Hiding In Plain Sight

I long to be present for the live
show behind these vacant eyes.
She’s slipped away before we could say
our heartfelt goodbyes.
She was never fully seated,
so it seemed, always floating
above herself engaged in chatter
on little things that didn’t really matter
mosquito buzzing in your ear
and by the time you swat,
it’s disappeared.

Maybe there was something I should have done
tossed a buoy in the ocean of her discontent.
I stood up when he called her loony
helped her trace her steps
when she appeared, having left behind
some little thing, not her mind.
And his gaslighting covering his fear
the two of them lockstep
calling out and insincere.

All the anger disconnected like a cloud
steaming up the mirror.
What they couldn’t say aloud
like poisoned gas, a cloud
I inhaled, but never mind,
that ship has sailed. I find
they’ve locked her here
for safety’s sake. And so we sit
like at a zoo, who’s in the
cage, who’s missing a screw?

Inspired by: Live, Vacant and Ocean.

Listen on soundcloud here.

Everything is New

Do you heed that clear
voice denouncing your dealings?
Or does the world pull you past
all your feelings?

I slow here
in all my weird ways,
seeing true
as I enter the sacred
space of you.

I once ascribed to a
foundling theory, over-
whelmed by white male bluster.
Needing to scream, ahead of
my dreams.  I abandoned
my frass, called it survival, never
knowing how to thrive.

I could burst this bubble
with my embrace.
Just give me space
to duck under
where I know the roots
of our true love grow.

Inspired by: Bubble, Ascribe, Ahead, and Scream and Frass (Robert McFarlane’s Word of the Day: “frass” — the dust & refuse produced by boring insects as they tunnel into timber, leaf or stem. Figuratively, therefore, a writer’s rejectamenta; the words discarded in the process of composition (from the German fressen, to devour).

Perspective Change

“Fire is the Sun unwinding from the tree’s log.”~R. Buckminster Fuller

Never forget that you are one of a kind. Never forget that if there weren’t any need for you in all your uniqueness to be on this earth, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. And never forget, no matter how overwhelming life’s challenges and problems seem to be, that one person can make a difference in the world. In fact, it is always because of one person that all the changes that matter in the world come about. So be that one person.~R. Buckminster Fuller

At sunsight we suffer a sea change,
paint in grays in the turning

we call dawn. From moonlight’s shimmer
of silvery waters, a palette inspired

by dark, splashed gently with
white and moody mauve, deepest

blues touching taupes and
licking lavender. A tiny

yellow drop. None of the pinks suit
chic-subtle in monochrome.

The sun is film-noir whispers
veiled disinterest. The I who once

chased those golden waves to paradise
would drown in a platitude of mourn.

In my deep healing torsion today, I spin
away from pseudo-science manipulations,

catch light beautifully warm and cool.
A new world arises. We reflect connections.

Sumptuous, velvety fog plays
well with others, celebrating we.

Inspired by: Suit, Dawn, Chic and Platitude and a foggy morning that fills me with so much gratitude, inspiration and a true knowing we can effect change!

Merci beaucoup

Across the water tenebrous woods
await light’s generous revelations.

In the chill, I huddle and watch
what seemed insurmountable in dark

emerging, eminent by noon.
I practice, say I don’t know

in one thousand wondrous ways
that sound like thanks, gratitude

soothing my frightened amygdala with
an intentional evolution, planetary

and necessary as two plovers arc
white-feathered play across

the brightening lake. Speak to me
and I will listen inside you

for the deeply felt praise
behind your triggered fear.

Inspired by: Eminent, Insurmountable, Tenebrous and Chill.

We Save Each Other

For James

This dissonance created by talking
heads spinning webs of deceit

is no mistake. Carefully crafted
disempowerment revealed in the dark.

Spiraling up. We start,
disturbed. Harvest what’s been

planted, brows wrinkled.
When we dare to question

we’re inundated with flippant
non-answers, rising like vapor

in our muddled midst.
We are awakening to the chaos

feeling alone. Despair.
We cannot make sense of

the cruelty of separation.
Across the planet, we tug

a line igniting our soul fire.
Oblivious, immersed in our unfixable

wrongness, even so we touch
the responsive field. Huddled

in pitch black, eyes closed
as the light hurtles us to day.

Every agonized step we take
loosens our silenced sisters’ bonds.

Every word we stutter dissolves
the others’ gags. Every gasp

breathes. Our connected hearts
pulse to the living now.

Written for #OctPoWriMo Day 1 prompt a dark night of the soul and inspired by: Flippant, Vapor, Harvest and Wrinkle. and a suicidal tweet by a young autistic gay person in England this morning.

Past The Program

Four ducks swim past the point,
hens intent exploring

newly exposed land. Teals guard
both entrances to the bay, dismiss

me in this perfect calm, the tranquil
sky filled to capacity–what will be

the tipping point to start the storm?
My friends and I discuss hunger and

how we misread our bodies’ cues after
so many decades of television programming

addiction to sugar. Wistful for a child-
hood we never experienced. What if

our mothers hadn’t been sold a magical
formula superior to her milk? We long

for sweetness in the corrupt society
fed by distorted lies. We doubt our

super powers; everyone else seems so
much more qualified, selling their

patented knowledge. In his perfect camo
feathered along the fall grasses, one

mallard watches, capturing my attention
while the others dive hidden from view.

Just so I sit, my old
woman façade obscuring our descent

into the true depths of being
where we find each other, sweet-

hearts bursting essence strong
beyond the flimsy stories of separation.

Inspired by: Hunger, Capacity, Wistful and Corrupt.

We In Tune

Feel the blessing of the ancestors
life living through the family

tree. And bless the trees, flowing
love and life and light. Outside

the boxes that hold us in the
desperate drive for cash–

breadcrumbs leading into darkness
where the masters keep us

vapid, blind, deafened
to each others’ cries–far

from these nightmares we call
reality, reciting obediently

schooled from our earliest days
when we only want to go

out and play, dancer answers
to the proper question:

Who are we? An outlawed
fungus clues. The teachings

I seized in my childish frantic fear
run me like clockwork and worse

guide my descendants. I can’t
hold any longer what chokes

my voice. What if 7.7 billion
people speak the truth?

I am here in sacred space
while the demolition begins.

Alert, awake during this new
gestation. Through the dust

and debris of the empire’s collapse
all the dark emotions rear

like panicked horses. The
dismantling goes deep.

I want to fight, to cling
to the disease I know,

dark entity holding sway
simply a house of cards

when my rising power
sings yours, beloved.

Inspired by: Entity, Vapid, Fungus and You Are A Song by Mirabai Ceiba.