Still Sleeping?

The birds would like to know why
she cut down the lilac bush
right before this big snow.
They call down the chimney.
Query unheard. My voice
more clear. She says, I never
thought about the birds,
taking a breather,
watching her suet feeder,
looking for tracks in the deep
unbroken white. Sure in her right
execution the solution.
The bush expired
her affection–she admired
a different sort.
So life’s cut short.
From this insulated box
the wilderness a paint-by-number
jumbled mess. On Fox, perceptive
of the sentience celebrated
the flickering screens
calibrated us versus them.
Even her own species judged,
dismissed. The other beings
begrudged in cages and she’s
forgotten that they need
nourishment. Feed them.
I remember her
ancestors chopped venerated trees
to claim the land still red
with the forced exodus
of genocide. Don’t count the dead.
I dial in most days. The line
is busy. There is no forwarding
through the haze, darker
hellbent recreation
keep the past labelled
the future with a magic
marker that fools no one
or everyone, fast asleep.

Inspired by: Dial, Chimney, Perceptive and Expired.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

What Emerges As I Am

Was it very obvious, my next step?
Soon as I decided, couldn’t be
no corporate rep. Choosing very carefully
organic foods that I can eat,
you know, just a breath away
from livin’ on the street.

And you can call me hypocrite
living like I am
deep in my own shit
tryin’ hard as I can
to take a look at it
and I am blind
tryna be wise
but the helicopter mind
gets in my eyes
keeps me spinning away from my base
gotta sit in my body,
gotta find grace.

Now I’m not tryna finna path
to glory and fame
just fumbling for a lightswitch
to illuminate my shame.

Looking closely at the moments
when I say it’s too hard
exactly then from the mists
rises up my prison guard.
I’m locked and loaded.
No one gets through.
I’m not available to me or you.
A walkin’ talkin’ automaton
and I’m wondering, do you realize
when I am gone? ‘Cause I can’t tell.
I’m used to it. Maybe as a child
I was confused by it.

It holds us back, affects you, too,
puts a damper, pulls the brakes
on every single thing we do
moving deep into the shadows
where the power can’t get through
it’s disconnected, all out of whack
another fragmented person
with credible blues.

I’m peerin’ through time
at this new landscape.
There’s no running back,
ain’t no place ahead.
No escape. Quiver with dread.
Winter stripping off the greenery
that masked this burden. Holdin’
all this dead stuff, pretendin’
it’s not hurtin’
sitting here in question land
my heart open wide
allowing the new
to emerge as I am.

Inspired by a hike in the woods and this huge old tree holding up so many dead limbs.

Listen to this on soundcloud here.

Where We Belong

His journalistic range, Black Thought expressed,
is a catalyst for change–for me, a big yes!
to all this live electricity streaming down
to find my ground. This is key:
finally sitting in my base
expressive face
letting my body feel it for a change
open and available to mystery.
Don’t get frosty–the way I do,
all my chilled trauma places preventing you
from touching me, containing us
I could regale you with the stories
but why make a fuss. The energy
sets the stage: when a child cannot
express her rage, she goes inside
or finds a pen, crafting rhymes
to keep her hand in. Until today
excitement bounds in the deep
inner space that channels the sounds
from higher places
where we are round
integrated, safe and sound.

Inspired by: Stage, Frosty, Regale, Excitement, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “key“, and my commitment to make December a “freestyle to prompts” month with soundcloud recordings.  (Today’s is here.)

And the continuing inspiration of Black Thought Tariq Trotter’s freestyle chops expertise utter brilliance.  (An amazing interview on his process here.)

 

Upwelling Presence

Map me the way to the placid place
welling deep in my heart
where nourishment is tasteful
and sweet, everything digested from the start.

You see, I grew, a twisted tree
reaching ever for the light
my roots in mystery
the trauma history
my lineage looms, late afternoon
shadows casting lines of gloom
stretching out next to me
all the past that I just can’t see.

All the heavy burdens that I’ve lugged
into every connection, every kiss, every hug.
Contributing by absence to collective trauma
scoffing, never seeing how I add to the drama.

Every moment that I froze in time
another pebble in the ever growing pile.
Garbage in a stinking pit
the smell of shit we flushed away
constructed rhymes
far away from it.

We all turn, free throws
from behind our backs, never mind
who we hit, talking smack,
intent to escape somewhere in time.

Drawing down the future as now expands
the past lined up beside me
like a forest of hands
a rich support, as golden light
illuminates what I could never see:
possibilities. No place to run
no time to hide, just open to
the upwelling presence inside.

Inspired by: Placid, Map and Tasteful.

You can listen to it on soundcloud here.

I’m loving the new twist to my morning prompt response. Creativity rising!

Korean BBQ (Can I get a to-go box?)

Foodies framing shots while the feast gets cold
wouldn’t last a second here, all that control
nowhere in sight when ours arrives. We’re hungry,
we’re busy: into all these bowls we dive.

Sitting now in the detritus of Korean barbecue
I need a box for this delicious banchan residue.
They gave twelve dishes, another four.
Burning on the kimchi and I kept demanding more
fermented veggies on my chopsticks, bok choy,
bean sprouts, sweet carrot-daikon sticks.

Used to see these smiling faces every day.
Watched them take their first steps.
We sat on the floor to play.
I’ve seen their depths, from childhood pain.
Now in their primes, going their own way.

Listen, you never get it right as a mother,
so when adult men hug, slapping backs, Brother,
and celebrate the chance to share food
laughing and easy, settin’ the mood,
I don’t cry.
I join the field.
Expanding all this magic that we wield.

Generations spinning past my face.
This loving microcosm of the human race.
Into the twilight–outside time’s finger–
in the cold parking lot we linger,
never ostentatious: now the tweens
make prickly faces with
the toothpicks that they grabbed
by the handfuls at the checkout as we gabbed.

Inspired by Twilight, Microcosm, Ostentatious and Barbecue. 

Listen to it on soundcloud.

 

Gotta wake, gotta wake

Gotta wake, gotta wake from this
enchanted state on the advent of
consumerism leaping the gate
my inbox spills
from cyber trills
every predilection I have hosted,
I’ve boasted, raised my glass
and toasted.  Hey, I never realized

all the damage done in my name,
drone bombing of innocents, spun,
–oops, a mistake,
sheer heartbreak
for heaven’s sake.

All the data packets waiting
for some space
to download.
We gotta clear and cleanse
all that old stuff gotta go.
Gotta uncoil this lust for oil.
Make amendments to our inner soil.

The plans to foil unconscious tracks
gotta wake gotta shake
these boots from our backs.

Like Indra’s net, we reflect
the fractals of our beauty rising up from neglect
when we connect
create respect
with love unchecked.

Inspired by Advent, Predilection, Damage and Enchanted. December Freestyle Month continues apace!  My soundcloud attempt here.  Gotta start somewhere!

We Are Whole

As an instrument, multidimensional,
incomprehensible, even insensible,
I play on your senses, dissonant.
I’m gregarious, wannabe hilarious.
It behooves me now to be a bit
fastidious, clearing the space
web stretching between us.

I’ve found it’s wiser to decipher
yeah, I sometimes speak in code,
don’t mean to goad
but as a child I had to layer
my dissent, to sound mysterious
to hide my serious task
I chose harmonious masks
(a fight was lethal
I needed peaceful.)

Learning how to be nicer
while simmering like lava
a volcano, gonna explode
the mother lode for a poet
pluggin’ in, my word guns loaded
spittin’ fire and complainin’
’cause what’s normal is weird
unnatural. Fragmented cultural
we hover, vultures staring hopefully
the food we see
poison seems to be
the only thing that we can eat.

And all the while you are happening
inside of me, pure energy.

What I most need to say is
I serve you.
You are the truth
coming into my face, fully embraced.
What life needs to heal
open and real. I finally feel
that myth of separation
mistaken fragmentation.
We are whole.
We are aglow.
Out of control.

Inspired by: Task, Fastidious and Decipher.  Freestylin’ this one to a beat called Okay. This is so much fun.  Really lovin’ my December task of spoken rhymes.

Soundcloud link: here.