No Curtain Call

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it’s all a show and out of date.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.

All Shook Up

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.

Gives Us Those Nice Bright Colors

…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.

Music of the Spheres

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.

Complicit No More

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.

If I Move

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.

My Circus, My Monkeys

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.

Put On The Inspired Carpet

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.

The Correction

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.

Inspired by: Foam, Grind, Articulate and Prudent.

What We Know

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.