Yesterday’s Seeds

Eloquent as the eyes of the ancient
soul inside the furry coat. Enchanted
presence. We speak of love in deep silence.
The cords bright that unite us ignite sense

in a newly opened dimension stories
have not degraded, infiltrated squeeze–
And moments of my essence have praised words
those weighted games of flipping neatly verse

fun. One-sided. My saving grace til now
evolves me and I take the leap and how
the instantaneous change flowers. Seeds
long sown in distant lands rooted here. Feed

the words I bring back overused and trite
aim for higher trajectory delight
Love’s spun me with intensity and grief.
I plunge wholeheartedly. The journey’s brief

and what’s reflected all around: chances
inviting you to elegant dances
and you in your dirty jeans feel unseen
unworthy and you bow, subjugation

trained from birth, enslaved by words. Creation
demands: come as you are. Turn off the noise.
A single breath with focus conjoins joys.
Eloquent as the eyes of the ancient.

Inspired by OctPoWriMo Day 24 prompt millstone, an example of which could be a narrative based solely on propaganda and greed. And when I am grieving that words can so easily enslave, this is my cue to look deeply into me and continue, brave.

Music of the Spheres

In my body parts celebration, run
a tuning fork vibration, humming. Spun
cobwebs of fine energy electric
respond, settle all the places hectic.

Here I am new and vibrant. I can say
no to the dental X-rays; they don’t play
well in my balance. Not a working stiff,
I’m noodling my own creative riff.

Inspired by: Xray, Celebration, Cobweb and written in the Stream of Consciousness Saturday style to the prompt body parts. With a nod to the amazing balance tuning forks create in my body electric.

Featured image: playing “electric” guitar back in 1975.

Complicit No More

You’re under the spell of the ultimate psyop in modern human history.~Sol Luckman

My head is filled with a painting, chasing
words away as I create. Embracing
my vision, studies assist. I start small,
to untwist the gnarl taught by the cabal

which granted no leeway: color inside
the lines! squirming under the teacher chide
I had no pride in my endeavors. Smart,
I chose to shine with poetry, not art.

The parent-teacher conferences agreed
some practicality is what I need.
Left-handed dreamer learned to surf the screed
until at last, sovereign, I intercede

on my behalf. The joy as I splatter
vivid colors on to canvas. Matter
drips and splashes. Daubs and splotches cohere
sun birthing into ocean now appears.

Inspired by: Assist, Conference, Gnarl and Leeway, reimagining my own past as a spin on OctPoWriMo Day 22, and the joy welling in my heart as I stand and live in my sovereign power.

Featured image: Taken on the east coast of Florida, the inspiration for today’s painting.

Through The Fog

Fog rises from the water like remnants
of feelings cast off and creeping tenants
in dream-houses huddled and eerie ghosts
unspeakable unspoken stories, most

of which we know where neurons jitter-spark
recomposing our essence unremarked.
Our bodies caught, shifting twisting nightmare
fitful drenching in sweat deep mal de mer

we gasp for air, quaking in dark, misled.
A heron glides in right over my head.
The sky is pinking in the west beyond
the gold-tipped trees. My soapbox screed foregone

as dawn’s mystical incantation spells
the way to create new life and live well.
Belted kingfisher’s rattle fills the air.
I empty all past knowing, sit, aware.

Inspired by: Remnant, Neuron, Screed, Incantation and the #OctPoWriMo Day 19 theme storytelling.

If I Move

You come and pour yourself on me.~David Gates, If.

If I move to Montana’s star-spangled
nights, resolve all these dissonance-tangled
overcast skies, will you come, harmonize
with wildlife we espy? I realize

the brutal winters’ temperature extremes
will affect our dreams in ways unforeseen.
That’s the way of ifs. We, unknowing, leap
into the falls above icy streams. Keep

our heads above water until we’re thrust
into the consequences of blind trust.
You say we must discuss this, we’re too old,
believe there’s safety staying in the fold

crumbling mementos, breathing in their dust.
If everything is falling, then we must
imagine new, journey alone, return
the monstrous swindle group-think fraud unlearn.

I’ll write, I promise, every single day.
Present inspired intuitive arrays
outside the mainstream’s fear-mongering byplay
my derring-do and brave new world display.

Inspired by: Resolve, Star-spangled, Swindle, Espy and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start with if.

Featured image: Another foggy Indiana fall morning.

Riding The Storm Out

I’ve been thinking lately of what I’m missing from the city…and I’m not missing a thing.~G. Richrath

After the storm when humans realize
the masked drones posing beside them disguised
by propaganda lies comprise robots,
will we give thanks and rise, see through the plots

to capsize sovereignty? A futile game
when we breathe constantly and free, aflame
creativity. Talking-head TV
suave and bizarre grill adjuncts so gently

“the experts say” nonsensical homilies
bleat in their religious quackery
“it’s science” the new cult idiocy.
After the storm, will humans learn to see?

Inspired by: Suave, Thanks, Grill, Adjunct and the OctPoWriMo prompt After The Storm.

Fall All Over

October arrives in a crisp surprise
red-gold crowns placed on green kings overnight.
The sight touched with glory. Celebrate all
the vivid colors burning bright. It’s fall

and though I know the end is bare branches,
ghouls melancholy, mournful romances,
all the extremes now brings to stretch my heart
evolve me in the dark places, impart

light. I still, burnished by morning’s tender
probe. Attend with fervent focus splendor
here. Balanced before the declivity,
inspired, I embrace creativity.

Inspired by: Extreme, Declivity, Still and Ghoul.


Someone’s been telling you stories, and they just ain’t true. They just ain’t true.~Dan Fogelberg

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.~Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

When the narrative shifted kafkaesque
and showing my face meant I was undressed
and herded sheep signaled social distress
behind masks unspeaking, I must confess

melancholy as the chasm revealed
those fearful in illogical minefields.
Sovereign, my freedom rippling, I’m a stone
in murky waters. I will not be owned.

The gallery of cosseted in deep
depending on a salary to keep
a lifestyle dissonant destroying souls
scurrying under leaky roofs. The holes

and gaps too numerous to count. When will
they cease their bailing, and discount the shill?
Wake up and seize their freedom? Bitter pill
ground underneath their heel? A simple thrill

creating a new story quite unique
raising this voice, recalling how to speak
and breathe, a lion rising from the sheep
proud and grounded, no longer fast asleep.

Inspired by: Kafkaesque, Gallery, Melancholy and Cosset. And this article about being a lion.

Featured images: This hawk came to visit and then allowed me to photograph her flying away.


When I’m With You

I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush of beautiful birds in circling flight.~Mary Elizabeth Frye 

Shadows play with corners, entice, disguised
revealed by flickers of dawn’s light so prized.
White beings flutter, utter love’s intercepts
where now subsumes physics. Wonder accepts

contemporary joy where girl-meets-boy
fairytales expand. Narratives employ
the storytelling charm like rosy light
turning gray clouds into soul-jarring sights.

Splendor like smoke between the cracks, I rise
and all the facts like scales fall from my eyes.
I’m plunged into the dripping morning cool
ping-pong through tears and laughter. I am schooled.

Inspired by: Contemporary, Ping-Pong, Disguised and Subsume.

Featured image: a spectacular sky this morning.

You Wanna Step Outside?

Since April 2021, increased cases of myocarditis and pericarditis have been reported in the United States after mRNA COVID-19 vaccination (Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna), particularly in adolescents and young adults.~CDC

Be brave enough to live life creatively. The creative place where no one else has ever been.~Alan Alda

In the wet dawn the sky has found orange
watercolor paints to splash on clouds tinged
in the key of praise. I vow this new day
to create outside the bounds of the state

on the airwaves supercilious smiles
naysay the hearts jab-inflamed all the while
banking the macabre profit that anguished
slow death brings to germ theory coffers. Wish

to move the pawns around the tainted squares
to still be in the game, make changes there
simply a symptom sure to bring despair.
There’s no reporting system. Crowns don’t care

in my lucid dreams the goddess speaks: quit
faffing about, raise up your voice. Commit
to your highest trajectory. To be
outside the puzzle, my glory perceive.

Inspired by: macabre, supercilious, myocarditis and anguish.