Fear Porn

Imagine a factory that turns out illusions, and these illusions are woven together to make up what we think the world is.~Jon Rappoport

My grandfather used to hold my hand, the one
the war-time president says I must keep distant
from my own grandchild, enforcing quietus
before I think to rebel, my revolution
simmering yet slowed by fear porn. You could
kill your grandparents with your breath!
Can you be responsible for their death?
It’s on your hands. Afraid we might carouse
like college students on the beach
drunk and careless, sunburned, heaped
with scorn by people who don’t blink
when Wall Street sucks up trillions
in corrupt and grotesque flailings
of the failing empire. I’m studying
seed packets, plotting what I’ll plant
between wheezes, the struggle never ceases–
how do I walk away from 5G, salvage
my nervous system from the relentless
pulsing? Meditating outside the matrix
I use this quiet moment
to create reality, no tricks:
dispel the hell that power feeds
the greed.
This moment now
contains all that I need.

Soundcloud Recording here.

Written in response to Quietus, Carouse, Salvage and Hold My Hand.

Go Figure

The embers are cool, and I have lost
the eyes of long regard and so alone
I face my darkest corners, create
a ledge and perch watchful.
This is the glitch I spy
from far below, peeking with
frightened courage. Overwhelmed
by life’s adventure, everything
strained, the ice holding
beyond the boiling water.
If I could cut a romantic
figure, I’d persuade you to
look deep into my heart
the way I do and with such calm
kindness hold the sinewy
dark cords pulling insistent.
More and more space, there’s a
crowd and I can’t catch
my breath. Sidereal Sun’s in
Aquarius. Earth quickens
toward spring. Moon flirts
with fullness. Deep in spaces
of unclaimed dreams, do you
invite the end of the world?
Do you ask if you are worthy,
do you wish someone to show
exactly how to love?
Fairytale-rescues of
powerless, bound
by magical powers unseen.
I set out to see the world
and find love. And do we all?
Is love a luxury? All these words
of course lead me astray.
I sit in quiet, greet
each moment precisely.
And when a thought proclaims,
you’re not who/what/why/where
you should be, yes, and
I learn, oh, this is love.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by Adventure, Everything, Water, Glitch and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Figure. (Rules for SOCS prompt, and why this poem is all over the place, “your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.”)

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 “carry me!

Inspired by Mainstay, Devil, Century and Aromatic.

Soundcloud recording here.

By All That’s Holy

By all that’s holy–
which is everything, of course,
just because we, struggling
irregular fractals fail
to see the way we all
fit together, life glimpsed
in profile while the macro-
cosm gyrates in a syncopated
song we’ll never comprehend
or always (those two words
signify the black and white
world where praise lurks
and longs to sing)–
we rock together.
Your tummy hurts.
We snuggle in fleece
since preschool insists
you cannot return until
the germs they sold you
have been digested.
At grandma’s house, well-rested,
we try out anger words.
Gobbledegook, fraggle.
When you’re three and angry,
how to convey your intense
emotions and be felt,
instead of invoking ire
that your bad word ignites.
I’m with you here. I understand
more than I did at three,
and even so, you teach me
with every look and hug
by all that’s holy.

Inspired by: Profile, Macro and Holy.

Soundcloud recording here.

Today I’ll Buy No Sorrows

Imagination sets in. Pretty soon I’m singin’ doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door.~John Fogerty

An hour before dawn, a helicopter’s
clear symbol of inquiry–this is News,
not an austere government’s spy
machination, yet the chuntering counter-
beat creates unease, even
in my embraced-silence. Deep
indigo shrugs off thin appeals
searching spotlight can’t penetrate
the dark composing receptive pulsing.
Beyond the houselights, the lake
surely gleams whitely, all the snow
caught and held glistening–
I swear, I saw this yesterday–
now a mysterious difference in the way
light falls, received, reflected.
The noisy rotors recede.
My heart’s relieved.
I know nothing at all.
And still I watch all the windows,
tracking the way night clings
to the start of winter’s day,
alert for headlights carving
the space, bringing
my grandson at last.

Inspired by: Austere, Clear and Looking Out Of My Back Door.

Soundcloud recording here.

It’s No Secret

The orange-violet sky lights
my meditation until now
squinting into golden blessings
the beauty bows my head.

Reverence walks me unsolemn
guides the frivolous joy
songs through my veins
like blood and so

I refuse to say goodbye
to childhood when I see you
we turn the world upside down
and play and play and play.

Inspired by: Guide, Refuse, Goodbye, Secret and Frivolous.

Soundcloud recording here.

Featured image by the amazing Jessica Buono.