Someday I’ll Wish

When man up is extinct
and we escape the patriarchal
clinch, embrace instead
what’s rarely said in macho
bravos–lunatic fringe
simply a piece of our
extended tapestry–in short,
when we appear just as we
are, with deep respect
(the long neglect of hope
suspect when we must always
correct some fault that’s deep
within our ancestry) when
that day is here
I declare
the evolutionary leap
the shift is in the air
we breathe and suddenly
we see the edgy intricacy
of our imperfect beauty
simplicity when we
bowing, stunned, aware
there is no better you
the one that we receive
and care, unplumbed
perfection when we dare
admit the hidden pieces
the critic sighs,
looses and releases.

Inspired by: Rarely, Extinct, Hope, Clinch and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Man Up, the last movie I saw.  Once again, the demand to create a stream of consciousness post stretched me beyond my comfort zone.  And I’m glad!


Under The Stories

Hawks kree in the bowl
of tree-encircled sky above.

I sit in gentle sway whole
and deep in a container, love

zinging through cells out
into you, my extended

immune system overwhelmed and stressed.
Suspend flight, landing

finally in this expanded
heartspace. Autocorrected and

chastised away from our true
speech, we dare with a scintilla

of hope to utter secrets.
We take our hidden pieces

out into this humid air
thick with revelations, vulnerable

as we show what shames us.
The sickly pieces, pale and frail

from the daily diet of
being shunned, slowly absorb

the light. We bring out
gratitude for the lifeboats

constructed in dire straits
which carried us to this new

shore. A black dog instructs
us to be present, wriggling

joy at each chance meeting,
time no factor. We turn

the corner of trouble and exclaim
in wonder

at this new face, vibrations
we gift each other, serene and

sacred connection. Right now
is everything we’ve searched for.

We bring it all
into presence.

Inspired by: Diet, Flight, Scintilla and Trouble.

Color My World

Drench the world drab 

gray morning blankets 

lost in the resistance

and I’m shivering.

Echoes of harsh 

Mephistophelian snickers

judgmental and cruel

pervade the long corridors

of my stormy night.

My friends expect me

and I just can’t

open my eyes to please them.


I drift into a calm

love is calling

so it’s no coincidence

I’m here in the we-space,


until chaos tumbles

angry red, mindful blue,

passionate purple and

inspired yellow.  

My friend says I’m back

in that black-and-white space

my childhood created

— such a wise person,

look, we survive!

The pendulum swing from

an adorable

toddler celebrating rainbows

and this is good!

shifting when he leaves

to a fierce masquerade

of this constant

critical voice



or me

someone is at fault

someone is bad 

it’s me.

As I reflect

light into the past

I lug around 

seeking mastery, 

my next evolutionary step,

I determine it’s time

to stand on one leg

like a pink flamingo,

nodding to the bluebirds

gathered outside my door

as the first fall flames

flicker gold and orange

and light a different way.

Written for the #OctPoWriMo Day 27 prompt: What color is it? And inspired by: Adorable, Masquerade, Coincidence, Complete, Drench and Mephistophelian.

Joy Follows

I’m frightened

— I can’t breathe

and is it worth the struggle?

Late in the night, I forget

my blessings focused

on the manifestations

of this stress-filled week.

I’ve been without

power, afraid to reach out

— with chronic illness, you learn

to fade into the shadows

rather than voice your pain,

to spare your loved ones.

Daylight shines on the toddler

who collapses in sadness,

I can’t do it.  He’s tapped

into my vibration, not an abstract

idea after all.  I assume

an approximation of certainty:

You can do it! 

He’s created an opening

to empower

and I seize it, leaping from

the cliffs of mastery

of limitations to speak

to all of the young children:

We can do it!
Let’s do this!

At every step to walk my talk

I illuminate

the uncomfortable reactive

places, speak truth

and let go of the programmed

fear forcing a fit that

itches, inflames

my body says no.

This belief system no longer

serves so I take the painful

path to learn

to be myself fully,

integrated, resonant

in authentic joy.

Written for #OctPoWriMo Day 24: Opening, and inspired by: approximateabstract, manifestation, frighten, empower, and late.

Be Kind To Poets

If you castigate this poet before breakfast
be advised you’ll be immortalized by ten.
It is not that I hold malice.
I’m not hardhearted or callous,
but I’m writing and you’ve quite inspired my pen.

If you denigrate this poet after luncheon
there’s a chance you’ll never see yourself in ink.
I’ve been sitting, I’m committed
to be kind so it’s permitted:
let it slide instead of raising a big stink.

If you mock this poet ‘round the supper table
be aware you’re bound to feel my wordy snark.
Tease me, you’ll feel my nasty bite
trust me, I’m spoiling for a fight.
The cruel words you say will light the spark.

So if a poet, you surmise
is quite harmless, I’ll just advise
treat a poet like a snake
and heed every sound you make,
or all your secrets will be spilled
before you understand you’ve killed
your chance to mitigate.
It’s just too late.

Inspired by: Spoil

The Cold Damp Days

My plan is to pacify with a pillow

path and a sheet-draped fort,

a book about farts — Everyone Toots

— don’t mock.

In the summertime, he plunges into bearded

iris to talk to bees,

chases white moths and listens to trees.

In the fall, he hops after crickets

and startles plopping frogs.

With this wind coming in

from the north, we are forced

into rainy day laps

racing fast, high-stepping

marches with a singing bear,

a quick-tempo dance party.

A constant flow

of  invitations

to leap and crawl,

trot and howl,

moving in our circuitous course

to the reward:


which I’ll accept with humbled

grace and tumble

into sweet slumber

at his side.

Inspired by: Beard, Rainy, North, Pacify, Mock, and Damp.


Their fathers stole our land. Long ago it was said ‘the white man would look on in disbelief as his sons and daughters began to adopt the Indian way. To learn what their fathers didn’t understand.’ Yeah… he’s a wannabe. He wanna be connected. ~ Lakota Elder in Dreamkeeper. 


Great blue heron flies over

the hummingbird and I imbibing

our morning delights.  Mine is imported

from a nation known for its cheap

labor, so please understand every word

I speak is flavored by the quintessence

of colonialism.  A Monarch butterfly

— the first this season — draws my gaze.

Three signs, three solitary flights.

What is missing is the connection

between the prevalence of abuse

and the foundation of greed.

These systemic barbs rip away

our flesh as we extract them,

ships filled with enslaved humans,

the earth crying for her beloveds

who cared for her like a dear

grandmother — not shut away in a

home, demented and alone.

We ripped away their talismans

crushed civilizations to embrace

every living being with our

poisons, the bombs and corruption

we reluctantly pay for, the prisons

swelling, the victims singing

as we wallow in our past sorrow.

Blind to these portents

mesmerized by our screen lives


divine grace flows

in the capacious now

just beyond our bedeviled faces.



Inspired by: CapaciousQuintessence, Talisman, Radical, Secrete, Prevalence 

You can watch Dreamkeeper here.


Angels Among Us

…our mind is moved to believe angels are a normal everyday occurrence, something we see all around us. ~ Stacey Zarling

Featured Image: Winged Figure, 1889, by Abbott Handerson Thayer, oil, Art Institute of Chicago.

These wide white wings

enrapture me; she carries the past

modeling endlessly for Thayer

the solution for his quest

to capture unseeable angels.

Unsoiled by her shore-dives

she wades on long black stilts

stunning the waters with her white

reflection, emerging triumphant,

a squirming body clamped in gold.

And then, the lift-off

feathery unfurling before claiming

the air.  In her sudden

absence, the crisp fall air

illuminates the dearth of song-

birds, last night’s plummet

denying permission for those busy

summer reaches.  The sky’s empty.

This new season won’t come cheap,

as we huddle in blankets and hoodies

preparing to relight the fires

opening for true grace

to wing in to our patience

in the inner darkness,

alert for every sign.


Inspired by: Stunning, Cheap, Enrapture, Permission, Solution, Fall

We Choose Life Again

Sometimes I feel like shit about having such awful depression and lack of motivation and I wonder why I want to die all the time, and then I remember I’ve survived sexual assault from 5 different abusers. ~ @khomkhaawii

In the middle of the night

she wakes me, recalcitrant

and restlessly suicidal, and it’s such

a vulnerable time of drunken plunder

when my heart lost, I join in her vigil,

even though

I survived in the daylight

a gradual reach for

sunny, even jaunty, head held high.

It is only now, at sixty —

look, I didn’t break — a lithe

willow dancing through the tempest

to gather all the missing pieces

abandoned in pitched battles

of childhood, adolescence, young woman-

hood.  We choose life, little one,

although his dark presence

penetrates the web

cries and wails for justice,

supreme in his belief

that he is entitled to our silence

while we sing with shining voices

that light the terrible vision

of our sisters, still caged.

And we’re going back, dammit,

we’ll leave

no woman behind.

Rising like breath

after rough, stolen kisses,

the threat of death

is our home and even so,

the innovation of love powers

us, and we choose

to open our eyes at dawn

and drop the pretense

of sleep, crawling with painful

precision as we choose life today.



Inspired by: Heart, Innovation, Gradual, Lithe, Jaunty, Justice and pure heartbreak #MeToo


The spotlight frames the fiend

center stage and so true

to life we all adopt

fake smiles to mask horror.

He’s not my monster, we affirm

and form uneasy alliances,

refusing to glance behind us

at the shadows lurking.

And then this sonorous voice

reaches our eager ears,

a mischievous grin,

pink glasses, musical parody

masterpiece jabs

at the darkness too huge

to ignore or banish.  So we call

them out, laughing all the way,

singing satiric choruses

with glee, skewering with song-

flames, well-done, it’s all a play

on words, and we are

the poets, the rhymers,

pacing prompted daily

to wake up our friends,

our families, our slumbering

selves, quivering in the nightmare

that seems to smother our flames.

Wake up, wake up,

the fire’s burning now

it’s time to sing.


Inspired by: Sonorous, Alliance, Eager, True, Adopt

and by the recent work of Randy Stewart Rainbow, especially his remake of Camelot.