Before the equinox

I aim for the platform

sometimes with suns

in my soles, springing

my steps for that instant

star-focused

arrow of light.

The path is overgrown

wild with brambles

and swamps of despair

which catch me

and drag me under.

I forget my purpose,

confused in the dark

clouds obscuring my senses.

Stopping to scribble

a line and a poem

seduces me back

out of the gloom.

Chanting om 

and feeling every inch

of this sacred body,

this celebrated inflammation

that brings me

to this now.

Breath

jagged or ignored

here.

I let go of why,

that rabbithole of madness.

There is only this

presence

deep space

like love

between my molecules.

Finally crying over beauty,

slammed by a haka

into this passionate

resonance

life

vibrating

me.

Inspired by Cristina Bevir’s equinox preparation call and this haka.

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Musical Arrangement

When my mother turned her back

to play the piano, we

all danced and jiggled,

positive we were not observed.

Certain still, 

the child-closed heart

is exactly

why I can’t imagine

being heard by those ears,

even when it is my clear

assignment.  Write a letter.

Accompanied by the fidelity

of birds and land and water,

mating pairs revisiting their

own birthplaces, I open a spring

carnival of colors and splashes,

honks and quacks and silver

ripples and heads rosy in one

flash of morning sun.

The makeshift boundaries

of my childhood home

constantly revisited,

newly emerging as I unwind

the crude expedience

that I couldn’t digest.

The fierce punishments

to the bold spirit,

the cold indifference,

the longing

to be heard

to be loved

with as strong a heart

as mine.

I carry the weight

of things I cannot speak

and give witness

in the dark.

We are the same,

our wounds calling in secret

language-magnets

forcing us together

until our breath

is constrained

and our spirits are tamed.

I ignore the photoshopped

edits on your Instagram feed,

tuning in 

to what is constant

and unwavering.

A swallow dives down

and we are all here

and hungry, muscling in

to claim

our places.

Lonely and shivering,

will this cold never end?

And the buffleheads spread

the surface, diving in an

unfathomable syncopation

to tickle the lake,

and I have to laugh

along the lines of this

musical score, unexpected

symphony welling up 

a gift response

to our exquisite thirst. 

Inspired by Makeshift, Laugh, Fidelity and Bold.

Fertile Soil

Deep in the territory of despair

I find a tiny grain

of hope-seed.

I pause in my diurnal practices

directing the flow of chi

before sitting in stillness.

Even this action of folding

the map away

is a heart-sight opening.

I have been amending

this very soil

where I’m rooted.

Last year’s skeletons crackling

white reminders

to plant differently.

Seeking manure

‘cause shit’s gotta change.

I am rotating

to nourish

what feeds us all.

Pulling out the old

beliefs in the separation,

tinder for the burnpile.

Going up in flames

along with the sketches

on the papers

indicating here be dragons.

I sow treasure

invisible and minuscule

in your eyes,

yet tickling a

necessary earthquake

we create this new terrene.

Inspired by Action, Treasure, Opening and Diurnal.

This New Story

I remember laughing

— so long ago and far away

from this sea of pain

we float in oily

separation on the surface.

We polish words like zenith

and nadir to allow smug

disdain to flavor

our perceptions.  As if

we’ve forgotten our connection,

that contemptible, lamentable

big toe

down in the despicable depths

of a different

less-than galaxy.  Not our kind.

Quite isolated and useless.

When we peer with

bleary eyes

from the binging,

will it occur to us to tune

in to the child

picking through piles

of discards

our hunger

inseparable?

Willing at last to be labeled

crazy

as we affirm

these crumbling foundations

lie.

Lunatics released

from the narrative of denial

of the negative space

which illuminates

our unity.

We’ll laugh later.

Now is the time for the cleanse

of searing tears

just before we welcome

everyone home.

Inspired by Occur, Zenith and  Tune

This Wild Ride

I slip past the expectations

of people who knew me

before now.  Fluid as I

paddle in this iridescence

to summon my magic

at the bottom turn.  That tiger

shark, lurking, makes such

a strong case to stay on my board.

I surf through this sea

of change to catch

a wave, flying past

with an exultant cry before

my magnificent wipeout.

A rag doll in a washing machine,

so long beneath the surface

before I can rise, thrashing,

to reunite with my breath.

I’m here with death, my old

friend, finally learning

to enjoy the ride.

 

Inspired by:  Case, Iridescence, Magic and Learning.

The Magic Eye

The rush-hour drive transformed, we approach

from the march that protects the magical

forest I inhabit.  Closer we creep

and the skyline’s a mystery.

I’ve never seen these fantastical

castles he counts, six, seven, eight!

Eight, shouting and there must

be dragons.  I’m driving; it’s cloudy,

but he can see these radiant beings

with the superpowers his great

grandmother sewed into his cape.

How to appease a sad boy

whose genuine entreaties are ignored?

Please come.  I offer a large crow

but suddenly the enchanted

creature is in the back seat.

His name is Jerry and he’s friendly

so the chances he’ll scorch us

are slim.  Turn this way, my storyteller

directs, but I’m in the wrong lane

and he’s on his way home.

We leave the skyscrapers

to their work opening up the realms

of newness reserved for the most brilliant

stars among us, here to remind

and include all things lovely

curious and highly improbable.

When I drive home later, alone

in this new landscape, my sight

changes, the noose of reality

loosens and I can’t stop grinning.

 

Inspired by: Radiant, March, Fantastical and Appease.

Love of My Life

If you’re wondering, who is

this auspicious star, it’s me

illuminating every puddle.

Here you are casting shadows

with that serious face

oblivious to the solar

language of my kiss.

Come, play in these gray

last winter days, shiver

anticipate that moment

when I finally pierce

your cold constellations

and you let go of your grief

to look up

praise

the listening at last.

Inspired by: Auspicious, Wondering, Puddle and Language.