Narrative Shift

Relation is how spirit becomes manifest.  (Cowbirds and robins and geese are here for this)~My notes during yesterday’s Evolutionary Relationships Zoom meeting with 20K people.)

Before the pandemic of fear surged
to short-circuit our safety switch,

when poisons swirled over gasping
serfs, my old woman perspicacity

sheer audacity,
mocked and scorned, an intuitive

witch grasping in the vicious wrangle
for half-truths to dangle, like a curve

a mesmerizing tool we must defeat,
entranced, asleep…before all that,

you won’t remember, another tale,
a different tweet, the psychopathic

plunder that we assumed was normal
—here in our empathic wonder

the cruelty and panic seem a dream.
We who dig into the roots now rise

—first, of course, self-regulate,
surprise each moment as our biosphere

becomes clear and we create
sing-praise the body electric

from microscopic molecule to planetary
thrumming and beyond, zing

past what we conceived as separate
and scary, drop objective reality

in connection commune
the symphony the masterpiece

each voice in tune
in ways we never could perceive

until we breathe
in this precious now

the beat emerges sweet
and how

Soundcloud recording here.
Inspired by Wrangle, Safety, Surprise, Perspicacity, Curve and by the dversepoets prompt, Björn asks us to write how things will appear on the other side of the current “pandemic.” Featured image of last night’s pink moon filling my night sky.

And deep appreciation for Walt Whitman’s love poem, I Sing The Body Electric.

Handle With Care

We have burst from the shells
staring agog at blue sky
feeling sun and wind ruffle
our feathers. There are no words
dragged from the past
where once we nestled
cozily content in a slumber
no longer available.
We turn in our astounded delight
to urge our caged brothers
still below: peck free!
The opening is clear!
The peckish response: you’re
killing me. Leave me alone,
I’m eating my existence
all my energy devoted
to this dreadful chipping away
in the darkness. Cold disconnect
as everything I know tears away
and must be digested before
I can move.
Ah, my dear, in my delirious
joy and open question, I summon
all my compassion
hold the space
while you find the will
to fight through what blocks
your clear sight.

Inspired by Discover Prompts, Day 7: Below.

Notes From The Dig

Alarms trill across treetops
interrupted swallows dive into my

awareness. In the distance 18-wheelers
thrum-ferry toilet paper and manufactured

food. We chew on cardboard, humble
and contrite in the shambles of

the billionaires’ leavings, resources
stripped. Do they eye our young hungrily?

No longer allowed outdoors lest we protest
in massive waves, perhaps new recruits

are being conceived to power
the military might in its last mad

scramble. There’s no rhyme. Dissent
is dangerous, they’ll lock you up.

I flex my superpower muscle
I don’t know

throw off the shackles of hope
create empowered grace.

Are you alive?
Thus you belong.

Your worth unquestioned.
Let’s turn together and face

our greatest fears lurking in the ruins
of our past beliefs alight in love’s bonfire.

A female swallow poses, chirrups
her enticement to the circling males.

I am now a statue, stunned from story.
Life wants to live

atwitter as sun gleams across water.
The evergreen, the blooming and the newly

budded coax slumbering oaks
to spring. We sing each other

praise now
exactly as it unfolds in ways

we cannot perceive, not today,
shifting under the weight

until our only choice is to dig
deep into the very roots of our being.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Lest, Contrite, Grace and Shambles.

A Seasoned Witch Could Call You

Stormclouds close in, harry my unhurried

pace. In the spring woods, I frame

close-ups, solitary blooms and curling

vines. My neighbors pass, not close,

good-how-are-you fake smiles. Names

escape my closed mind. The world feels slow

close to the edge.

Square Storm

Written for the dverse poets prompt: Close.
Title from The Solid Time Of Change by Yes in the album Close To The Edge.

Stay healthy, my friends!  Walk in the woods, dance to music.  Listen for the call of the seasoned witch.

Any opening

Here I am, to save the day!
Does my radiant smile sway?
Did I interrupt your terror
engine? You defend error
hands off when I get precise
and stand in question. Advice:
dig in the dirt to expose the roots
and the house of cards lets loose
shifting precarious
appearing nefarious.
My metaphors are bouncing
in your dissonance, trouncing
the diffidence. I aim
for any opening. No game.
Stress kills. Our coping
mechanisms with a daily onslaught
induce injury in ways that ought
not happen when we
embrace collectively.
Come on outside, let’s play.
Turn off the billionaires’ propaganda
machine and their greedy dream.
The nightmare recedes in the day
light of our awakening.
The eggshells of our former lives
are breaking. All around
there is the new sound.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Bounce, Precise, Engine, Hands and Radiant.

And this article by Sol Luckman (don’t miss the eye-opening video by Dr. Andrew Kaufman.)

In The Flames

I guess I’m everything they say I am, all right. I haven’t any friends. That’s supposed to prove I’m abnormal. But everyone I know is either shouting or dancing around like wild or beating up one another. Do you notice how people hurt each other nowadays?~Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Three men lash out, scream I do not
belong, I am not worthy

a death threat raucous, echoing
through my cells. The distant cry

of women forgotten, belittled,
labeled demon in spiteful ire

fueled by fear. I am felled
by the dish set before me,

unable to digest for three days
languishing and nauseous.

Is it true? All over the world,
women locked in with men

who are invested in clever
attacks hit where no one can

see. Do I dare speak out?
Who will hear me?

One of the accusations is insanity
and who can prove I am not?

For certainly, the mainstream seems
to have lost all sense

and judged by unmoored reactivity
I must be a portrait

of a witch, digging deep into the roots
determined to expose

just what holds our writhing
agony, what we ignore

and deny, ears and eyes covered
shouting, “burn, burn, burn!”

Inspired by: Clever, Raucous, Distant, Portrait and Dish (Discover-Prompts day 5).

To My Scottish Clanswoman

The Stewart clan motto: Courage grows strong at a wound.

Deep in my DNA you raise your sword
of fiery retribution and vengeance.

To battle, to the death! Triggered by
the bloody attack and ultimatums:

you do not belong and never have.
Do as I say or leave and never

come back. A spiteful vindictive
manchild with so much power

to hurt, to throw me out
is raging with terror. Yes, I see

it in you, my father, afraid
that death will come and grab

your breath—no ventilator for you,
old man. From your chair you lash

out at me, obviously
the cause of all your distress.

The fear porn you consume reaches
deep in our lineage, ancestors

cresting in a wave of trauma we’ve
called to surface. I sent an engraved

invitation to my own fierce warrior,
the one I’ve always judged, ashamed

by power that I’ve never claimed.
Good girls surely don’t bellow

bloodthirsty and yet, we hear.
I cower from your passion. I have

forgotten I agreed to come
and set you free. Remind me

again to embrace your wild
energy and bring you into

my coherent heart. This is
where we will start. Publish

the proclamations: my infrangible heart
is willing to host any ghosting.

These cruel tricks are no joke
wafting like smoke and still I breathe.

Inspired by: Ghosting, Infrangible, Publish, Trick and Joke.