into your own instrument
finely tuned. You take your place
in the exquisite symphony.
Your voice is exactly
what we need to hear.
The song you are
magical and clear,
resonating into the musical
planet. Touched, changed,
we rejoice your being.

Inspired by False, Wonderland, Vast and Hurray.

Listen to this on soundcloud here.

Money For Old Rope

The path to crisis is boulder-
strewn difficult. One must
strenuously avoid the
temptation to do nothing–
that is, they say, when evil
triumphs. Beware any
chance to sit in silence
clear the inner murmuration
of starling-thoughts flying
intricate patterns of karmic
misperceptions. Try and try
again! Do! Move like a murder
of crows as the tempest
feeds on your panicked
activity. Onward, to the
breaking point! Trouble looms
and brewers, we foment
with such good intent, and yet,
our trajectile initiates from
hate, the very rules we seek
to dismantle. This is more than
we can handle.

We set down
the old-world tools
curious, unsighted
to receive what now
has newly lighted.

Inspired by: Triumph, Crisis, Nothing, Temptation and this photo taken in 1890 of my great-great grandfather visiting his son in Colorado.  Do we carry the old ways in our genes, or do they carry us on a wave of preconceptions?

Soundcloud recording here.

Grove Child

It’s important to keep drawing attention to the way we’re being manipulated out of having any control over not just what happens in our world, but over what we think about what happens in our world.~Caitlin Johnstone 

As a child, I knew one and one
is more than two. Objective science
impossibility, how can we
subtract ourselves from any
equation? Daffy ideas, and foolish
notions, separation presented as fact,
emotions denied, some caprice of robotic
will drummed into me, drumming me still.
As if an unsound tangent took the place
of integrated, syncopated pace
that I could see and feel and trace
in roots and branches, leaves
the grove in which I bathed perceives
me, dissected and inspected
enslaved by depraved systems
which I ought to imitate
for a good grade, abandoning
my precious glade. Urged to behave
while all around me science dug
its unearthly grave. A circling
pattern of thoughts inserted
and my young self perverted
until we arrive today.
That story no longer holds sway.
We see we are complete, as obvious
lies crumble at our rooted feet.
And here we compost this rich soil
with our collective intentions,
the cosmos glimpsed as we uncoil
poised for this evolutionary leap
waking from cultured hypnotic sleep.

Inspired by: Tangent, Daffy, Complete and  Caprice.

Soundcloud recording here.

To Thrive

How many problems spiraled from your inability to just address one?~Kiara

Like a gazelle, I learned to stot
a purely panicked duck-the-swat
out of my body into space far
from the threatening face,
the brandished fist, the full-
court press–you get the gist.
The body that I left behind
stationary, cold, the world unkind,
digested what it could, the rest
fragmented in traumatic mess.
Guess what? I’m back
right in my base. On track
I root, devoted diligence,
explore the soil of my essence.
Survival tactics I applaud
sheer intelligence–I’m awed.
What led me here alive
bequeathed, I now release
to thrive I sit and breathe.

Inspired by: Gazelle, Press, StationaryBrandish and last night’s sunset.

Soundcloud recording here.

In The New

Winds of change are in the air
so I’ve cut my hair. The long

days of witch-braids are done.
It’s time to have some fun,

a flirty swinging bob.
This new heartthrob

left silver ringlets on the cutting floor.
Shhh. Hear me roar.

A quadrille (44 words) written for #94 Roaring In The New–a prompt with perfect timing as I celebrate my new ‘do.

Soundcloud recording here.