Hey, Blue

Well there’s so many sinking now, you’ve got to keep thinking you can make it through these waves.~Joni Mitchell

I manifest exactly what I say
then I say more. Sanctuary today
where I can break down, succumb, layabout
plumb wild grief arriving in waves without

relief. Ancient undulations land me
at your closed door. When timelines shifted, freed
us to follow our perceived truth, haughty,
I spoke so ruthlessly exposed shoddy

structures built on rot, premises false. Fear
drove you to immolate–your burning bier
aflame, naturally I reappear
but you can’t hear my knock. Gaming high gear

archontic subliminals in plain view
the greedy metaverse has taken you
from painful reality. Remains to
me the building of an ark to sail through.

Inspired by: Haughty, Layabout, Naturally, Immolate, Joni Mitchell’s song Blue. And written in the process of grieving–sometimes it hits hard. Featured image: my mother at the beach.

Call Me Bad-Ass

The woodpecker knocks at our awareness. Are you opening that door?~Bernadette King

I’m lonely and I’m sad and that is fine.
Up before the rise of sun, starry-eyed
and resolute. The planets finally
are turning, constellations cages free

the untamed beast, enraged, suppressed no more
lays waste to good and bad, explores the core.
I’m speaking out, imagination wild
with each pen stroke freeing the inner child

to wail and flail as clear-eyed I can spot
discomfort and allow: perfect I’m not.
My self-esteem and my self-worth are clay.
I start to play, invest in me today.

My currency tied to a wealth amassed
in lucid dreams–and not at all half-assed.
It’s 5:55. I take the leap. Taboos
against the blues, this phase of loss in view.

Inspired by spot, loss, phase, and featured image, the woodpecker who announced herself between bites.


Tell no one else, only the wise/For the crowd will sneer at one/I wish to praise what is fully alive,/What longs to flame toward death.~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (translation by John O’Donohue)

Reading the morning propaganda, sigh
and come alert. Everything’s veiled, denied
the truth perverted, misaligned, weighted
by whoppers. Vérité infiltrated

so the skate on flimsy premises yields
distractions, causes inaction. Minefields
of lies drive bickering, the trickery
cast like a spell. I know it well. Sickly

the population submits. Dissonance
imprisons us. Sing now in innocence
and joy. Grounded in earth, rediscover
mirth. Life’s close companion death uncover.

Inspired by: Everything, Veiled and the inspiring book Anam Cara.

Featured image: a gorgeous sycamore tree which sadly only exists now in this photo and my memory.

The Silence Fog Brings

I like the muted sounds, the shroud of grey, and the silence that comes with fog.~Om Malik

Palpable dark thickens night cold and wet
grass glistens by porchlight, no sunrise yet.
Forecaster’s fog is just a threat. No stars
and muted crickets’ songs are squeaky bars

of music-whispers that I strain to hear
beyond the whine of highway traffic gears.
Untangle dreams and pray heard are my pleas
for, someday soon, a found sanctuary

in a splendor of silence, solitaire
gem in a setting by myself somewhere
to shiver, ground and breathe, assimilate
these months of episodes constant heartache

malicious dissonance like cruel whips
flogging the triggered til we come to grips.
Tragedy chilling the notes our lips sing
in these minor keys autumn’s coloring.

Inspired by: Episode, Splendour, Chilling, Shiver and Palpable.

Featured image: Yesterday’s song, here is that rainbow I’ve been praying for.~Jimmy Cliff

Embracing Change

I cannot escape these lessons, watching
a home dismantled bittersweet touching
prized possessions of the dead and dying.
Belted kingfisher rattles loud, flying

dockside. His call echoes across the lake.
A flock of geese honk over. Crows awake
to inspect trash cans. Strident sweeps over
my gentle ways. I’m dazed. The changeover

it’s said, if I can stay the course, rewards
by transformation. Feeling as grief chords
play my open heart, tomorrow’s jocund
company will sway, elate. I’ll walk and

talk a different way. Ever a novice
life unfolds when I let go, possess less
and gain freedom only the sovereign
know, soaring above abundance below.

Inspired by: Novice, Escape, Bittersweet and Jocund.

A Far Cry

“In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence.”~Robert Lynd

Far away his wise counsel laser keen
reveals the roots that constant drama screens.
I sit by lake and ground in dawn, attend
a patient great blue heron who can blend

as racing gray of this cloudscape conceals
the blue I’m always searching for. The wheel
of fortune turns. I bleed with each riposte
surrounded by the haunted, for their ghost

I love. The unmarked minefield of fresh grief
is marked by feathered messengers who see
my need. The spectacle earthward glides clear.
Mourning dove lands. The tears are ever near.

Inspired by: Attend, Cloudscape, Spectacle, Riposte and the written in the Stream of Consciousness Saturday rules with the prompt near/far.

Featured image: This morning’s constantly changing cloudscape.

Death Comes Calling

The wake of vultures glides innoxious, one
by one. The cold snapped the glass doors closed. Spun
into waiting, subdued. Death knell obtrudes.
Déjà vu. Signs lamp-bright in morning dew.

This time my wisdom spurs rejection. Closed
mouth, I listen. The abjection exposed
is immune to reflection. A lecture
is no cure for dying’s architecture.

A black harbinger chimney-perched surveys.
Message imparted, moon-strong, swoops away.
Eagle slow-wings, hawk cries, intensity
hones. Heartache receives death’s immensity.

Inspired by: Lecture, Lamp and Innoxious.

Featured image: Just a few of the many avian spirit messengers this morning. Even as I write this, the plovers are ke-dee-ing, hawks are skreeing, in an otherwise eerie silence (since the porch doors are firmly closed against the brrr cold).

Strain at Gnats and Swallow Camels

You advise me to soldier on, stoic
facing calamity, be heroic
in this nine-month gestation between stars
uranus retrograde, venus and mars

until the shifting skies will galvanize
me into right action, confident, wise.
But restless as impulsive scripts play out
–a heron scolds my porch light here, casts doubt

and so I puzzle in starlit predawn
swallow my pride, resist patterns I’m drawn
to repeat. Old wounds have broken wide–death’s
gift. I calm and ground, thankful for each breath.

Written for the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt Puzzle and inspired by: Between, Swallow and Galvanize.

Featured images: a glorious dawn and the heron who flew over, scolding me as I photographed.

What I’m Missing

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.~Anne Roiphe

In the morning teardrops luxuriant
paint my cheeks in salty secrets. I can’t
control their entrance, sometimes sweeping grand
down the polished staircase, hankie in hand

with a decisive voice calling: make way
for sadness, incoming tears. Or you’ll say,
what are your plans? And I dissolve. This step
in front of me is clear. The spiderweb

clutches. In its sticky grasp, I still. Weep
as I must. The convoluted wound’s deep.
Decades of weaving hold me as I keep
breathing, such a painstaking feat, to grieve.

Inspired by: Decisive and Luxuriant.

Featured image: the last of my mother’s yellow roses in bloom.

Playing By Ear

This dying destination’s serious
so this now precious treasure I won’t miss
in games and screens anesthetized, lying
to myself: living involves good-bying.

Breathing embodied grounded I amuse
the facets which appear–and here it’s moot
to argue or debate fate or free will.
We’ll crumble to dust soon. Enjoy life’s thrill.

Inspired by: Amuse, Involve, Destination and Moot.

Featured image: The poplar leaves are already turning golden and falling.