May this day set me in motion, I ought to be on my way.~James Taylor
The retrieval begins as history
seethes alive, unintegrated mystery
seeping lavalike through the cracks
we finally see propaganda matrix
cannot hold the avalanche of comprehension.
Just as young, so very young beings
we were not met, rocked ourselves singing
lonely in our survival anguish
even now in these adult bodies, wish
as we are vexed by these troubles offered
like a blessing awkward we try
to cut, bury and exclude, we cry
foul, deny what bobs behind
towed larval as we struggle, eyes
fixed firmly on a magical horizon
believing we can create a new
unrivaled shore the past is blue
awaiting the arrival of the candid
mating: irridescent swallows landed,
white flash of startled killdeer
two diving ducks are still here,
flock long departed, have they started
a nest? A cardinal flashes a red kiss
and everything I’ve missed luxuriant
green nestling violets’ valor.
The joy-praise sunrise song settles
to a soft and subtle fluttering petals
from the magnolia and I revalue
and adjust my filters, ambrosia
connection silent and filling
with presence: stilling the should-bes
as I see and say: this is the way.
I could light the night up with my soul on fire
I could make the sun shine from pure desire
Let me feel that love come over me
Let me feel how strong it could be
Bring me a higher love~Steve Winwood
It plays out
a silly drama designed to trigger
that frightened child’s trauma.
When she arises
I look with friendly eyes.
Warm welcome! I hereby call
this difficulty blessing, fall
with humility and clearly state
my intention to dispense with hate,
manifest a higher love
as I connect to the divine
above like light streaming
no longer in the mainstream
dreaming how, for
in the simple truth of now
releasing fear, I bring myself
heartfelt, on fire, here I dwell.
Shake me. Impossible
to integrate sediment
by stirring. Despair dregs
Uncover facinerous soil
where my wild
a nap with patent
slyness is tricked even so
contumacy rising now:
A quadrille (44 words) written as the dversepoets prompt “stirs” sleepless musings during a stertorous night with Foyle’s Philavery at hand.
If you’re not lucky enough to have a Foley’s…(I love this book so much!)
contumacy: stubborn resistance to authority
facinerous: extremely wicked
lollop: to move heavily or be tossed about
noctivagous: wandering in the night
The embers are cool, and I have lost
the eyes of long regard and so alone
I face my darkest corners, create
a ledge and perch watchful.
This is the glitch I spy
from far below, peeking with
frightened courage. Overwhelmed
by life’s adventure, everything
strained, the ice holding
beyond the boiling water.
If I could cut a romantic
figure, I’d persuade you to
look deep into my heart
the way I do and with such calm
kindness hold the sinewy
dark cords pulling insistent.
More and more space, there’s a
crowd and I can’t catch
my breath. Sidereal Sun’s in
Aquarius. Earth quickens
toward spring. Moon flirts
with fullness. Deep in spaces
of unclaimed dreams, do you
invite the end of the world?
Do you ask if you are worthy,
do you wish someone to show
exactly how to love?
by magical powers unseen.
I set out to see the world
and find love. And do we all?
Is love a luxury? All these words
of course lead me astray.
I sit in quiet, greet
each moment precisely.
And when a thought proclaims,
you’re not who/what/why/where
you should be, yes, and
I learn, oh, this is love.
We can’t stay in the moment when we fall into our trauma.~Anjet Sekkat
In this distressing space, hidden
voices in dark treetops anticipate
light. My feet curl and twitch,
transient visitors in fright,
searching for an exit.
My breath, a raider, sloshes through
venomed restraints rasping to
reach the bounty painted in treasure
maps. I would surely search better
yet here be gaps bespelled,
my wild and wonderful tactics
to repel dangersome monsters
lurking by my bed.
Would I have composed new
incantations had not school
curtailed my effortless creation?
from your tiny desks and
spurious facts. Gaia demands
uncivilized bare feet dancing.
Teach us our feral ways
etched into genes, advancing
the wave of millennia. Life
wants to live in connection.
Throw off the beloved
critic, so carefully knitted
into our lonely self-
perception. Gently and soft
loving intently who we are
as we are magical and whole
even in our fragmented mirrors.
Here we are now
it’s clearer, to save the day.
There is no better way
to be. Together, can we see?
Inspired by Slosh, Transient, Raider, Bounty and this photo that resurfaced from my childhood, topless here in a wizard dance with my favorite magical beings.
Once again I go mobile as my
social nature beckons past
the pain I always knew outcast
the only girl in a boy tribe–
I became a scribe–the earth
sign among the air brothers,
left-handed awkward. My mother’s
despair, I didn’t seem to care.
Round peg rattling around the boxes
which never held securely.
Always toppling out immaturely
at inopportune moments until
today, uphill, I recognize
the convoluted path of my
endurance from the skies.
Pure chance, the window seat
shows the flows I meet
dancing winding reaching touching
water meanders through the clutching
squareness of farm-field plots.
Sniffing a copse,
backtracking for a kiss and on a slow
curve following the movement of life,
round and brimming undermining strife
on my linear track. Looking down,
I see I’ll not take up the slack.
Canyons are carved by running streams
and so I’ll continue riding this jet stream
alive, awake, contained at last
my open heart can hold the past.
Featured image from Steve Hillebrand.
You fear your heartfelt pain
a maelstrom too turbulent
to be contained, palpable
implacable, you never see
how valuable your sensitivity
hails from your resilient
spirit rising from each family
event that rent you
brilliant star let’s simply say
you wouldn’t be here any other way
like a heaven-sent drum
you come with your black belt
in pain and sorrow, beating
yourself down, dwelling
in hopes of a tomorrow with all
the cards you were not dealt.
Your unobtrusive wings feathering
unseen all the sharp edges
that point you hear listen
I can see you clear
your convoluted path how
you enter the now
take my hand and we
can simply be.
Dedicated to the magical Eva
We practice the great art: embrace
what arises in our widest place.
In wordless zest we see
who takes the reins and drives
me through each shadowed face.
We relegate gregarious
inclinations to conflate
Whether she is eight or some past life,
ancestress or an archetype,
are these chains she holds.
We see her vigilance wary
yet her power to subsume–
all my personal space set
Our container holds
witness on the beach
building multidimensional sand
castles in our reach.
We are here
as the light reveals the shackled,
shackler and more,
the very chains, the dungeon floor.
We peer through
the acrid smoke, the gasp
of rattled lungs. We find the one
who traces spirals on her
palms, while seeming bound.
The treasures found! As if
a stage, the script blocking
the exits and the entrances in time
locking it all
and still I’m circling
to meet myself at last.
The past survival story
of the wise witch in her
The residues of pain
I count as gain.
Healing dances through the sleep-
less night, energy released
from places deep must find
the way. Obstructions melting.
I’ll be okay.
Inspired by: Zest, Gregarious, Conflate and Personal.
So much to digest
the buoyant trauma bobbing up
escaping my firm and
constant pressure to keep
this drama contained.
Letting all the content
settle under calm
guidance, a transmission
irradiates the presence,
diamonds formed from coal.
All the dark and fearful
places, shunned, unknown
arise in us. I’m tearful
as I recognize in you
in me, in us, love’s
intelligence, the will
to live, protecting innocence.
This lost and hungry child
in you, in me, in us,
so long exiled, we welcome
now. There is no better
you. The Tao simply includes.
Inspired by: Settle, Buoyant, Irradiate and Guidance.
What is the part of me that calls me onto a path? I believe the part that calls us is the echo of the memory of the future–the reverberation of remembering the future.~Thomas Huebl
The child has learned
to be taciturn.
What can you expect
when the means to correct
her are myriad and cruel?
Enter the Yule.
Does she dare to hope
a little gift will help her cope?
is no aberration.
Satellites have filled the skies
with starry lies.
The ground has all been paved.
Have you been saved?
The father asks, her yes
the no submerged
unheard yet I am opening
the door, focusing
light in this dark place.
Ah, child, when I wore that face!
Listen, darling, to the calling.
Time itself is falling.
Inspired by: Yule, Expect, Taciturn and Duration and this amazing talk by Thomas Hubl, The Echo Of The Memory Of The Future*.