Saved By The Bird

Bluejay scree-jeer from deep

in the oak has been

guiding my daily walks, unseen.

But today, as I consider

love by the silent lake,

her mate answers

three fierce bursts

a red-shouldered hawk mimicry.

And at last he’s revealed

flying to her leafy cover,

framed in blue-feathered flit

of blazing urgency.

See me.

This is how we emerge,

shaking off the dark

dreams hypnotizing our dread.

Calling to each other from the green.

We arise from the captive seats

fronting the flimsy platform,

its shaky construction revealed,

the shoddy actors flinching from

our bright seeing.  The dominoes

— so long to set up —

in the blink of an eye

falling

like fear

when love finally

embraces the shadows.

The doomsday invitation

flutters to the ground.

We grind it into dust, compost

for the rich soil

of our transformation.

Love’s the catalyst

breaking open the rugged terrain

of this perilous paradigm.

Changing the channel

at last, we heed

these seeds

planted at birth

flourishing

even while the moonlit

nightmares handcuffed

and blindfolded our hope.

They can’t hold us,

they never could.

We open our hearts

and sing to our fellow dreamers.

 

Written for #OctPoWriMo Day 8, Love. And inspired by Moonlit, Rugged, and Silent

 

 

 

Dreamkeepers

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

while

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