Red sky at morning, a fleeting warning
just as I see my wealth is aborning
if only, my coach exhorts, comfort zone
abort. I’m content where I abide, home
at last, solitude the gift I treasure
back in my wanton body, feel pleasure
where the narrative can’t encroach I sing
reality without reproach. Poise rings
with tuning forks. My feathered friends rely
on my largesse, teach me the sky. They fly
into the city wilderness. Sun’s touch
caresses as I loosen beliefs’ clutch.
Inspired by: Wanton, Encroach, Content and Abide.
Making practical use of invisible bridges.~J. Allen Boone
You need to acknowledge that a prime aspect of existence is non-material.~Jon Rappoport
When the sky lightens, my friendly heart wakes
to a song the rain taps. I celebrate
each breath, blowing the trepidation past
as now congeals. What longs for healing casts
shadows, embroils low and wallows in shame
or fights with dragons I’ve resolved to tame.
Each tangled knot presents and common sense
and experience reveal the pretense.
Invisible bridges beckon me. Birds
at the feeders, blooming peace lily, words
that mask what’s real. Responsive mirrors show
our intricate kinship ever aglow.
Inspired by: Life, Celebrate, Trepidation, Congeal and Kinship With All Life by J. Allen Boone.
Featured image: Waipoo Falls, Waimea Canyon, Kauai.
The full moon pulls me out of sleep. Last night
I knew, but strange dreams changed me–sleight
of hands, focus anew. I would avouch
reality flew the coop. On the couch
in the dark, blinds closed to urban display
the new tempo of city life at bay–
though my new place is quiet, energy
is loud, for crowds whose electricity
unclaimed plunges, grunge humming stealthily.
I ground in silence, balance tacitly
cleaning self-evident, claiming my space
informed by stars and earth, living in grace.
Inspired by: Tempo, Grunge and Avouch.
Imagine all the fun you’ll have in your old rockin’ chair. Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.~Guy Lombardo
At sunrise I fling open the blinds, view
the feeders and bare branches–just a few
red leaves still fluttering. A chickadee
might sing soon, a prelude customary
in my new space. Ataraxia grace
in a rocking chair framed by green plants placed
in a way to convey how I’ve escaped
the ungainly beliefs others might drape
heavy across their shoulders, masked and stooped
under the weight of foundations built, duped
and buying in to the false premises
such costly economic messages
destroying peace of mind in this psy-op
slyly leveraging–over the top–
human compassion for a straw man claim
designed to spin our wheels and seem insane.
Inspired by: Ungainly, Customary, Ataraxia and Prelude. And this amazing interview of Kelly Brogan. I absolutely love her response starting at 1:03; it sums up almost every conversation I have these days.
My star-studded skies, celestial guides
and deep-rooted loves from the afterlife
send sweet feathered beings. Swift flight shadows
flicker and I stare into sun, transpose–
all these fluttering winged celebrations
demand I shift: my new elevation,
the cornucopia seed-laden, glare
upon the window–I am blinded there.
The workmen yesterday left dust in drifts
like unexpected unintended gifts
the sun reveals. Smears left so cavalier
their mess coalesced at sunrise appears
Inspired by: Cavalier, Afterlife, Cornucopia and Coalesce.
Featured photo by Chris. (I will need to clean my windows before I can take a shot like this!)