The Naked Truth

Oust the tainted words designed
to hold us in thrall.
By my reckoning—
another way to confine
weigh my worth (small)—
too many to count.
There is this other.
I’m either like my father
or my mother
good or bad,
happy or sad,
ashamed or mad.
I can’t surmount
instructed to ignore
who I am, this complex whole
the synthesis rising, the door
from that love connection
opening
no one controls.

We’re told we can’t have both,
we’re stuck. We must choose
left or right, never to meet
two arms, two legs,
two hands, two feet
no traction
spinning in the muck.

Time looms, we feel
we must hurry
toward what is real,
more perfect than this
uncomfortable now,
we aren’t taught how
the four-chambered heart
links us deep into

here

we start
tingling energy spirals
grounding into base
primal the earth, the sun
reaching through me
for the life-giving kiss
duality undone.

I hold what I find
difficult this morning
pulled by color and light
from the house into dawn,
spilling all around
participating
brilliant bursts
subtle glowing
held in all,
vastness celebrating
liberating yes, and.

Inspired by: Oust, Either, Reckoning and Naked. Listen to this on soundcloud here. And by this glorious morning as (above) the moon surprised me when I was out taking photos of this sunrise (below).

13DecDawn

 

Take To The Deep Snow

I scare up a sparrowhawk

opening the door

treading through the cold shadows

to emerge into

the kiss of apricity,

diamonds gleaming in the powder

I kick up.  If I were a snow-

suited child, I’d be deep

in the creation of angels

smiling into this bright

sun instead of snapping

close-up photos only

to discover no card 

in my camera.  An empty

gesture on a day

I am out desperately

seeking grounding,

slipping on the ice,

stumbling over the plowed

chunks along the road

until I choose to step

into pristine white

waiting and willing to show

my way.

A cardinal sounds the alarm

followed by a lone crow’s caw.

I search bare branches

to no avail.  Another bird chatters,

perhaps a bluejay

hidden, marking my passage.

I allow myself to feel 

the vital pull

of the earth until 

I’m back in the house,

my intestines clearing

in a rebuke at my attempted

natural healing, or

else this is simply letting go

of all the years of being

a doormat.  Stand up for yourself,

my ancestresses shout,

a dizzying chorus of browbeaten

women, back farther than I can

imagine, rattling the chains

of their servitude to abusive

men.  And I want to,

oh, goddess, so much,

even as I surrender

to my sickbed to lie

cold as a stone

until I rise again

to pen these lines.

Inspired by:  Rebuke, Vital, Apricity, and Imagine.

Walking Mysteries

The sun burns her sultry way
to the horizon and a little breeze
blows celebration kisses as
my 13-year-old friend and I begin
our nightly journey. We head to the lake
first tonight. Showing up wet at the door
might cause a conniption, so I have
her mother’s blessing.
She is a keen swimmer,
ducking for a long drink. She comes
out quickly but I let her know
we can stay.
The water she shakes is cool.
She wades past white
rip rap and feathery strands of dark
green seaweed. Every now and then
she emerges to roll on the grass.
My belly laughs
at her antics are a gift
to her big heart.
Sheer joy.
Her mother tells me later what
I can see as we walk,
dragging her arthritic hind leg,
panting in her pain. And always,
tail wagging, head lifted to salute
the neighbor riding his bike calling
“Stella is taking a walk!”
Everybody here basks in the love
she radiates. I lead her on a different
route tonight, since a swim first
would be more
convenient for the humans, but
she is disoriented, pausing now to peer
at the dim shape of a house.
She recently lost her human
father, and she looks for him
in the few passing cars
which stop to greet her.
She sniffs Sweet Williams and thyme,
but I think her scent powers are fading.
I pet her and call her name and finally,
she simply accepts
her confusion, allows the unknown
to ground her into the same magnetic
earth we pace every evening. She is
my gift tonight. We treasure life
as we near the end of the road.

Daily Ragtag Prompt: Keen

I recycle 2016 Daily Word Prompts: Burn

Word of the Day Challenge: Conniption