Get Well Soon

I don’t mind raising a ruckus
about injustice, people called
luckless when in fact they’re
strangled at birth, the future earth
a tangled rumor they have heard
but never felt,
trafficked by greedy manipulators
of belief. It’s tragic. The rich
construct an idyll for arrival
if only you work hard for just
another cycle, betray your brother,
deafen your heart to your soul’s
calling, you’ll be falling
on your feet tout de suite.
I share this improbable bloom
this glorious hibiscus just for you.
Celebrate your delicate beauty
available here today, the way
through the hustle of
unintegrated past that masquerades
as future, beckons, preens
triggering a chance to be seen.
We’re swimming in collective trauma
eyes open in the midst of drama,
reaching out to those swept away.
I cannot save you. I am revealed.
Hiding enslaves you so I’m
calling out the crimes, being
with my flaws, intent to heal.

Inspired by: Rumor, Traffic, Cycle and Ruckus.

Soundcloud recording here.

From The Air

Once again I go mobile as my
social nature beckons past
the pain I always knew outcast
the only girl in a boy tribe–
I became a scribe–the earth
sign among the air brothers,
left-handed awkward. My mother’s
despair, I didn’t seem to care.
Round peg rattling around the boxes
which never held securely.
Always toppling out immaturely
at inopportune moments until
today, uphill, I recognize
the convoluted path of my
endurance from the skies.
Pure chance, the window seat
shows the flows I meet
dancing winding reaching touching
water meanders through the clutching
squareness of farm-field plots.
Sniffing a copse,
backtracking for a kiss and on a slow
curve following the movement of life,
round and brimming undermining strife
on my linear track. Looking down,
I see I’ll not take up the slack.
Canyons are carved by running streams
and so I’ll continue riding this jet stream
alive, awake, contained at last
my open heart can hold the past.

Inspired by: Endurance, Social, Go and Track.

Featured image from Steve Hillebrand.

Soundcloud recording here.

No Coincidence

We met in that careless synchronicity wizards know.  Car seat between us, his handsome young face alit.  Trading secrets that silver-haired grannies like me hold, but in 30,000 rides, he’d seen the way of Tao. 

I told him I lived on a lake. 

His dream was to leave the windy city of his birth and open his heart to the waves, the birds, the peace.  

He said, “I could live with someone older, do the chores, relax.”  

I thought what he was flirting with was the incantation, as wizards do.  

“I meditate,” he confided, so we both know there are moments caught between heartbeats where we meet.  Strangers no longer, we waved our wands to solve the planet’s woes, just so.  

By Departures, we tarried a spell until airport security prevailed.  Another wave, he drove away.  I glanced, curious, into the mirrored door.

Flash fiction in 144 words written for the dverse poets prompt:  prosery between heartbeats using the line “there are moments caught between heart-beats.”

Featured image using Lunapic‘s Van Gogh filter on a recent photo.

Exponential Leap

The moving walkway is coming to an end.  Please watch your step.~Recorded airport announcement

Your evanescent dreams disappear
as if the iteration of you

dancing into this space fears
to be seen, not enough, untrue,

just wrong. As if you need
an alteration to fit the story

modify your heartbeat
because the rap of history

spit relentless by affluent
victors with strong prospects

collected from your half-ruined
hopes, distracted you expect

linear like stepping onto
the moving walkway, carried

in a fog as we’re all drawn to
the tales we live and breathe.

Today right now opens night
songs and sheer poetry

this field of pulsing light
resting, held in dark mystery

we finally celebrate.
Take care. The world’s in flux.

Don’t take the bait,
the lure of hate; it’s love

that powers the new plan
together we connect

and span the living bridge
the time and space open our range

hearts full of bars
we sing in perfect pitch

earth-rooted, heads in stars
a song praising our change.

Inspired by: History, Evanescent, Affluent and Prospect.

Soundcloud recording here.

Holding A Mirror

“Healing is ultimately restoring the web of life and it’s restoring relation. It’s restoring our capacity to resonate with each other.”~Thomas Huebl

Lately I have sworn a mission
to unearth deadly superstitions
my self-created artifice
a heavy-handed fist.
A child in danger finds euphoria
in mystical incantations, a story of
what would be most desirable
in a world of known trouble.
I wake woven into the lines
I’ve spun, fairy-tale fashion,
how childhood’s begun, sing-song
battles of evil and good.
On the snow-covered sidewalk I pace
wary while a man with a masked face
in a trance seems to dance
in high-tech second skin, so thin,
running easily past the treachery
I perceive: the wind a brutal hiss
for me, while he’s in bliss.
He’s free in ways I’ve not conceived
another creative way I self-deceive
clear in the mirror he’s unknowingly
holding gently and showing me.
As simply as appearing in the cold air
we heal each other.  Life’s a love affair.

Inspired by: Euphoric, Most-Desirable, Superstition and Artifice.

Soundcloud recording here.

Make You See Stars

You fear your heartfelt pain
a maelstrom too turbulent

to be contained, palpable
implacable, you never see

how valuable your sensitivity
hails from your resilient

spirit rising from each family
event that rent you

brilliant star let’s simply say
you wouldn’t be here any other way

like a heaven-sent drum
you come with your black belt

in pain and sorrow, beating
yourself down, dwelling

in hopes of a tomorrow with all
the cards you were not dealt.

Your unobtrusive wings feathering
unseen all the sharp edges

that point you hear listen
I can see you clear

your convoluted path how
you enter the now

take my hand and we
can simply be.

Inspired by: Palpable, Resilient, Heartfelt, Maelstrom and a friend in need with a reluctance to ask for help.

Soundcloud recording here.

We’ll Do It In The Street

I’ve been infiltrated by I can’t
which of course means I won’t
and having boundaries is scant
comfort when it means I don’t
complete these tasks. The crux
of the matter is in formation.
Around me are the thousand fucks
I gave yesterday. Causation
is circular: we round the corner
in firm outreach and find
like Little Jack Horner from
childhood nursery rhymes
illogical, misshapen riddles
from beliefs that stick around
even after stringent culling,
our reality so tightly wound.
And I’m sitting in the morning
of this strange town, prompted
and prod and given warning
today the lines of love songs cropped up
and duty done, I’m singing
down the streets, a happy puppy
at my feet, my love so far away
in space and time. Ah, honey,
in my heart you’re still so sweet.

Inspired by: Riddle, Crux, Outreach, Circular and all the many difficulties of incorporating my daily practice in new environs.

Soundcloud recording here.  (With added beats of Nylabone Grinds by my grand-dog-ter at my feet.)