Off The Grid

And when God gave out rhythm, he sure was good to you.~Michael Franks

We land on the porch
chairs all lined in a row
enraptured by the
pulchritudinous show.
She’s a great beauty,
riveting, rowdy.
She rumbles in low-voiced
black and storm-cloudy.
The afternoon plans, the park
and the beach are suddenly
cold wet and plumb out of reach.
Her raspy voice jitters,
her light play entrances.
We watch her whip waves
in her white-water dances.
And then in the evening,
the calm seeps back slow.
A sun-kissed goodnight
lingers, breaking time’s flow.
What a day this has been!
Not a show, not a tweet,
computers are down, and
the living is sweet.

Inspired by: Raspy, Riveting, Rowdy, Pulchritudinous, yet another amazing sunset and Michael Franks’ song Popsicle Toes, which was my first introduction to the word pulchritude.


Here We Are To Save The Day!

This opulent planet stripped of her
finery, species dying unmourned and

unremarked, surely transcending
to the next dimension. God knows

what reports they’ll give — most
likely, block the doors, the humans

are killing machines! Our eventual
arrival delayed by these harsh

and sinister forces who keep
us distracted from the starry skies

locked into time and space with
this electronic glitter and cold

glass marbles we toy with.
Dazed and shaken by this

unrelenting greed, we meekly
accept our masters. Waiting

for some savior, just as we’re
instructed. Look up! This

lunar eclipse celebrates the star-
dust we are, deep space dance

truer than any Googled fact
or live-streamed story.

Break the spell. We call each
other’s true names and pull

our fingers from the pulsing
keys that lock our brains

and zap our spirit. Coming
to life at last, we burst

into now, hoping
it’s not too late.

Inspired by: Shake, Marble, Eventual and Opulent and the fairy tales that instruct us to sit back and wait to be saved.

Play The Wind

I can’t help but whistle

this morning, surrounded by

cheer.  It’s cool and clear,

the symphony inviting.

If it were simply a song

sparrow or a quail, I would

echo and mimic, a duet

of sorts, but this hour

is atwitter and cheeps and

liquid trills rise blended by

surely some unseen conductor.

My morning embouchure opens

a high range so pleasing

to my ears, I feel my way

into the mix with short bursts

of goodwill and heart

listening.  Filling this opening

and then the response.

The goldfinch keeps feeding

and the cedar waxwing

preens until I miss

the subtle shifts and changes,

grabbing the mike for a solo

that takes so much space

the song moves to the tall

branches.  I lost the connection

seizing the melody in my joy

—I’m back in the band, man!

How to screw up your audition:

play an amazing solo

get lost in your own tune,

flowing so bright and thrilling

that you lose your ear

for what supports you.

Even when I raise my face

project my jocular tones

to the leafy trees,

this is a serious matter,

singing tree spirits

and sky wisdom.

Silence as they wing

to the wind.  I’m alone again

with paper and pen and

a resonant longing to fit in.

Inspired by: Whistle, Jocular, Project and Wind and the SoCS prompt to write instructions as a stream of consciousness, no editing.

Tuning In

Listen: There are dark forces intent
on ravaging the planet with robotic

rule, insisting that only forever
wars guarantee the easy life,

blaring constant propaganda:
you are alone and useless,

there is nothing you can say or do
to make a difference.  Sit in thrall

to the airwaves cacophony
of fear and grief and terror.

And the still truth is:
you are a self-

aware fractal of the whole.
Every love you make and

every kindness, every space
you create ripples through the waters

of our interconnected being
and wakes us to our true calling.

Open wide.

Sit deep.

Tuning like musical medicine
we find the superior resonance

wax poetic in our
leisurely hike through ancestral

glades sunlit by glory.
We dance through the darkened

valleys, uniquely original
as we finally find

the brave deep heart
harmony to sing our part.

Inspired by: Superior, Poetic, Hike and Original.

Just You Call, I’ll Hear

My body ignored for too long

the stresses lies cause

all the undigested trauma

roiling in my guts. In solitude

I sit and listen for the

ephemeral clues that beckon

me to balance. But it is

in connection that we thrive

our hive mind, ancestral skies,

the soul field buzzing.

My nervous system reaches

out to yours, stroking,

enlivening and tangled.

Spinning in this elegance

in a cosmic dance so vast

we close the astronomy

book in fear, jeer at the

zodiac. Huddled in our corner

alive in our butterfly flit.

Bursting from the cocoon

we think we’re all that.

Clueless fliers supported by

white clouds dancing overhead

ground tremors

and the whirl of infinite

multiverses, our microcosmic

selves the key. We open

our unique locks and enter

the pure song we’ve always been.

Inspired by: Ephemeral, Alive and Solitude/solitary and United We Stand by Tony Hiller and Peter Simon, performed by The Brotherhood of Man.

A Bloody Mess

Taking in negative energies becomes a toxin in the body of the empath.  Close the windows, close the front door and the back door.  Close the cellar door.  And when someone knocks at the door, you take a look before you open.~Tom Kenyon, The Great Shift.

The global hive mind buzzes me
through elaborate illusions.
I have no match, and yet I burn

Unbridged, the agony before me
beckons. How can I reach for these

parts of myself, so long disowned?
The path of healing threatens
the careful facade of my bleeding
relations. I bleed for them.

They bleed through me.
Life wants to live and so I enter
the unfamiliar territory and shout
my sovereign no. We are condemned

by habit to pick at the guts
splattered on the road, frantic
fluttering as each engine roars
into our space. Returning again

and again to worry at the remains.
The empath is born of cruelty and
lies, feeling the dissonance
in her bones, sifting through the noise

for right rhythm in this sick
energetic cacophony.
Sound heart and a mind called mad
by those who would control it.

The slam of closing doors
and windows to this toxic world–
I writhe and shudder at the sound.
After all, I’m here to save it.
Another lie: I’m here to save

myself, to utter my truth and right
the only imbalance I command:
my own essential voice in this
symphony of we.


How Deep It Goes

“Deep inside believing that the hungry world won’t find you.”~Ann Wilson

Rare lake of bubbling lava discovered on remote Antartic island.

In the frozen south seethes
a volcanic lake, remote and

inexplicable.  The stats show
it anomaly and yet, I bet

within me, the same
unclaimed, unthinkable in

this orgulous grownup
silverhaired and wrinkled

covert and sly.
In my early morning sitting,

I feel into the inaccessible
places I cannot claim,

surprised by their existence
off the tranquil maps of me.

The places where very young
beings howl forgotten.

I do not know which activation
bursts my grandson’s frown,

I am so angry with you, Bibi!

I meet his eyes with a gasp
of joy and jolly him along.

Where do you feel it, in your tummy?
In your heart?
In your arm?
Is it stuck?

Move it, let it flow!
We leap into the air,
swing our limbs.

Later, I welcome
the parts of me finally

dislodged, emerging like
a song of my becoming.

Inspired by: Jolly, Activation, Stats and Orgulous.  The title is from Heart’s song.