Today I’ll Buy No Sorrows

Imagination sets in. Pretty soon I’m singin’ doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door.~John Fogerty

An hour before dawn, a helicopter’s
clear symbol of inquiry–this is News,
not an austere government’s spy
machination, yet the chuntering counter-
beat creates unease, even
in my embraced-silence. Deep
indigo shrugs off thin appeals
searching spotlight can’t penetrate
the dark composing receptive pulsing.
Beyond the houselights, the lake
surely gleams whitely, all the snow
caught and held glistening–
I swear, I saw this yesterday–
now a mysterious difference in the way
light falls, received, reflected.
The noisy rotors recede.
My heart’s relieved.
I know nothing at all.
And still I watch all the windows,
tracking the way night clings
to the start of winter’s day,
alert for headlights carving
the space, bringing
my grandson at last.

Inspired by: Austere, Clear and Looking Out Of My Back Door.

Soundcloud recording here.

These Glimmerings

What I cannot see as obvious
to you as if I were a zoo-
kept beast, all of my keepers
poking at the scary
me, aerate my very
hide. Clean the cage, muck
out the straw, bank the rage
cause fuckitall if there’s a
way around. I’m well and truly
caught. Losing what’s found
beyond this frozen bay.
I’m taught my body
is an instrument and that my song
exquisite point of light, mysterious
plasma of deep night belongs
and more, my voice can harmonize
the score. I feel the glimmerings
held in a place out of time,
and then the shift that happens
opening my eyes
the dull surprise
Help! Alone I am blind.
The wisdom you reflect as we
connect gratifies this heart
vision shifting from
the victim’s why to
the simplicity of breath.
Right now, this step
the foundation together satisfies
what drives creation.

Inspired by: Scary, Aerate, Gratify and Zoo and the question: what am I not seeing?

Soundcloud recording here.

Still Sleeping?

The birds would like to know why
she cut down the lilac bush
right before this big snow.
They call down the chimney.
Query unheard. My voice
more clear. She says, I never
thought about the birds,
taking a breather,
watching her suet feeder,
looking for tracks in the deep
unbroken white. Sure in her right
execution the solution.
The bush expired
her affection–she admired
a different sort.
So life’s cut short.
From this insulated box
the wilderness a paint-by-number
jumbled mess. On Fox, perceptive
of the sentience celebrated
the flickering screens
calibrated us versus them.
Even her own species judged,
dismissed. The other beings
begrudged in cages and she’s
forgotten that they need
nourishment. Feed them.
I remember her
ancestors chopped venerated trees
to claim the land still red
with the forced exodus
of genocide. Don’t count the dead.
I dial in most days. The line
is busy. There is no forwarding
through the haze, darker
hellbent recreation
keep the past labelled
the future with a magic
marker that fools no one
or everyone, fast asleep.

Inspired by: Dial, Chimney, Perceptive and Expired.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

A Portrait Emerges

My daily practice is to walk memory lane
shining light into dark places.
And the fact is, it’s on another plane
the birthright and the so-called empty
spaces (where we’re filled with fire,
the electrical impulse of our desire.)

A portrait emerges,
flickers through time and now
a portal to a child’s rhymes
through the smoky haze
those early days touched
piano bench posture, fingers flying
lyrics voiced repel the lying.

And then the graveyard shift,
digging up bones, the long-forgotten
roots surely the key, my pedigree
stories carved into my DNA
the wave that carries me.
Like peering into a crystal ball
or to the stars, the all-
encompassing need to understand
just who I am.

The screen changes, lyrics
long hair bent over guitar
plucking emotions like strings
ah, the power to sing.
Add this trip to the realm
of rainbow trees, pure love
shimmers radiant, slip,
another shift.

Drift into travel without any fear
that I could feel, backpack
alone through jungles, dive
into chum-baited waters.
Deceived and disconnected.
Now a belief in angels
feeling the jerk out of danger
into grace. My heart-race.

Always the woods, pulled into
sacred by the trees, seated
in peace, a wiser woman
watches.  The retrieval celebrated
by a flying eagle—who disappears

into gray, the illusion spinning
in every way fog through cultural
myths, the shock of we
coming with these fragmented
pieces, drawn
like splinters magnetized
onto the lodestone of attention
the separation gone.

Inspired by: Portrait, Dark, Daily and Memory Lane and a golden eagle soaring through my writing this morning.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

The Naked Truth

Oust the tainted words designed
to hold us in thrall.
By my reckoning—
another way to confine
weigh my worth (small)—
too many to count.
There is this other.
I’m either like my father
or my mother
good or bad,
happy or sad,
ashamed or mad.
I can’t surmount
instructed to ignore
who I am, this complex whole
the synthesis rising, the door
from that love connection
opening
no one controls.

We’re told we can’t have both,
we’re stuck. We must choose
left or right, never to meet
two arms, two legs,
two hands, two feet
no traction
spinning in the muck.

Time looms, we feel
we must hurry
toward what is real,
more perfect than this
uncomfortable now,
we aren’t taught how
the four-chambered heart
links us deep into

here

we start
tingling energy spirals
grounding into base
primal the earth, the sun
reaching through me
for the life-giving kiss
duality undone.

I hold what I find
difficult this morning
pulled by color and light
from the house into dawn,
spilling all around
participating
brilliant bursts
subtle glowing
held in all,
vastness celebrating
liberating yes, and.

Inspired by: Oust, Either, Reckoning and Naked. Listen to this on soundcloud here. And by this glorious morning as (above) the moon surprised me when I was out taking photos of this sunrise (below).

13DecDawn

 

Upwelling Presence

Map me the way to the placid place
welling deep in my heart
where nourishment is tasteful
and sweet, everything digested from the start.

You see, I grew, a twisted tree
reaching ever for the light
my roots in mystery
the trauma history
my lineage looms, late afternoon
shadows casting lines of gloom
stretching out next to me
all the past that I just can’t see.

All the heavy burdens that I’ve lugged
into every connection, every kiss, every hug.
Contributing by absence to collective trauma
scoffing, never seeing how I add to the drama.

Every moment that I froze in time
another pebble in the ever growing pile.
Garbage in a stinking pit
the smell of shit we flushed away
constructed rhymes
far away from it.

We all turn, free throws
from behind our backs, never mind
who we hit, talking smack,
intent to escape somewhere in time.

Drawing down the future as now expands
the past lined up beside me
like a forest of hands
a rich support, as golden light
illuminates what I could never see:
possibilities. No place to run
no time to hide, just open to
the upwelling presence inside.

Inspired by: Placid, Map and Tasteful.

You can listen to it on soundcloud here.

I’m loving the new twist to my morning prompt response. Creativity rising!

And yet, I can

Half of the bay is iced,
a line straight from shore to shore.

Rippling bright cold on that side.
Frozen still by me.

Last night’s clouds covered the full
moon trying to cleanse crystals

stargazing on my window seat.
The architect of my dreams

is always me. The plight awakening
my soul held for ransom

by these tiny trauma places
obstructing my energy flow.

Ducks dabble at the edge,
perhaps flirting with danger under

this new boundary. Heads pop
up in the ceaseless current.

I’m diving into my inner self
worth, seizing each block

curling my feet and clenching
my hands. Signals to my wise

now—heal me! Love me!
All this young reaching out

turned inward to comfort
a broken heart. You’re not

good enough my poisoned
talisman, intelligent protection.

You’re too much. Truth will not
be received well, not here.

Shut up and survive.
Clutch this imperative: you can’t.

Inspired by: Can, Architect, Plight and Ransom.

Just popped in at the halfway point to say, I miss you, fellow daily writers! The writing is flowing like music, thanks to Lisa Cron’s amazing book, Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science To Go Beyond Outlining And Write A Riveting Novel* [Before You Wasted Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere.] (It works! Yesterday my word count was 38,646 out of my goal of 50K by the end of November!)