Make The Best of Bad

Release yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our mind.~Bob Marley

We’ve been raised in captivity…for generations.~Eileen McKusick

Around my lanai I grow a scented
hedge of jasmine. This tiny place rented
in a rush while captive under the eyes
of a state tyrannical, my demise

swift and brutal yet I rise, bolstered by
my quest for beauty. Nature’s solace: sky
and sea and all these ancient trees. I reach
but you’re entranced in cabarets–beseech

and plea, but my appeals a waste. Your pain
creates disdain. Our different grounds sustain
deep gulfs if we believe the other needs
to change, become the same. Here we are seeds.

We meet, we fall in love, we breed. Offspring
resentful and suspicious feel the strings
but never guess just how far back these rings
of our immurement stretch through everything.

We are empowered when we truly see
the strictures of our own captivity.
For then and only then can we break free
and write the new inspired narrative.

Inspired by: Lanai, Hedge, Charade and Bolster.

Sailors, Take Warning

Red sky at morning, a fleeting warning
just as I see my wealth is aborning
if only, my coach exhorts, comfort zone
abort. I’m content where I abide, home

at last, solitude the gift I treasure
back in my wanton body, feel pleasure
where the narrative can’t encroach I sing
reality without reproach. Poise rings

with tuning forks. My feathered friends rely
on my largesse, teach me the sky. They fly
into the city wilderness. Sun’s touch
caresses as I loosen beliefs’ clutch.

Inspired by: Wanton, Encroach, Content and Abide.

Sounds of the Night

There is an incredibly subtle and powerful calculating industry of modern dislocation, where that which is deep and lives in the silence within ourselves is completely ignored. The surfaces of our minds continue to be seduced by the power of images. With the continued netting of everything, chosen images can immediately attain universality.~John O’Donohue

Instead of hectoring, I try patience,
a prodigious reveal of common sense.
Taciturn as my solitude reveals
miracles thundering these boxcar wheels

revolve on tracks I’d thought abandoned, dark
and echoing across the night, they spark
the revolutionary thoughts, inspire
the will to revivify my fire.

Inspired by: Taciturn, the Extraordinary in the Ordinary–listening to a train thundering through last night, Hectoring, Prodigious and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “rev“. And the book Anam Cara by John O’Donohue.

Call Me Bad-Ass

The woodpecker knocks at our awareness. Are you opening that door?~Bernadette King

I’m lonely and I’m sad and that is fine.
Up before the rise of sun, starry-eyed
and resolute. The planets finally
are turning, constellations cages free

the untamed beast, enraged, suppressed no more
lays waste to good and bad, explores the core.
I’m speaking out, imagination wild
with each pen stroke freeing the inner child

to wail and flail as clear-eyed I can spot
discomfort and allow: perfect I’m not.
My self-esteem and my self-worth are clay.
I start to play, invest in me today.

My currency tied to a wealth amassed
in lucid dreams–and not at all half-assed.
It’s 5:55. I take the leap. Taboos
against the blues, this phase of loss in view.

Inspired by spot, loss, phase, and featured image, the woodpecker who announced herself between bites.


Tell no one else, only the wise/For the crowd will sneer at one/I wish to praise what is fully alive,/What longs to flame toward death.~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (translation by John O’Donohue)

Reading the morning propaganda, sigh
and come alert. Everything’s veiled, denied
the truth perverted, misaligned, weighted
by whoppers. Vérité infiltrated

so the skate on flimsy premises yields
distractions, causes inaction. Minefields
of lies drive bickering, the trickery
cast like a spell. I know it well. Sickly

the population submits. Dissonance
imprisons us. Sing now in innocence
and joy. Grounded in earth, rediscover
mirth. Life’s close companion death uncover.

Inspired by: Everything, Veiled and the inspiring book Anam Cara.

Featured image: a gorgeous sycamore tree which sadly only exists now in this photo and my memory.

Singing Through The Din

If you don’t like the life you live change it now it’s yours.~Crass and Steve Ignorant

Below my window noisy machines, guys.
Through the shouting scrum, woodpecker comes, eyes
my suet gift.  The other birds are shy
and watch the skyline of my feeders, high

and safe from madmen filling screens with lies. 
Critical thinking’s gone.  When I decry 
the nonsense, their eyes glaze, they double down. 
A prophet’s ostracized in her hometown.

But I must speak.  The shit is going down.

The common cold’s relabeled, a new fad
at ludicrous and speeding faster, plaid
the new reality.  Narrative’s mad.
I’m living here unsaddled and unclad.

And I must speak past twitch and twitter spell.

I cannot wear this wan cloth that they sell.
I do not dwell in fear, for I am well.
The only contagion that I can see
are traps the mind creates.  Freedom’s the key.

The wrong’s going on too long.
Here is my wellness song.

Inspired by: Skyline, Twitch, Scrum and Wan.

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.

Enjoy Yourself

Imagine all the fun you’ll have in your old rockin’ chair. Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.~Guy Lombardo

At sunrise I fling open the blinds, view
the feeders and bare branches–just a few
red leaves still fluttering. A chickadee
might sing soon, a prelude customary

in my new space. Ataraxia grace
in a rocking chair framed by green plants placed
in a way to convey how I’ve escaped
the ungainly beliefs others might drape

heavy across their shoulders, masked and stooped
under the weight of foundations built, duped
and buying in to the false premises
such costly economic messages

destroying peace of mind in this psy-op
slyly leveraging–over the top–
human compassion for a straw man claim
designed to spin our wheels and seem insane.

Inspired by: Ungainly, Customary, Ataraxia and Prelude. And this amazing interview of Kelly Brogan. I absolutely love her response starting at 1:03; it sums up almost every conversation I have these days.

The Tangled Web

I’m catching flak for pointing out the spin
the fabric of time’s historical win.
A team of yarn-spinners’ deft weft, the wool
pulled over our eyes snug and tight. We’re fooled

from the womb, enter helpless and blinking
guided to strange looms, we weave unthinking.
Conspiracy theorist, are you shrieking?
Beyond cloth of reality, seeking.

Inspired by: Flak, Team, Historical and Weft.

Yesterday’s Seeds

Eloquent as the eyes of the ancient
soul inside the furry coat. Enchanted
presence. We speak of love in deep silence.
The cords bright that unite us ignite sense

in a newly opened dimension stories
have not degraded, infiltrated squeeze–
And moments of my essence have praised words
those weighted games of flipping neatly verse

fun. One-sided. My saving grace til now
evolves me and I take the leap and how
the instantaneous change flowers. Seeds
long sown in distant lands rooted here. Feed

the words I bring back overused and trite
aim for higher trajectory delight
Love’s spun me with intensity and grief.
I plunge wholeheartedly. The journey’s brief

and what’s reflected all around: chances
inviting you to elegant dances
and you in your dirty jeans feel unseen
unworthy and you bow, subjugation

trained from birth, enslaved by words. Creation
demands: come as you are. Turn off the noise.
A single breath with focus conjoins joys.
Eloquent as the eyes of the ancient.

Inspired by OctPoWriMo Day 24 prompt millstone, an example of which could be a narrative based solely on propaganda and greed. And when I am grieving that words can so easily enslave, this is my cue to look deeply into me and continue, brave.