Letter From The Front

My darling relative:

I must be quick;

this morning we join the lions

in the field, constellating their freedom

to roam in the South African wilds.

The news beams are radioactive

and you must avoid them at all costs;

they are rewriting history in

exhilaration at their seeming

power to dismay and distract,

to disarm you.  Sing, sweetheart,

while we pray together,

and feel into our connection

deep resonance, our vibrations

raising until you must climb aboard,

be the sun pouring liquid

light into the morning lake,

bright joy

available

right now

when you release

your authentic voice

that I will hear

and treasure

no matter where I seem to be.

Inspired by: Animaltalk-Africa Global Prayer for Lions, Sing, RelativeRadioactive, Exhilaration

Rising Concord

Listen to the lines of sorrow

composed in tweet

hymns, overwhelmed

by grim information in such sharp

contrast

to the million-year-old symphony

composed by woodlands.

We stumble in the fog

of our own sentience,

unaware

in the moment, we create

everything, the quantum entanglements

of whatever we observe

coming into full focus:

the shared terror of

this collective nightmare

or rising gently

like the sap of our tree

allies to the next level

awakening suddenly

to a blossoming reality

each unique voice

essential

as we create

the new global being.

Inspired by: Hymn,  UnawareInformation, Contrast

Surprise Chemical Reactions

The “archetype of the symbolic flood…stands not only for the end of a formal universe, but also for the completion of any cycle by the destruction of the power which held its components together.  When this power ceases to function, the components return to the Akasha – the universal solvent.”  Juan Cirlot, Dictionary of Symbols

The bay freezes overnight,

a tease of winter

surprises the lake mid-sentence,

swirls and eddies iced over

in poses they will quit

only with the sun’s blessing.

In the garage, I wade

through flowing water,

grab buckets, towels, a flash-

light to reveal how precisely

an outlet valve fills its function.

In the kitchen, my father fumbles

a cup, sloshing liquid over the counter

just as my mother comes in clutching

her ostomy bag and an armful

of sheets.  (I don’t ask if it leaked.)

This must be the birthday

of the unconscious, so long

denied, spilling into new morning.

An era is ending

and everyone is wet,

wringing and wondering.

I leave to write and come back

to my father, soaked from

a hole in the bucket

he chose, disdaining the stream-

lined method I’d arranged.

The containers no longer

hold and we must finally

be authentic as this new

being

arises in front

of our astonished faces

damp from our exertions

to keep up with this flow.

 

Inspired by: Chemical, Quit, Freeze, Birthday

Go With The Flow

I’m watching by the window
any minute now, he’ll show.

I’m captured in slow-moving time,
delicious listening: door chime!

As the car’s parking, he twists around,
I’m a wild, waving, besotted clown.

A hallelujah song in perfect pitch:
the harmony of love and I’m bewitched.

Color me in hues of effervescent joy,
I’m in utter bliss with this beloved boy.

A converse style poem written for the #OctPoWriMo Day 9 prompt: Dancing on air, and inspired by:  Pitch, Color and Parking.

Ensō

I’m leaving this riparian

life with praising

poplars and twittering songbirds,

the shy dusk-creatures

and the long bullfrog-croak sunsets.

My guides here appear

like magical fairies

in beloved childhood tales. 

Right now a praying

mantis means mindfulness.

I heed her, soaking

up the shore, the banks swollen

from heavy persistence of rain.

Like an inspired brushstroke

or a song, my heart-walls disintegrated

in the trumpet call

of my grandson’s arrival.

Invited to follow him,

I see my fears

a Wile E. Coyote moment

suspending in midair

until realization hits

and I’m dropping

into the deepest chasm

where love lives 

waiting for my adventurous

spirit to emerge,

heart-strings twanging

in a new chord, one fluid

expressive stroke

resonating, moving me once again.

Inspired by: Riparian

Goddess Prayer

Our mother, who resides in every

cell, singing,

the vital spark of life,

resonant be thy naming.

Thy truth be revealed,

thy love touch deeply

every being’s heart.

Give us this day

holy sanctity, as we praise

your flame that burns us.

We burn with life, forever spinning,

Weaving to include

all those who seek to close us out.

And lead us into darkness

that we may know our shadows,

that we may embrace our weakness

and become whole.

For thou art the life force,

the spark, the creativity forever,

all life.

 

(Written in 1988 for a women’s spiritual group;  this year we celebrate 30 years!)

My Deepest Thanks

And I thought so that’s how it looks
When one moon loves another moon…~Jasbir Chatterjee

You thought I was giving you

new lines and you couldn’t bear

to change your beloved script.

I was touching something

much deeper

and I thought it was time

for both of us to change.

And of course we did,

a course calculation that my navigation

system responded to even though

you wanted to fight

about small things, stomping angrily

across the stage, smashing

the breadcrumbs I’d left, hoping

you could follow.  I can see

now as I hurtle over these new

roads or stop to gaze

by the light of the full moon

into a slow-moving stream,

what a gift you are to me.

All the lessons I most needed

held up clearly, exaggerated,

until I had no choice

but to see myself roaring like a bear

caught in a trap,

forced to find a way out

even if it meant leaving

that beloved mirror.  When I think

of you now, I wonder if your moves are still

blocked in the same arrangement,

helping each new costar placate you, passionate

feeling into the lines

with all their exquisite turns

or if you’ve looked into that unrelenting

reflection and chosen a different play.

 

Inspired by PlacateMoon and Arrangement

The Other Side

“Toil and trouble.  Fire burn, and cauldron bubble”
— William Shakespeare

Flames burn

all you have ever held dear

every belief, opinion, perspective,

every particle of your carelessly constructed reality

ablaze.

The pain shatters you.

And when you reach for

soothing water,

your frantic sloshing creates

this unholy mess.

Your life is now charred, sopping ruins.

All the mistakes hidden in that dark cellar

burning in plain sight

anyway,

in spite of your efforts.

When you huddle in desperate resignation,

all hope gone,

only then does your heart crack open.

Somehow a spark of life still burns.

Before the cycle begins again,

construct an ancient spell:

carefully place aloha, divine compassion,

tausend dank, friendliness,

merci milles fois, delight,

mil gracias, childlike belly laughs

in a circle

to hold you and love you

as you have always been loved,

as you’ve always longed to be loved,

as you’ve never allowed yourself

to be loved.  And we —

we who hold you,

throughout time and space and beyond,

happy to be finally glimpsed

like a delicate spider web at dawn —

we say, ah, cousin,

how you’ve missed us,

how we are you.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: bubble

Calling All Angels

“If you could read my mind, love,
what a tale my thoughts could tell.” —  Gordon Lightfoot

All of my ancestors are riding a

magic carpet that I carry

in my head. An unruly bunch,

shoving and squabbling, or pouting

in silence. When I move forward

in a new choice, they are triggered

pulling me back

until sometimes I am hopelessly

entangled, bound.

Once, I thought I needed to heal

the trauma that so restricted

their lives and now demands

they spring into abrupt action. Blind

to my world, so different than theirs,

they strangle me in their rush

to protect me.

And so we struggle,

pulling in opposite directions,

sure we’re each other’s remedy.

I’m out of order —

who am I to heal my ancestors?

They are big, and I am small.

These days I reach for

shamans who call in the sacred,

drumming and chanting ancient

words of power. Now I listen to a wise one

moving in behind them, summoning

resources — not to relieve

them of their fate and destiny,

but to reframe the vision

of these choices. When they release

their chokehold, we all breathe

in the new spaciousness.

I send them respect

for this spark of life

their blessing, finally feeling

loving support as I

create new life.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: abrupt