Any opening

Here I am, to save the day!
Does my radiant smile sway?
Did I interrupt your terror
engine? You defend error
hands off when I get precise

and stand in question. Advice:
dig in the dirt to expose the roots
and the house of cards lets loose
shifting precarious
appearing nefarious.

My metaphors are bouncing
in your dissonance, trouncing
the diffidence. I aim
for any opening. No game.
Stress kills. Our coping

mechanisms with a daily onslaught
induce injury in ways that ought
not happen when we
embrace collectively.
Come on outside, let’s play.

The nightmare recedes in the day
light of our awakening.
The eggshells of our former lives
are breaking. All around
there is the new sound.

 

Inspired by: Bounce, Precise, Engine, Hands and Radiant.

And this article by Sol Luckman (don’t miss the eye-opening video by Dr. Andrew Kaufman.)

A Thousand Miles Begins

Only when I walk forever, I have time for now and for you.~Thomas Huebl.

Like a curious time traveller
I arrive into the tribal
village, shaking my rain-
laden hair, blurring the ink
on these cryptic pages.

What is precise is
beyond words. Still, we
chant by campfire. Now
is true love peering
a surprised town crier.

Swimming an electric river
every atom buzzing, aquiver.
Forget the clock claiming
it’s time to scream, 3 a.m.
and nothing to do, only

to be aware of the false lonely.
Attempts to demarcate are made
afraid. This journey, a cascade,
is our masterpiece, ringing,
each essential voice singing

in our own key, a symphony
with all that should be
swirling through the fear
sometimes welcome here.
Allowing what is essential

to burn in this ancestral
fire’s focused laser weaving
lessons of millennia believing
us like chained sleepwalking bells
pulling sounds of now into our cells.

Inspired by Matchbox Twenty since my poem emerged when the clock showed 3. And Lao Tzu’s, “the journey of a thousand miles begins beneath one’s feet.”

Wake Up To What’s Happening

Honey, you’re the reason I can’t sleep at night.~John Fogerty

In the darkness I untangle
the threads of distress

a call from my three-year-old
son, he’s cold, barely dressed

locked out of the house again,
he crossed the busy street

to find shelter with the kind
lady with blankets and heat.

Cue my furious tirade to his father
who’s learned false penitence

repeating won’t ever happen
again–to hush my defense

of the child the state has
deemed safe with no rhyme

or reason besides a sperm
donation. Did I mention that I’m

dreaming? And I am the child,
the unmindful man, the mother

frustrated, the road, the phone,
the imperious state and the other

choices I made to create
this sticky web, the buzzing, frantic

fly more and more enmeshed
in myself, hovering near panic

as the spider I am
approaches til waking slow,

delicately spun, I dissolve
with all the pieces of myself

in tow, arrive into this quiet
astonishment, anticipating light.

Inspired by: Dream, Allegory, Rhyme, and Astonishment.

 

Dream Job

At night I am a messenger
of love, fleetfooted, waking
the wistful who wander tender
dreams far from their fate, afraid
to wait, immersed in creations
they call burdens. Breaking
under the weight of all they’ve
made. I say, it’s not I can’t,
it is I won’t. My mother may
have swatted me for singing
and so I retracted, distant from
the ever ringing earth
resonates below my soles
and stars pull strings
of celebration far beyond
the otiose satellites. Blinking
in wonder, we feel into
bridges between the worlds
we learned in grief to name
without ever knowing why
it feels like something’s missing.

Inspired by: Wait, Wander, Otiose and Wistful. and the thought that almost stopped me, hmm, this one’s a little weird.

 

Time For Me To Fly

From my grumpy dream-dither
I swither through this long

gallery, a mist obscuring paintings
of possible paths. Get a job

insidious whisper. At the shore
the lake is green tree reflections

outlined in white. Two geese pair high
sure and swift across choices,

feathering the sky.  A fish
leaps, spreads concentric circles.

Sacred symbols emerge like breath.
A snake vees across the bay.

Hummingbirds left three days ago
but I keep the feeder filled for

stragglers. Not all of us are timely.
I picture way stations strung like red

sugar lamps welcoming them as they
race winter. There must be ways

to thrive through my sensibilities, be
grateful as the ground shifts under

unctuous hospitality. I cling to well-
meaning hearts even as I slide into

the cool waters. Hope is a human invention,
a necessary ingredient to sweeten

the indigestible. From the tall grasses,
four ducks emerge preening. As I sit

by the swaying feeder, a tiny hummingbird
alights, my miracle offering accepted

even as I urge this being, fly, there is
no place for you in the coming cold.

Inspired by: Grumpy, Unctuous and Gallery.

Beggars Would Ride

The universe was literally spoken into being. Language, embodied in sound and light, not only affects, but effects the genesis of life. Go live your passion with all the joy, gratitude, love and laughter you can muster!~Sol Luckman

I slide open the doors and
blue feathers flash across water.

On the urban edge, another interrupted
heron breakfast. At my feet, a brown

spider’s carcass. When the birds disappear,
the ecosystem collapses.  We stir

uneasy, boxed in childhood fairytale
heroes and villains, easy duality

until a clear-eyed child points to
the strutting naked emperor.  How can we

reconcile the blatant evil–30 Afghan
farmers killed while sleeping, a king

receiving US troops to defend his
oil? The brutal empire tentacles

choke the vulnerable, while we
walk up hill and down to offer our

energy-fuel to this earth-destroying
machine. Complicit. Implicit. Illicit.

Manipulated to concur by a constant
stream of chaotic lies. Heads spinning,

which foe do we fight first? Hopeless
shoulders slump. The storytellers gloat

pretty falsities, sugared treats prepared
just for our refined palates. Addicted

to promises, the wishful silenced
by the indigestible. Hush now.

Sleep. The only way to change
the world is to wake and tell

a different story.
Seek and you shall

find, they used to say. Ask,
like any beggar, for a lift.

Inspired by: Laugh, Concur, Wishful and the old saying, if wishes were Horses, then beggars would ride.

Vanish In The Haze

There is a person on this planet
who celebrates the day we met

a decade later–so I placate
the night’s plaintive despair

of this world that gropes myopic
absent 60 billion bird eyes

sighting up high what we miss
down low. Here approaching

autumn, I mourn the passage
of what 50 years ago seemed

true. Filter the insistent
voices selling lies without

a qualm. During the day I can
wrap the ugly city-scape

with pretty music–no rap–to
transport me to preteen wilds.

But in the light of the moon’s
turning face, away, away, so

cold and distant, I lose my
footing and I find the path

lacks substance. Help me get
my feet back on the ground
.

The poisoned bodies and minds
lurk and lunge, directed by

flickering screens’ strident
promises of violent war.

Fear conquers. I’m tired
and even though there is

a person on the planet who
celebrates the day we met,

he’s far away and won’t you
please, please help me
?

Inspired by: Myopic, Autumn, Qualm, Placate and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Wrap/Rap, which means no editing!  And Help by John Lennon, Paul McCartney. I’m feeling down and I do appreciate you being round…

Out of Time

Your cage door’s been sprung wide open.  And I’m hoping you’ll see…~Dan Fogelberg

Past these monthly cages
in which every new moon
surprises in unfathomable
skies, I find this moment.

My infatuation with the blasphemy
swallowed whole as a student
captured me as surely as
the battery cells in The Matrix.

Just an insignificant portion
of fuel for the insatiable
draining machine until I wake.
Before the nightmare takes hold

again, I set my intention,
commence a new calendar to
follow astronomical guidance.
I am walking out of time,

piercing the veil with
steady daily steps. Commit me.
Call me crazy. I connect to
the light you shine–yes, you!–

every splintered fractal, a word,
a glance, a happenstance. My grandson
chases a woman in the forest
to gift his green pinecone.

She accepts this true love
offering and all our value
increases as we all
share unexpected joy.

Inspired by: Infatuation, Blasphemy, Commence, Capture and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday Prompt Astronomical (write a stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.  And as always, it is sooooo difficult not to edit!!)

Postcard From The Edge

Forgive me?  And please! Ignore this photographer’s claims that I flirted with Jupiter. We all slide out of time, pulled by deep longing to connect in space. When we parted, Dearest, I felt my heart plunge into ice! I spun insensible, concussed. Aeons I believe now that I dreamt. I was the moon, of course, when I awakened. Bereft, devoted. 

Darling, feel me pull the tides of all your watery beings, vulnerable in the dark to my seeding? Do you hear my fractal separation song? Truelove, I yearn for your embrace, reaching through what’s left to integrate. 

Listen, Beloved, a new plan is stirring. We’ve all agreed to slip away—soon, pack your bags! 

Will you follow the sun in his—our astral ascensions, as our solar system explodes in joy? 

I’ll watch what’s written in the coded waves, finely attuned, awaiting your response.

****

Composed for a dverse prompt to write flash fiction prose in 144 words and include “I dreamt I was the moon.”

Beyond Our Ken

What do we toss aside as interesting but largely meaningless incongruities? ~ David McGowan

How do we stay awake, moments
and days choked by the woven

pattern which tempts us
to dream? We ignore strong

clues–coincidental anomalies–
for that comfortable snooze.

When I told my doctor that
I healed my fatal illness,

he never asked me how.
He called me noncompliant,

told me never to return.
I bounced past the ashen

patients in his waiting room.
Magic pills destroying them

(I tossed mine away and my
data left the mainstream so busy

counting cadavers.) Yesterday
my grandson stopped midplay,

running to cling to my legs.
Ghosts had claimed the room,

he needed me to sort it out
with my eclectic skills. I praise

the ancestors, investigate the
shadows. Openings at every step

if only we dare to be
present in this uncanny world.

Inspired by: Tempt, Dream and Eclectic.