Health Hack

This disease is incurable.

I do not believe

I am going to survive.

The doctors prescribe

pills and potions and operations,

will never contemplate

vibrant health.

I must practice

control, 

inflammation like a wildfire,

persistent.

Daily meditation

the option no one suggests.

It is obvious

with western medical thinking

I will never

get well.  Death is coming

no matter what.

Their message is dire.

And even though

their message is dire,

no matter what,

death is coming.

I will never 

get well with western medical thinking.

It is now obvious

the option no one suggests

— daily meditation,

persistent, controls

the wildfire of

inflammation. 

I must practice.

Vibrant health

will never contemplate

pills and potions and operations

the doctors prescribe.

I am going to survive.

I don’t believe

this disease is incurable.

 

This is a reverse poem, written for a dverse poets prompt by Frank Hubeny.  I’ll quote Frank here, “a reverse poem is one that presents a message, story or a viewpoint for a few lines and then stops and rewinds all of it playing the message back, line by line, but in reverse order to present a very different story or viewpoint perhaps even the opposite of the first view. It can be quite powerful especially if the first direction is depressing and the reverse of that is uplifting.”

Advertisements

Ultimately, it’s this:

I’m just writing. And that’s my advice to you. Screw the rules. Just write about what you feel passionately. And then say it out loud. The world needs powerful voices right now who see the truth and can speak it. Who can cut through the distractions and point out what is essential. Who can remind people, hey, we’re in this together.  That is far more important than rules. Writing from your own unique life path, sharing your own incomparable wisdom that no one else can access until you show up and tell the truth.

Inspired by a question about rules from a beginning writer and the word Ultimate.

What’s Worth Defending

You had to stand in line to hate him. – Hedda Hopper

Once upon a time, I would have dissolved

into helpless tears much later, encircled 

only by my mistreated ancestors.

Today I can’t find my boarding

pass as I join the queue and 

I’m beyond vexed, searching

through meaningless bits of paper

while the crowd jostles and 

presses until I whirl in fury.

“Do NOT press that against me!”

And the entire line shocked

into silence turns in rabid

fascination to listen to his mumbled,

“I didn’t mean to make you

uncomfortable,” which I reject

in my most — I mean, I gotta say,

freaking fantastic 

modern embodiment of Pele —

lethal voice everyone cranes to hear,

“I’ll knee you so hard that tomorrow

you’ll still wish you didn’t

have that cock.”  And I catch

the eye of a huge man

in front of me who is so 

here for me, and gesture

grandly, “Please go ahead

of me, try pushing your

self against him.” 

And to the sidestepping

pervert — I mean, literally protecting 

himself now with arms crossed 

and lowered, I hiss, “I have three

brothers, don’t think I won’t.”

And there are women with their

husbands who are shocked,

but others clap slowly

and firmly, declaring themselves

resources, sisters-in-arms

who have fought this battle

so I go back to my search,

heart pounding and so damn alive,

knowing they have my back.

 

Inspired by: DissolveEncircleVex, Modern

 

Raindrops on Roses

Plants live with their heads in the Earth, their asses in the air.  We love the smell, usually, of their reproductive organs and pick them to give to our beloveds  (a highly suggestive though unconscious act.) ~ Stephen Buhner, Plant Intelligence

 

peace rose in rainA light mist kissing

blossoms, fragrance blessing my

inquisitive nose

yellow rose raindrop

Inspired by Tuesday’s photo challenge for a closeup.  Wait, it’s Wednesday?  Does anybody really know what time it is?

reconsidering reality

Victims and perpetrators at times share, at a deep soul level, the experience of their shared horror, and subsequent generations may incorporate one or both aspects of that experience. ~ Francesca Mason Boring

A constellation….perspective…can find solutions to the unknown aspects that are holding the problem in place. ~ Diane Hetherington and Elizabeth Hostetler

She is decolonizing reality, brave

heart and I worry, cautious — is my poem itself

appropriation?  You see, I drag

along all of my family trauma

accompanied by my ancestors

white on white

trudging across this societal foundation

of greed.  It reaches far back

with glorified pedigrees, the kind that gloss

over humane treatment.  Freedom dispensed

as long as the state is secured

by spying and infiltrating, peremptory

strikes to protect the bottom line.

 

When I was 13, scornful of my parents’

ill-formed beliefs, searching for truth,

maybe I could have thrown off the shackles

of believing the system is a good one.

Closing the pages of the history that

erased the atrocities, ceasing to

celebrate the discovery of millions

of people alive and well before

being claimed.  But the openings

in those days were LSD trips and the rest

of the journey beyond that gate

lost in grateful dances

with psychedelic deadheads.

 

Still colonized, chanting old lyrics

preformed structures of thought

to preserve the coffers of the very rich

and keep the rest of us enslaved.

And yet, here she is, singing

in fragments and tweets, despite

the brutal erasure of her culture,

her language, her spirit guides.

And I am a grandmother, living

on the unmarked bones of her people

and her guides bring their medicine

daily, singing and hooting and tweeting

and who else is listening?  The dead

 

decolonizing reality, She is

brave and i am finally ready

to erase my claims and reveal

it’s not i did this, i am doing

this journey is our

Reality, she is decoloniZing

you are appRopriately

afraid.  sing bravely, deer heart

Inspired by: Spying, Dispense, Freedom, Humane, Handle

As We Enter Deep Places

So, at a level far below that of language, the feeling meaning of the story goes inside you, into a very deep, dreaming place.  Into the place where your deepest feelings reside.  And there it changes who you are, just as all good stories do. ~ Stephen Buhner, Plant Intelligence

In polite conversation, it’s just not done

to say, “She hated me,” and so I laugh,

as if the emotion has no substance.

Expecting some bland reply, if any —

ah, it’s an enigma

that you feel so blue.

Feel better now.  Is it only

natural to sidestep these deep 

openings? But you love me

and you ask me to embrace

my grief and pain and pure pissed-off

chagrin at her hostility.

You pull me out into the garden

redolent with peppermint and fresh-cut grass

gifts from the breeze

over the spring-fed pond.

The coolness heralding the turning

toward the fall, 

when all things appear 

to die after a blaze of vivid

protest or celebration.

Your hand in mine, my emotions

free to move as we pace

into the unknown places

this moment has revealed.

 

Inspired by: Enigma, SubstanceBlue, Redolent, Natural

You’re Lying

Today in a pine box; 

tomorrow the dark, 

cold earth will hear your tale. 

Even on your deathbed, 

you’d have liked to box my ears,

blaming me for this hard life.

All the while, denying

you’ve been tightly enclosed

in your own dark beliefs.

 

Inspired by the Whimsy Gizmo’s Quadrille Challenge using “box” (44 words not including the title.)