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.
The legendary diving ducks return
to pluck limicolous beings from
winter nests. Kind numinous
as they shift the lake into
balance. Today it is possible
to count them even as their black
and white heads disappear below
the surface. I have been watching
the lake for their miraculous
arrival, sliding in pairs at dusk
until morning celebration as
they pause their migration.
–I can no longer tolerate
the daze of the deliriant
daily injection designed to suck
my energy, drive my attention–
More ducks arrive, butterballs small
and swift as with an ancient sign–
Do Drop In–the essential
marginalized communities survive,
their predicament–shrinking habitats
still they appear like musical notes
their henotic tune, awake!
we’re all in this together.
Featured image credit.
For those who can’t access Foyle’s Philavery:
limicolous: living in mud
numinous: awe-inspiring, evoking a spiritual response; inducing a sense of a deity’s presence
malversation: corrupt behavior in a position of trust; corrupt administration, especially of public funds
ephectic: suspending judgment, skeptical
deliriant: a poison that causes persistent delirium or mental aberration
henotic: promoting harmony; unifying; irenic
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?
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.
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!”
if we look
with kindness on all creations–
to the one in the mirror, say,
hey, I love you with every molecule
of space, in every twist of time,
with passionate ignited soul
I love you like the breath that
refuses sleep. Come awake, come awake
love. And in this predawn opening gambit:
sacrifice sleep now. Insight-
seeds land where I’ve been weeding
every morning, diligent
respect. Whispering as I expose
each deep root, thank you, for
saving a different me. Bask in the light
that always comes after darkness has scoured
forbidden places with its pitiless claws.
Oscar Wilde wrote, “The best work in literature is always done by those who do not depend on it for their daily bread and the highest form of literature, Poetry, brings no wealth to the singer.”
Which is quite the relief, I have nothing
to lose, my stentorian voice is not tied
to a paycheck or any kind of recompense.
I don’t pay dues, I’m not allied
to a patron, my scope’s immense.
My site’s free, every word
is a gift adrift.
If there’s no wealth, why do I sing?
There is sheer joy in being free.
Oh, there’s despair, a grief
constrains my breath. Always
the death of hopes confected
in the sweetmeats of childish
tales, songs I composed to
keep sanity in the throes.
High and dry I’ve somehow escaped
the moorings of the mainstream
daydream anchored afloat
in the moat circling
the plutocratic castle, all
the facile vassals limp and blind.
The current keeps them dazzled.
I don’t mind, don’t take refuge
in a twisted pride, misguided.
The system’s broke,
not me. I sink roots deep,
mindful of the company I keep.
Letting go of the shackling
beliefs: it’s too late to tackle,
the rot has gone too deep.
I admit, I’ve been asleep.
Waking now to shout: my choice
is here. I add my voice.
Every being arrives with a song.
We open and we claim: we belong.
Inspired by: Daydream, Stentorian, Afloat, Pride and Caitlin Johnstone’s question today, “We are collectively being asked a question here, and our answer to that question will determine the entire course we will take as a species.”
Today in paradise I peer
through glass, looking out
my front door. My muse falls
into flowers praising morning.
I’m wary, casting careful
eyes on the woods, just there,
where black bears lumber
and bobcats spry and shy
leap into trees. Respect
is due. Butterflies and blossoms
and my meditative ways may
soothe the overwhelm of travel.
Far away from my comfort zone,
barefoot in a new day
feeling the earth’s generous
embrace–a walker strides by
checking her pace, ears plugged
against the sweet and subtle
birdsong–it’s early still.
Some days I rhyme myself
to balance but last night
breath protested my constricted
places, as intimate lovers
will, dedicating the long hours
of darkness to struggles of will
finally waking bleary-eyed and
silent, alert for any signposts
leading to love’s healing light.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn’t say his prayers,
So I took him by his left leg
And threw him down the stairs.*
I postulate that now is when
we collaborate consciously
as a planetary being
guaranteeing our well-being.
The subtle realms ring true
while wretches longing, sing blues
bewailing the lockdown
prison bars break down
and isolate, each unvoiced
song that seeks to rejoice
silenced, the malice echoes
through the death rows
alive in our cells
we carry the spells
of ancient lineage writhing
rushing to church and tithing
to be free of the curse
we can see, pray the universe
will reimburse these good deeds,
knocking down the weeds
that separation frames
and names in childhood games,
the propaganda that we live and breathe
long before we show our teeth.
We’re locked in time.
We can be free
reach out your subtle hand,
tune in with me.
For E, choosing high school soon.
On the brink of this vast
wonderland, hurray resounds
off the cliffs of middle
school, where you’ve been
humming as you grow.
This tall man’s body you
inhabit with all the melodies
of childhood still alive
vibrating chords you can pluck
at will. I celebrate
your strength, tap your shoulder
to show your lineage,
this wave of life that thrums
to live in you, through you.
I offer crystals to support
your journey, grounding your
utter brilliance as you
navigate the openings,
releasing the false tones
to settle into your own instrument
finely tuned. You take your place
in the exquisite symphony.
Your voice is exactly
what we need to hear.
The song you are
magical and clear,
resonating into the musical
planet. Touched, changed,
we rejoice your being.