All The World’s A Stage

The West symbolizes the moving of ignorance to wisdom. Sometimes called the “little death”, West asks us to put away our childish ways and evolve to become our most sage ‘self’.~Spirit Animals.

With all this din, suppose you get a word
in, a zephyr wind exposing terrain
hidden in plain sight, an insistent bird
in leafy branches.  Evidence you’re sane

when suddenly exposed:  the world’s a stage.
Did you forget?  Laugh at the cosmic joke
with people so lost in their roles, enraged
and triggered, spinning in somebody’s smoke

and mirrors.  Now see what the lights reveal—
—we blink, perplexed.  A moment’s pause and when
the theater is clear—the truth, what’s real.
Our hearts on fire, our souls take up the pen.

Inspired by: Suppose, Terrain, Din and Zephyr.

Weavers Gather

Weavers gather in the spurious storm
independent individuals bring
insightful empathy.  We create form
with wizardry. Touching each wound, we sing

not to replace; we’re casting the net wide
beyond the times and spaces where we live.
We’re hurling brand new stars into our skies
resolving that each fractal, reclaimed, gives

this power to the races trained to lie
in abject servitude.  Wake and be strange.
Meander in the woodsy places.  Fly
with dragons.  Overnight the planet’s changed.

Inspired by: Spurious, Independent, Woodsy and Replace.

Imagine That!

Imagination is the often-forgotten force in the core of the human being. Our problems, at the core, exist only because we have “misplaced an infinity.”~Jon Rappoport*

Sharp September early wrapped in fleece
I remember waiting for the sun.  At peace,
eclectic ways to feel into

electric body riveting, pivoting
now, well met, fast-moving clouds!
My travail allows inspection

of the golden-gleamed horizon.
Sipping coffee slow and warm
my morning bluejays warn poignant

and pointed.  Even serenity
is a star poking into absurd
totalitarian measures.  I don’t partake.

That brand of Koolaid just tastes
fake.  I see the stain all around
your panicked eyes, gone: smiles or frowns.

Succumb and lose identity, masked
and frail, breath denied.  Sometimes
it seems a dream.  I thought there were many

more alive, but I see drones
apologetic and rueful, cowed,
reading posted rules.  Now what’s allowed?

I remember waiting for the light
in months like these.  Now I simply bring
myself, sovereign alive sparking love

and curiosity.  There’s no masked
stranger staring in my mirror. Look at me
model how common sense

walks the world.  Freely breathe.
I don’t always have to rhyme.
Sun now appears and I step out of time.

Inspired by: Serenity, Riveting, Eclectic, Travail and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Sharp and Exit From The Matrix*, a life-changing imagination course by Jon Rappoport that I highly, highly recommend.

While The Blossoms Still Cling

Today sitting with a soupçon of hope
the kind that wraps around like smoke designed
to bypass all the doors I’ve firmly closed,
I glimpse into present.  Now is just fine

so why do I worry and project doom?
Scare tactics I created to survive
come crashing down.  Good riddance.  I make room
for new insights upon which I will thrive.

Listen, as all the old systems crumble,
detox, deterge, release.  Weep if you must.
Illusions we’ve anchored life on tumble
leaving us free.  Imagine limitless.

Inspired by: Deterge, Design, Survive and Soupçon.

Featured image is a Rose of Sharon juxtaposing old withered petals, new vibrant blooms and bursting red buds. How nature brings the exact lesson I need!

Title is from a folk song I still love to play and sing: Today by Randy Sparks.

Consciousness Rising

Now that more of society awake
shadowy explorations undertake

the gaping wounds and skeletons in sight
seething anger and grief patchwork the fright

No, I don’t stand aloof and classify
the consciousness rising before we die

I’ve spent last decade wrestling the dark
to claim my pieces beautiful and stark

and stand empowered as energy flows
this is the messy way every joy goes

hand in hand with each long-buried fragment
we consult our own treasure map, lament

frustrated til we let all judgments go
kaleidoscopes of being finally show

at last we find our wholeness, shame release
and love ourselves just as we are, at peace.

***

Inspired by: Classify, Aloof, Frustrate and Shadowy Explorations.

A big BOO to WordPress today. I couldn’t format these lines into quatrains or couplets–until Brian showed me how. Thank you, fellow bloggers, for helping us all in this, our hour of need.

Still unsolved: And the italics button disappeared each time I selected text for it.

Beloved Sage

In the shower a long line of silver-
haired stunningly fierce missing faces.  Clear
this week for an ancient karmic river
with a window in time to enter here

if you’ll receive your distant missing parts
to meet, to dance, legacy integrate.
And I’m all in, this slow allow as hearts
sincerely no longer insinuate.

Reminded, tales entrance, means of control
differed each time, still, locked up and caged
and on through the ages. Once writ on scrolls,
the story’s old, alive.  Well met, dear sage.

Inspired by: Reminded, Missing, Legacy and Insinuate.

All Around Me

“There’s a light in the depths of your darkness. Let it shine, oh, let it shine.”~Dan Fogelberg

My wanderlust now craves sanctuary
a quiet place to imagine and write
rooted not with things but feeling airy
among trees while safe to travel by night.

Star-sung cottage where locals know I might
ameliorate mysterious ills
bring the murky causes into the light
so they can vanquish if they feel it will

compose a song in a key of life more
suited for well. The longer I dwell on
this scene, solitary, rich, music pours
out, unseen, tremendous and it swells on

the invisible waves, touches knowing
fields, informs and shares, updating files of
joy. There is a boy who comes to play, sings
with open heart, my homelessness miles off

and never really real at all. Powers
that be apportion a reality.
I turn away.  Praise miracle showers,
grounding and learning receptivity.

Inspired by: Longer, Vanquish, Ameliorate and Wanderlust.

And greetings from the west in a song that I really loved to sing along with Dan Fogelberg, whose birthday was 13 August. At the end of the song, he takes off his guitar in joyous exhaustion, the crowd roars appreciation, and we all let it shine.

And so much gratitude to incredible friends whose kindness ameliorates my homelessness.

You Can Call It Another Lonely Day

Tell me why, everything’s turned around.  Open up, everything’s waiting for you.  You can go your own way.~Lindsay Buckingham

The bluejay is telling us something
I’m oblivious with this warm bagel
and buttery ghee drips from lips
fingers I’ve switched the pen and it’s slow

like chittering cicadas waking to sun.
We regroup, come clean into center
as each illusion dies.
I’m not judging your looking outward

for guidance, following directives
you’ve been taught since childhood
by the ringing bells and hard-bottomed
chairs someone always knows better.

Speak up and wear a dunce cap
in the corner. What’s the opposite
of self-righteous? Maybe humble.
You’ve abandoned common sense,

where I live, but I’m no martyr.
Your path stretches out like the corridor
of cows led to the slaughter, signs
to keep you comfortable and competent

to walk in step with what’s expected.
Coloring inside the lines
never questioning
who thought up the picture

you’re drawn into.
Daring to ask
for a new shade of blue.
What you create is all on you.

Inspired by: Martyr.  Written in response to the dversepoets prompt to write a stream of consciousness poem.  

Featured image: a tiny exquisite wild snapdragon that pushed through a very thick layer of mulch.

Seeing The Miracle

I drag despondent patterns outside sleep-
less under a benevolent sky. Why
do I cringe to harvest what’s planted deep
in the mindset I’ve cultivated? My

creations snug under this existence
laborious and weighted cogs–I pause
to rescue a frog who distrusts my dense
clumsiness, each attempt shows gaping maws.

He declines a frisbee, boogy board, net
at my behest, unwilling guest, each trap
a miracle perceived as certain death.
And how am I the same? Plucked out and tapped

and frozen under tiny wildflowers
who’ve pushed up from thick mulch to praise the day.
I breathe into the lessons. I devour.
I click. The frog has still not leapt away.

Frog and net

Inspired by: Benevolent, Harvest, Despondent and Behest.

 

What Is Never Lost

A bluejay warns the grounded beings, shares
perspectives for those who heed suchlike: fierce
courageous singers in a key we can
not hear with ears. Cicadas thrum tympan

in waves of longing after thirteen years
inevitable to emerge ringing
of love and loudly proclaim fears faced proudly
in that cold dark sleep. In the deep

songs of living–and now sirens blare–include
what emerges. Claim this sunbeam, this beach
the lightly rocking swing. Sometimes I feel
the rhyme or meter sways and rocks the boat

A lone goose bleats. I tilt and set the swing
sideways. That kind of day. Alert. Awake.
The coffee tastes divine. Each being gives
and I receive, celebrate what I find.

Inspired by: Fierce, Inevitable and Beach.