Hanging My Stars

“Good mornin’ starshine, there’s love in your skies.”~William Oliver Swofford

I see no sanctuary in ruins. 
Bluejays are calling mystery from trees
after three cheered my housing app moving
to the dustbin; a year’s wait.  Spinning free

under my new sky.  Tillie clears the green
returns to the house, gentle love shining
generous and grounded.  Sometimes when screens
blue-lit have captured the humans, mining

their energy to fuel the disputed,
she comes to me, big brown eyes seeing life.
I power my own creations, rooted
integrity, no resonance with greed.

Overnight petunias became stars, glow
whitely across water defining tasks: 
Choose carefully under which light I bask.  
Odd requests merit respect.  Old knowing

insubstantial, a raven’s cry, not mine.  
A new blazing sun arrives.  Fall is near.  
Multilayered, I celebrate, aim high. 
Fear a false construct, I see now what’s dear.

Inspired by: Raven, Bask, Odd and Respect

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What Is Mine

Therefore I tell you: whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours.” Mark 11:24.

Somewhere nearby cicada-raised chorus
informs my being.  Now I receive
centered in the certain magnetic
presence deep in my core.  Released,

the frantic songs I composed panicked
when the cycle of abuse seemed to
repudiate love.  Laughing as the old
thin narrative of lack explodes in joy.

Worries cast aside, tumbling in the surf
while I swim far beyond the horizon
where inspiration dazzles shining and
bright with a child’s sweet innocence.

I ride the wisdom waves, recognize
the constant current that carries me
just here, choosing love each step,
receptive, overflowing as make-believe

obstacles emerge into the light and clear.

Inspired by: Repudiate, Cycle and Somewhere.

In This Silence

I’m huddled in fleece and the August day
drips around the beach umbrella. Sip hot
coffee and my pen’s poised, ready to play
while a cicada chorus tymbals thought

away. Begone, yon military jargon,
jarring my harmony. Honcho brings
uneasy images of shooting stars
without a clue of how love’s tuning zings.

So here I sit, respectful of the way
we fumble, heads filled with pizzazz we tout.
Our cries I can’t augment denial’s bray.
Time to create, reflect what’s in without.

Inspired by:  Tout, Pizzazz, Honcho and Respectful

Featured image an amazing sunset that ushered out July.

I’m In Tune

There’s a symphony that I hear in your heart, sets my head a’reeling.~Pete Townshend

Balanced here now she’s tuned right in on you
and I am entranced. I wish to sing my
own dance in the angel’s grace she’s imbued
with. If she doesn’t have wings, no doubt she sighs

over feathers birds drop at her feet. Strength
and clarity. She’s sure in her being,
pausing–as I assume he says, Don’t blink.
That’s good. She stills. He captures harmony.

Inspired by: Wish, Feathers, Assume and Balance. Featured image is a faded photograph of my best friend’s ancestress. When I saw it this morning, I heard The Who singing Getting In Tune, in response to the Stream of Consciousness Saturday’s prompt to look at a photograph, seize the first tune that pops into your consciousness, and write about that.  

Dream The New

Our future calls us into now where we create miracles.

My grandson wants to build a spaceship; he’s
dictated a list of supplies for ease
in construction. He’s been talking all week
about his newly inspired desire. Bring
me your impossible ideas, please
create the improbable. Run and seek
the stars to illuminate the slime, green
and glowing, meaning zilch to what’s been seen.
It costs a pittance in the world that’s been
to shine with power and imagine when
the world’s aflame. We’re asked to honor dreams.
Remember, none of this is what it seems.

Inspired by Slime, Zilch, Newly and Pittance.

Nature’s Privilege

Birdsong glory-listening this morning
front porch, choosing love, calling to mourning
doves, our hearts aflame and voices tender
soft–magic–daily practice aborning

it’s like a wizards’ school, cue each other
special powers granted by earth mother
we face our anger and our fears with light
touches and words, deep presence gifts t’other

we clean the places we call home, we send
such strong assurance, blessed by nature, mend
the broken bridges. We cannot inure
we open to delight in the twist-end.

He’s four and powerful, his spirals drawn
and golden suns with green rays, oh, praise dawn
when with a light touch he urges me, wake,
our teachers gather, come before they’re gone!

Inspired by Golden, Inure, Twist and Privilege.

Featured image drawn by my four-year-old grandson this morning. “The Sun.”

Judge Not Lest

Honor myriad distinctions of each
necessary voice, apt I now teach
allegiance to the one who has no name
beyond political religions preach

I’ve jumped into judgment, swan dives into
duality, polarized black and blue
from the beatings I inflict on myself
swallowing the bait once more. My aim true

you’re me, sacred fractals divinity
bursting alive to know complexity
in its simplicity unveiled. Quiet
allows what looks through me. Humility

embraced, I see my face, sweet longing
for a taste. Merging with love’s belonging.
Eyes on the now! The planet shifts and quakes
atremble, full of graceful beings thronging.

Inspired by Honor, Distinction, Apt and Allegiance.

Hope More

Hopelessness is a psy op and it’s world-wide.  Don’t fall for it.~Jon Rappoport

“I want” implies I lack, I turn my back
on cognate kinship, all in my path

decried, the poisoned earth’s wrath
with lies. I say, this is not mine,

it’s all your fault. The circle
dancing ensō draws me swift

justice lesson-patterns reflect
the now I must bow to, respect.

Inspired by:  Circle, Dancing and Cognate. and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday post to use “want” as the first, second or third word of your post.

Featured image found here.

Merging Galaxies

When one door closes, another one opens, but where the new door opens might not be immediately obvious.  You may need to be energetic, persistent and ingenious to find the new door.~Rob Brezsny

Today I wake to the challenge to see
this body, frozen trauma legacy
generations of alimentation
like an iceberg unreachable whose melt

threatens the world I’ve constructed, denounced
with every finger-pointed scorn pronounced
ungrounded, unsound, all imbalanced.
The door is firmly closed. How will I bounce

weighted with ancestral chains, yoke unseen?
The patterns I have fed don’t nourish me.
The keys, my beliefs, prisoners in time
rattle my fragmented cages. I scream.

And gently with precision you meet me.
You hear the shadows talking and we see.
In the deep listening of now this heart
coherence, a steady flame, thaws living sea.