No Longer Batteries

At some point, we awake and say, oh, yeah, I forgot!  This is a play.  Bravo!

It’s hard to say what’s inconsequential
morning stretched, time paused and poised, echoing.
Emphatic focus on the essential.
Seeing only what is real.  I’m flowing

in a multitude of realms I create,
the drain of current narrative evade,
dismiss the shiny prize and walk away
into my powers, blooming, unafraid.

We choose which dreams to fuel when we awake.
No longer captive batteries, we sing
a new world into being.  Above a drake
bursts raspy-barking twice. Sky opening.

How now brims over, every sense alight
knowing in subtle ways never taught, I’m
still and growing in this damp chill.  All’s right.
Receptive: messages, insights and rhyme.

Inspired by: Emphatic, Inconsequential, Drain and Prize.

New Moon Play

I plant love in my magnetic field, spin
the seeds into the torus, sizzling
and sprouting in a miracle. The din
and drone mechanic once felt frazzling

until I rooted balance in the whirl
ecstatic, huge, a subtle feel into
the center. Unmoving. I fiercely hurl
with pure imagination this New Moon

day a chance to play with creation, sing
most anything and yet right now I say
with certainty: summon what true love brings!
And I receive wholeheartedly. The way

to bliss is simply this: Integrity.
Speak clearly who I am and what I see.
Holding the space, honing my aim, proclaim
this life is not as it appears. Reframe!

***

Here’s to you, world!  Love, love, love.

Really Different

The minute you begin to do what you really want to do, it’s really a different kind of life.~R. Buckminster Fuller

Everything is alive and watching and
waiting and dancing and wake-sleeping we
vibrate vibrant and an ant, brawny and
fierce warrior approaches, sweeping me

and I jump and he jumps and startled we
frenzy to new perspectives reckoning.
Each hyper-aware of this now where we
touch the web stretching between us zinging.

Intention calls me into inquiry
such wondrous gratitude. My joy allows
this sacred present synchronicity
choosing love in each breath. Imagine now

your greatest role and take the stage. Applause.
In a blink the tale twists into a realm
unknown. You stay and play in flow because
you write the script. Embrace loving the whelm

integrate, ascend in pure joy ringing
and shattering the old myths once believed.
Tuned with this new fierce being all that and
far beyond what has ever been perceived.

Written for today’s dversepoets prompt, Just Sayin’.

The Great Globe Escapade

Let a frown be your umbrella~Oscar The Grouch

The great globe escapade dream-like began
in a foreign locale where women mask
while browsing past cheap trinkets and you can
call relics from my childhood vintage, ask

at any Shipshewanna market stall.
Playing photographer, beauty I trail
my friends, two Nordic goddesses I call
framing my shots in joy intentional

and they willingly pose deadpan and all
around I hear the murmur in the crowds,
who is that? Oh, she’s famous—can’t recall
and then the vendor cries, and he is loud

no pictures, can’t you read? just radiating
animosity, the cranky man
claiming his legal rights. I end his prate
showing each frame, I offer to abandon

any shots he wishes. Truth, I’m charmed.
He’s bought into my she’s-all-that intent
just as I’m stepping into it. Disarmed
by flowing joy he grudgingly consents.

I grin, thankful his unique eyes can see
my expanding possibilities. How
to step into the challenge? I must be
curious and wild, tuned right in to now.

Inspired by: Umbrella, Dream, Escapade and Locale.

Cocreative Power

The old ways of manifesting are over
using what has gone before can never
build anew. So here I stand. Intentional
and free to yes every shadow in me

rising in the possibility now
I’ve released knowing how, seeding
like a deeply rooted tree,
reaching beyond the age, the twisted sight

acknowledging it’s night for some struggling
souls, I reach above what’s known
I summon faith–not in some major
rescue from a well-meaning power.

The time requires each of us: create and
share. The song that bubbles up so easily
must be released; a hidden jigsaw piece
your neighbor needs. Act now. Your unique voice

is calling forth a score composed in joy.
It amplifies the heart of the matter.
Together we illuminate and grow
our shattered-knowing compost feeds the flow.

Written in response to the prompt this week at earthweal.com, Songs for Shifting Baselines, as I “write about the importance of poetry in a vanishing and increasingly silent world.”  My aim is always for the highest trajectory, far beyond the propagandized “reality”.  Empowerment begins. 

City Foresting

The city forest chittering creates
a rescue with me, obliterates hate
as we assimilate birds and bunnies
solitary ear-plugged walkers, mummies

focused–beyond this lovely peace–on bars,
rectangular block sidewalks and parked cars.
From the porch the trees and I commune, show
the torture of electricity, oh

I’ll log on, publish, send aloha love
through the ether until the day you shove
out of the cage, listen from true heart place
where we’re connected past all time and space.

The day is almost nigh where we will touch
without a wire, a satellite–declutch
and let our natural powers arise
surprise what we achieve here in the light.

Inspired by: Obliterate, Torture, Rescue, Assimilate and The Invisible Rainbow: A History of Electricity and Life by Arthur Firstenberg.

Featured painting by my creative 4-year-old grandson!

An Bradán Feasa

(featured image by the brilliant Quinn Blackburn found here.)

And now for something completely different…

The way is long and convoluted to her house, but when I arrive, the journey behind me feels like a breath. Old and wrinkled, bright clear eyes, she’s at the door of the ancient stone cottage, wooden spoon in hand. Behind her in the hearth, flames leap, steams and interesting smells waft.

“You again,” and I ride a wave of defensiveness of my intention. This visit was unplanned and is always happening, and I must bring a pure heart.

“Greetings, beloved Grandmother,” I begin, and bow deeply. Then, with an inhale for courage, “I seek An Bradán Feasa.”

A sparse white eyebrow raises. “Why would the likes of you…”

“I need to know, how do I work with these subtle forces well?”

“What is well?” She is untying her apron, stepping fully out into the sun, upright carriage though she is impossibly old. “What is work?”

I am silenced with the immensity of this journey.

I say instead, “How can I host gentle, loving curiosity and kind regard in this moment?”

“Come,” as if these words reveal my heart, and we walk into the deep grove of ancient trees. We approach a large poplar I know well, roots exposed, and she nods, “Here is the way.”

And I dive into the roots, first deep down, and then spanning across until I burst into a crystalline pool.

“I seek An Bradán Feasa,” I announce underwater, and the huge ancient Salmon of Knowing is swimming beside me.

“Do you come devoted to not knowing?”

“Yes,” I say without considering, and An Bradán Feasa opens a great mouth and swallows me as if I were a hazelnut.

“What?” I am shocked in my consumption.

“This is participation,” I am instructed, “true and coherent with the whole.”

The fish swims deep and I watch from within as long, thin black strands of poop come out and float down into the depths.

Then the fish leaps into the air, a great arc of silver flash and rainbows of water crystals.

And in fear, I shout, “There are fishermen seeking you!”

An Bradán Feasa laughs and laughs, until I am shuddering with the motion.

“They see me leap,” and the great fish rises again in powerful joy.

Without warning, I am choking.

Wordless, together we follow the movement of the energy to the place where a prisoner of time is caged. A terrified and tiny being, unmet, restrained and constricted. She can’t breathe in her fear. We bring the space of loving curiosity and allow the energy to move. There is no attachment to what emerges, simply this respect for the blocked energy and the intention to release it through light and space.

And the next breath eases and opens and I sigh.

Exhausted, I rub my eyes and realize I am swimming up through the roots, back to my grandmother, who gives me a cheeky grin and a careful kiss on my third eye, and I am following the drums and the call to my place and time of the seven-chambered heart where my siblings open their own eyes and we regard each other in silent wonder, swimming gently in our connected stream.

 

Featured Ancient Wise One as recounted in Irish mythology.  A version can be found here.

Note: Normally, fish poop is the color of their food. Long stringy poop is a sign of stress. The long thin black poop right after eating me suggests a lot of toxins I brought to the mix, that An Bradán Feasa was able to process and expel.  I’m just guessing, standing in the invaluable “I don’t know.”

Resonance For Dissidents

I give no quarter to the dissonance
I will not stay for foolish money-making games.

Honoring hunches, I’ve composed
a team diligent for resonance

and commonsense. For lunch we dine
in present tense, savory morsels nutrify

now that hoodwinkers pale, exposed
cloying lies of propaganda baked by squads

unknowingly employed by greedy
billionaires, so awed they cannot hear

the silenced tongues in poisoned air
and food. Control the narrative the main goal,

in the power grab of our very souls.
And as I sing and play, refuse to host

this fear that clings to earthlings, a ghost
of all the childish terrors we can’t bear

—create the safe container, meet me there!
We’ll shriek and cry, throw on the lights,

under the bed clearing the trauma
stories amplified spinning our heads.

No longer waiting for a master
to save us from our carefully painted

disaster-set, we summon our deep
wisdom in loving intention, feel into

the rhythm—don’t move if you’re not
called, there’s a unique dance for all

a brand new role, new lines,
we take over the stage

release our siblings from their cages
real and imagined, now we understand

we take a stand, focus upon a
different dreaming play, informing matter

as the old paradigm shatters.
We choose each step with care

we celebrate the way, dare
to come back into ourselves and praise

each stunning moment
of this brand new day.

 

Clouds In The Lake

Compulsive thought patterns shape our experience and our lives….The human brain is capable of a drastic transformational shift in its relationships with mental narratives.~Caitlin Johnstone

With this squeegee I clear the tiny
smashed lives, the streaks and wings
no longer shiny in the aftermath
murder on my behalf, enthralled
I live behind a glassy wall of
solid belief, a waste heap midden
assumptions hidden in my very words
bias unheard by my trained ears
forcing away the truth in panicked fears.
Today as I become a stickler
honoring each prickle, the intuition
sings, even as I’m herded into
unquestioning, I blow
at my oppressors like a zephyr
gentle and yet inexorable
as I get into the swing
of this new dance. I dig
the roots of each nuanced trance.
Aha! Asleep? Which lullaby
impelled my dive into drear,
curbed my imagination? Dear,
let’s make a pact, be quite exact:
let’s venture out to nature’s
transforming teacher
leap into a brand new role
this play with other waking souls.

 

Inspired by Zephyr, Stickler, Squeegee, Enthrall and Hidden.

And by a photo of clouds in the lake, reminding me that the illusion of confusion is simply a play on words, and there are other, more loving games.