New Moon, New Seeds

Love is everywhere. It protects the very heart of our beings. So it’s all right. Everything’s all right and always has been.~Jane Roberts

We’re trained from birth, our very words
that’s bad, that’s good, we cling, survival

seems impossible from our arrival
we gasp in poisoned air, injected

when we least expect it in a crazy
world where toxins are called medicine

we must endure misguided doctors’
incessant quackery studying separate

cells to proclaim a discovery, another
name to cloak the reaction

to the putrefaction of air and soil
and drinking water, full-scale slaughter

in the name of greed and promulgated
by the fear-porn screed.

We sit alone, we’re trained, perceive no choice
lower our voice, and even so the angry

sons shun their insane mothers
all dialogue blocked with dangerous others

the truth a sauce our diets now
prohibit, our only eyes for lies

as they exhibit the visual clues
of this unhealthy news and yet

if we can set aside our certainty
that harm is looming, dooming, carelessly

and simply quiet, presto, the tempo changes
the heart of the matter rearranges

the score and more, we realize
the love nature displays, miracles

every day in every moment we connect
to source, we laugh, we hug,

we understand, of course,
there may be malice withal

there is a greater force.
We plant the seeds, we open hearts, we call.

 

Everything was all right, always had been all right, it had only been their own anxieties and doubts that ever made it all seem wrong. They were all couched and safe, forever secure, forever jubilant at the heart of their own beings. There was never anything to be afraid of, if only they trusted the great sweet security that forever held the vitality of their beings, for they were all truly splendid, a part of a loving universe that cradled them forever in a safety and love literally beyond all comprehension.~Jane Roberts

Playdate

Gonna bounce with my crew today
make our own sunshine
music dance sing drum play
create a world that’s fine
escape the plutocratic drone
of fear, insanity, despair
we’re bopping in a rhyme zone
and fun our only prayer.

Inspired by: Bounce, Sunshine, Crew and Helpful.

The Tide’s Now Turning

The Tide Is Now Turning

“To follow the way of water is to return to one’s spiritual essence.” — Hua-Ching Ni, The Book of Changes and the Unchanging Truth

“Be!” My grandson commands, so

I look closely with him at a puddle.

Present in this very moment

that stretches beyond time and space,

our hearts connect, pulsating

with this vibrant aliveness.

An insect is floating, and I conclude

it is dead, but he says,

“Bee!” again, and gingerly

fishes it out to rest in his palm.

The water drops off and the bug

stirs, drying its wings from the newfound

land of a toddler’s finger.

We have been talking about gentleness

with living beings, hugging trees.

And now his inquisitive focus

feels the creature step daintily

over his skin, as if showing

gratitude for salvation. I am watching

that wasp-like abdomen as it quivers,

worried that this love-fest

will turn ugly.  I teach respect

and yet I vibrate with memories

of wicked inexplicable stings.

He turns his finger and the exploration

continues but when he looks to me

in doubt, I say, “Fly, bee, fly!”

and whisk it off into the air.

We stand here like herons,

our feet in the water, yet rooted

in the earth, our faces lifted to the sky,

celebrating a tiny flight

with exquisite concentration,

and he says again, “Be!”

 

Nod to the ‘stache

The men in my lineage are quite resilient
growing mustaches thick, luxuriant
like medieval heroes, valiant
flag on their upper lip salient.
Here they come to save the day, persistent
gene passed strong and insistent.

Inspired by: Valiant, Resilient, Salient and Mustache.

The Leading Edge

Our vibration goes up when we serve.~Thomas Huebl

A baby won’t ask for anything
you can’t give. All you have

requested by life that wants
to live. And I’m not trash talkin’

your mama, so caught in tight
ancestral trauma that a cry

in that wailing treble lands
like a devil in those spaces

genetically disheveled.
There is no blame, the centuries

laid out clearly but we can’t see
the hidden sculpture. Life

is not as it seems. We think the
pain may become our mainstay

if we don’t struggle. Make way.
We find ourselves while running

from what’s wronging
flee the leading edge, our

most farfetched longing
arms we hold outstretched.

We’re cautious, sniff the aromatic
clues, scents enigmatic and so

problematic and yet
a child knows when it’s time

to snuggle, surrender to the
fear. So often trouble

is the gift. When we accept
unwrap, perplexed, but willing

to be still upon the lap
we’ve cried for, all that rises

in connection–the winds,
the seas, the branches bending

low to feel our wailing cease.
Finally heard, we acquiesce and be.

By All Appearances

All the small uneventful choices
the casual snap as my sons’ voices
raised in play, every second of the day
and I, devoted, watchful mother
(every giggle smothered) straight-
faced behind the camera, integrated
brotherhood, caught the three
(without invisible me) through
every season, yes, but albums filled
spring breaks by oceans, thrilled
today we page through what appears
a tribute to pure love and joy,
(wait, here I am with the boys!)
even the tears seem to say
no one reneged, the cast,
seamless, flows. We chose
to share photos between our homes.
It looks like no one was ever alone
and wishing in the dark a family goal
unbroken, nuclear and whole.

Inspired by: Renege, Integrated, Spring, Devote and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt making small, uneventful choices.

Image from 1993 on Cape Canaveral National Seashore in Florida.

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.