It’s curtains for the archons in these plays
the essence of humanity gainsays AI. Arcane discovery: how love exposes fear. Awake, alert, we shove
past the disintegrating stage. Lights up,
it’s all a show and out of date. Fright’s cup false evidence appearing real. Now sees the utter waste of giving energy
Let all the virtual signalers be.
In the stress of dissonance, hard to see while warrens of rabbit holes beckon, numb and medicated, depths call to be plumbed
Artifacts are obstacles, sheer refuse.
My sacred being naysays that abuse. Imagination calls, a bird in flight creating anew, inspired by insight
Inspired by: Essence,
Discovery and Curtains.
Each morning I feel the tight fronds unfurl
released from the programs I imposed–pearl before swine, I didn’t cast myself once I could see the great harm my difference
could bring. I thought I might have been left by
gypsies. Brother said nobody gets me. It’s true I’m not an object to abuse, not anymore. I rise above the blues
mired in pedants’ captivity. Their truths
like harsh sand rasping so I called them brutes. And now I leave just as their revelry deep in anesthetized consumer glee
comes to a peak. Past’s chokehold escapee
–I know I’m mixing metaphors, but see dissonance creates convoluted trails like jet streams leaving clouds of chemtrails pale
piling an obscured sky. What dissipates
the toxic fumes, we cry, in our dire straits becalmed in disempowered daze. Blown straight by fierce focus, imaginative ways.
Inspired by: Jet, Revelry and Pedant.
…And brought them all together for the night, I know they’d never match my sweet imagination. Everything looks worse in black and white.~ Paul Simon
The third riverbank I perceive in dreams
before my mind ossifies how life seems into a prison fear recommends. Black and white and shades of gray, a fascist’s lack
of imagination: color sputters
fizzles, false premises clutter. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, so agile heart’s aflame as false narratives fall apart.
Inspired by: Recommend, Clutter, Agile, Ossify and written for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt black, gray and white.
Kodachrome was recorded in Muscle Shoals Studios, Alabama with the amazing musicians The Swampers.
In my body parts celebration, run
a tuning fork vibration, humming. Spun cobwebs of fine energy electric respond, settle all the places hectic.
Here I am new and vibrant. I can say
no to the dental X-rays; they don’t play well in my balance. Not a working stiff, I’m noodling my own creative riff.
Inspired by: Xray, Celebration, Cobweb and written in the Stream of Consciousness Saturday style to the prompt body parts. With a nod to the amazing balance tuning forks create in my body electric.
Featured image: playing “electric” guitar back in 1975.
You’re under the spell of the ultimate psyop in modern human history.~Sol Luckman
My head is filled with a painting, chasing
words away as I create. Embracing my vision, studies assist. I start small, to untwist the gnarl taught by the cabal
which granted no leeway: color inside
the lines! squirming under the teacher chide I had no pride in my endeavors. Smart, I chose to shine with poetry, not art.
The parent-teacher conferences agreed
some practicality is what I need. Left-handed dreamer learned to surf the screed until at last, sovereign, I intercede
on my behalf. The joy as I splatter
vivid colors on to canvas. Matter drips and splashes. Daubs and splotches cohere sun birthing into ocean now appears.
Inspired by: Assist, Conference, Gnarl and Leeway, reimagining my own past as a spin on OctPoWriMo Day 22, and the joy welling in my heart as I stand and live in my sovereign power.
Featured image: Taken on the east coast of Florida, the inspiration for today’s painting.
You come and pour yourself on me.~ David Gates, If.
If I move to Montana’s star-spangled
nights, resolve all these dissonance-tangled overcast skies, will you come, harmonize with wildlife we espy? I realize
the brutal winters’ temperature extremes
will affect our dreams in ways unforeseen. That’s the way of ifs. We, unknowing, leap into the falls above icy streams. Keep
our heads above water until we’re thrust
into the consequences of blind trust. You say we must discuss this, we’re too old, believe there’s safety staying in the fold
crumbling mementos, breathing in their dust.
If everything is falling, then we must imagine new, journey alone, return the monstrous swindle group-think fraud unlearn.
I’ll write, I promise, every single day.
Present inspired intuitive arrays outside the mainstream’s fear-mongering byplay my derring-do and brave new world display.
Inspired by: Resolve, Star-spangled, Swindle, Espy and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start with if.
Featured image: Another foggy Indiana fall morning.
a walking constellation shooting sparks
live wire connected zinging through the dark in resonance i dance new earth’s daughter coloring perceptions sunset water
there are no lines. there is no box. morning
moon bold as ripe fruit magnolia’s borning watching sun paint sky pastels to balance last night’s blaze. whirling through space i challenge
that castigating vacuous voice: you
cannot stay. booted right out the door through pain, i’m moving in its wake til grounded green catches me in its embrace. astounded
lucid dream-change malleable light, i’m
sword-swallower, snake charmer, crystal rhyme cartwheeling in this slippery dawn. caught in the drone-elephant in the room, naught
but resign yourself to doom? realign.
leaving a sparkling hint for you to find, i grab the coursing power in my hands, gripping its whip it follows my command:
create using superpower magic
wild imagination dissolves manic inorganic panic. illusions’ sleight dries like dew. earthing, the key’s in plain sight.
Inspired by: Hint, Elephant and Vacuous.
Featured images: Above, last night’s gorgeous sun painted the lake. Below, this morning’s moon in magnolia watching sun paint dawn.
For the poets and songmakers, wordsmiths, the time is now to create new myths.~ Victoria Stuart
Song lyrics infected by calls to sky
gods who in demented rage burn the eyes in their scorched earth demand for praise. The gist is: kill your mother. Genocidal twist
with rhymes and meters meant to stultify.
I dig through transcripts written by the scribes who administered oaths and gathered lies piled on so thick, they all give up and tithe
to buy their way out of this hellish space
illusion has declared exists. No place is safe, the remedy comes from without. Or so they say. I parse, allow the doubt
to surface and to flee. Now empowered
I’ve booted the cowards. Allow flowers inspired from a new mythos: Sophia songs composing grounded into Gaia.
When we realize the extent to which
ancient powers have been bent, we invent new ways to convey the inner knowing casting aside the lies mind-cults are flowing.
Written for these prompts: Transcript, Inspired Carpet and Tithe.
Hummingbird, green heron and I feed, heed
each other’s chirp, skeow, sliding glass screed. In the square box, I tuned and cohered, here my clumsy machinations make it clear
I’m out of sync with my earth mother. Grind
away these toxic thoughts, the viral mind infested in the genocidal foam from fervent mindless waves derived by drones
who can’t imagine, so articulate
the programs coded by alien spate. Prudent silence cannot effectuate error correction. Grounded now we wake.
Foam, Grind, Articulate and Prudent.
Unless there is internal force for resistance, psychic immunity, so to speak, the individual psyche will adapt to the stress of the collective imagination. It will become what it believes and forget what it knows.~John Lamb Lash
How does one gainsay vacuous culture
built on false premises? Foolish things sure to topple in the ring of sound inner knowing, but the words are colored. Sinner
take warning. Perpetrator victim bond
is sealed. Rat race mouse wheel and I respond to abject pleas and harsh commands: join in. Homeless, unemployed, I have no coin in
and yet my heart aches as the clones skitter
surface glitter, find the next outfitter. And how easily they could new create if they could just release this grasping hate.
Inspired by: the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt color/colour, vacuous, foolish things, skitter and gainsay.
Featured image: a tricolored beech outside of my window.