Letter From The Front

The incidence of déjà vu increases.
My favorite cinnamon replicated;

now the two nest side by side
in the cupboard. The weatherman

predicts sunny and clear and yet
fog has swallowed the lake.

Two dates with loved ones cancelled.
The insidious hint of death and

destruction tightens my chest.
I’m eating so if my well-

being depends on diet, how
fortuitous food is available still.

Someone is nearing the end
of life and for once I hope

it isn’t me. Finally peeling
back the layers of ignorance

forced by education and language,
the theft of my inheritance, the good

earth raped and pillaged, for sale and
all the money crying in cages of the

one percent–the catchy phrase we call
our masters lately. The propagandized

mind numb to the shadows.
I’m finally open to love, standing

to claim this darkness. The hoarders
seeped in greed surround me but

their narrative can’t resonate now.
Being well in the poisoned air

requires this deliberate, delicate
shift in the clear and present danger

of endless war on war,
just a horror story after all

to seize our waking dream.
I choose to sing instead.

Inspired by: Shadow, Fortuitous, Destruction and Well-being.

Advertisements

We’re Out Of Time

Will you recognize me? Call my name…rain keeps falling down, down, down.~Keith Forsey and Steve W. Schiff

When he leaves, he calls
goodbye, I’m never coming back.

So cute until the very next
visit is delayed and my

gut clenches. Another child once
sang, don’t you forget about me

into her video just weeks before
the crash that left her forever

young, this photo on the fridge.
This moment, are you here?

Karma used to be misguided
authority’s threat for good behavior,

or that godawful exhortation
act like a lady, for heaven’s sake.

Unpacking that cosmology still
like Mary Poppins’ spacious bag filled

with impossible things. All of it
leans me in to tell you:

I love you. Through all the constructs
of separation. We’re taught to

ride our emotions like bucking
broncos, determined to master

what simply flows. Stuck in the ring
proud agony, suffering refusal

to loosen the reins, the first step
out of time. On the lakeshore

with laden clouds, amassed and
weighing down the gray, featureless

sky, I let go even the waiting.
Here under pressure

saying at last
I do not know but

I care
with every vibrating cell.

Inspired by: Authority, Spacious, Lady and Karma.

Double Take

I think, therefore I am.~Rene Descartes.
In the stillness of my heart, I am.~Thomas Huebl

There are 10,000 thank yous
in my pliable heart today

spiraling in layers of waking,
calling me from the dreams.

It takes gumption to deny
the insidious cosmology

walking outside the rigid
boxes and Cartesian love

affair with the monkey mind.
When will science comprehend burps

signify the presence of ancestors,
that living trauma obstructs

our songs in the fields of
our being? When can we call a

dead stop to giggle
at duality, celebrate the belly

laugh that loosens the grip
of damnably right or humiliatingly

wrong? We become this mourning
dove surprised into flight

eye-catching, swirling air
across the lake. We recognize

each other. The plump and juicy
aloe plant vibrates the window.

We drip gratitude as we
breathe. The trees quiver.

Rocks hold deep programmable
space. Cicadas chirrup.

Light reaches into us all
in abundant, life-giving waves.

Inspired by: Giggle, Layer, Gumption and Pliable.

We All Chip In

People cowering count what
they’ve lost, but surely it hasn’t

always been this way? They say
what they have (fusty,

broken-down and obsolete.)
Focused on want,

the space of lack,
lost in bewitching screens

powered by programmable
crystals in our computers,

in our bones, we resonate
unknowingly to the planted

message, rush to fill the empty
echoing places. And yet when we

slow finally heed that
wordless invitation

to hope, the power to
have what we say:

this moment, out of time,
beyond our perceived cages,

we arrive together
where we all dwell in love.

Inspired by: Fusty, Bewitching, Chip.

Aha

What moves us into adoration?
Nostalgia pulses for the well-loved

being whose cries
drew kind eyes and soothing

voices. Do we emerge
from the womb connected

to sublimity? Bearing messages,
overjoyed and bold,

our confidence shreds
in the urgency to keep

our tender flames alit.
We arrive purposeful, only

to struggle into ill-fitting
languages with no words

for cell-inscribed soul-
deep knowledge. Consulting

lexicons and temples, we
amass rich complexity

flowing past our lips. Still
unequipped to proclaim:

Listen, just beyond
our ken! The cottonwood

trembles in an invisible
breeze as we are called

to worship. We bow our
hopeful heads, move into

man-made artifice
and glass-stained stories.

Under the stars
we come

to right relations,
find the balance

ride the smooth ascension.
The earth tarries no longer.

Wordless, we hold the light
arms widespread,

as our brothers scramble
to finally feel

the way.

Inspired by: Overjoyed, Nostalgia, Adoration and Sublimity.

Count von Plutokrat

Austerity is a fun little game where each day we pick some people to hide all the money, and then we spend the rest of the day playing make-believe, saying, “It sure is too bad there’s no money for the things we need!” Oh, and we pick the same people to hide the money every day.~Caitlin Johnstone

These vampires flit past our awareness
hoarding generations of stockpiled

treasure. Blood-sucking monsters
and they don’t care about our plight.

Give them unending night!
They lay chemtrails to swallow

the sun, and we, farmed creatures
in their zoos, wander forlorn until

enticed back into calm hypnotized
acceptance with these flickering screens.

This is just how the world is.
Troublemaking poets slide by,

choosing words with an odor
of ancestral memories to illustrate

the path to freedom. We explore
the cracks in our cells, invite

the light. We shine on the acquisitive
drive that keeps us locked.

In a musical key, we strum
and hum past deaf defenses.

Fear an instrument poorly tuned,
we play what is here

pour unstinting love
as we embrace the present

ringing each
harmonic moment.

Inspired by: Vampire, Odor, Illustrate and Acquisitive.

Offensive Defense

I sit in quiet to reflect
the astral ancestors blazing

across the clouded skies.
Eclipsed–forgotten?–by shadows

cast, huge hidden vessels
gliding through the dark.

Who sets our agenda of forever war?
Congress just voted 1.3 trillion dollars

to spend this year, on the books
delimiting the budget for visible

ventures, bombs and warships and
personnel and payments to all

the companies who camp along
the coast, an ocean of funds:

dip in your grubby vessel, dripping
with bloody lies, bargains galore!

All the secret organizations who
masquerade in acronyms and capital

letters take their payments in the dark.
Tired and dispirited, feeling watchful eyes,

at our wits’ end, we crawl through days,
lifting at last to the headsets

and gaming the matrix, entrained, fueling
this utterly insane war machine.

We wake up weighted to the dollars
debt–whose defense do we pay for

with our lives? Industry hums
as we race madly

to the end of a world we’ve missed
and perhaps have never seen.

Sacred geometrical messages of hope
bloom in hidden fields, mown down fast

by the masters of the enslaved. We look
and look and look as what is hidden

emerges. What we see has no name.
We blink in confusion, searching for clues.

Inspired by: Camp, Book, Astral and Delimit, the continuous appearance of amazing geometric patterns on crops, and the House’s 1.37 trillion dollar budget for our endless war.