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.

I Can See Clearly

I’m the cautionary tale, canary
in the mine. If there’s a toxin buried
even layered in the air, the fumes scorch
sensitivities, a five-alarm scourge

If you see me melt or swinge, apprehend
cast not for blame. Break hypnotic trance. Wend
your way to cleanse. Hug a tree. Breathe fresh air.
Ground, earthing, center. Sound electric prayer.

Aiming for high trajectory, I burn
illusions. With respect for me, I yearn
to model what I’ve learned. Disintegrate
past’s chains, the patterned prate repudiate.

Inspired by: Hypnotic, Scorch, Cautionary and Blame.

Featured image: The lake is exceptionally beautiful today; I’m counting down the days to departure.

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.

Duck Tales

The wonderful thing about tiggers, is tiggers are wonderful things.

The three-legged one-eared cat’s eying ducks
from the cold wet shore, grisly spying. Clucks
and quacks but no alarm. She cannot harm
them, so it seems, from my table of dreams.

Kingfisher’s arrival and the rain drive
awkward limping. Foiled again. The ducks dive
bottoms up, intent on feeding, unware
and unheeding, just like me. I take care

to be here now, dismiss the puerile fears
and danger bleats from unenlightened peers.
Each step reveals. I hold my lantern bright.
Aware, aimed at the highest path of life.

Inspired by: Table, Cold, Grisly and Puerile.

Featured image: Tigger, my neighbor’s once feral cat, hunting in the rain this morning and revealing the lesson I most need in this exact moment. (Sorry it’s so blurry; it was dark!)

Lifting The Fog

At sunrise air is wet and thick like smoke.
Muting the sounds and colors, grayness pokes
and strokes my rigid places. I am free
from hardening my heart. Although I see

the brute squad bungle love–they just don’t know.
Insensitive, they surf love’s current flow,
building empires, letting the details go
to hardworking unpaid servants laid low.

The fissure growing deeper, the rich buy
as properties skyrocket. By and by
they’re all alone, lamenting labor’s dearth.
Nobody wants to work a dollar’s worth.

Their conversation vacuous, matching
the sense they’re superior, so snatching
the last remnants of this crumbling culture.
As I write the fog lifts, and a vulture

lands upon the chimney. The sky slow clears
though ghostly wraiths still dance. Lake’s reappeared.
And everything is nebulous and new.
Substantial now invisible’s in view.

Inspired by: Fissure, Conversation, Matching and Bungle.

I’m Still Standing

You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use.~Elton John

I cannot accept, reject your basic
premise. Remiss not to say you’ll stay sick
in this new normal, heavy metals plunge
past natural defense, your health expunge

willingly. Confused by equivocal
spin, the state you’re in choosing imbecile
to follow the crowd, loud, over the cliff.
Indeed, you sneer at my logic. The stiffs

who lead the parade mechanical toys.
I blow the lid off their obnoxious noise.
And still you march to the dead beat. Too late,
they drone. It’s play. Just breathe and you’ll think straight.

Inspired by: Indeed, Equivocal in Stream of Consciousness Saturday style using Lid.

Featured image: This great white heron loves to visit in the early morning fog.

The Worst Sort


Bad laws are the worst sort of tyranny.~Edmund Burke

It’s 66, the grass a brilliant green,
the mulch freshly applied, house-showing clean.
These lists gripping to-do intensity.
Flood warning mirrors sheer immensity

inside out. I ground in the dark vastness
before dawn. Morning practice steadfastness.
Remember to breathe. Seething in fervent
need: fresh air, big sky, lake-side observant.

The years of sickness forged humility.
Honoring my vessel, tranquility
essential. Every boundary ingrained
through chaos, snark, dissonance’s disdain.

Each change invisible. I look the same.
Healing under the surface, no acclaim.
Now I stand strong watching the world aflame
as tyrants ravage health, a cruel game.

Inspired by: Fervent, Vessel, Gripping, Forge and the OctPoWriMo Day 7 theme Balance/Sweet Spot.

Written for every person I know who has received a jab and is now experiencing a totally coincidental health decline.

Featured photo: A great egret flashed white in the murky morning.

Every Step I Take

If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.~Joseph Campbell

Poised in the liminal dark as nowness
permeates my dream-mist, I see how this
planet goes. I ogle eagles plunging
sky to lake, master dimensions lunging

strong and fierce–on my breaks from the daughter
tasks my heart insists transpierce my oughtas.
Each simple step reveals and can’t be missed
presenting like a veritable kiss

feels like a fist so I comply. What dies
is resistance to the flow. With new eyes
intentional trajectory aims high
below the murky surface, serene, dives.

Inspired by: Ogle, Mist, Veritable and the OctPoWriMo day 6 prompts: intention, design, dream, purpose.

Featured images: Above, an eagle fishing under an improbable sky. Below, the dive.

The Unknown Universe

My aim is to bankrupt your semantic hope chests, and empty the coffers of your pipe dreams so readily provided by culture.~Joseph Chilton Pearce

Like throwing cash to the wind, we spend time
splitting hairs, unaware of our wealth. Crime
to be trained with cryptic tales not to see
reality. We offer energy

obedient slaves to a narrative
that disempowers. It’s imperative
we focus beyond insuperable
obstacles. Life is maneuverable

when we disbelieve facts everyone knows.
All of these weighty possessions let go
and move finally free, a cup emptied
of false knowledge instilled by fear and greed.

Inspired by: Splitting hairs, Cryptic and Insuperable.

Featured image: Sunset illusions in my beloved lake.