All I’m Asking

Shake me. Impossible 

to integrate sediment

by stirring. Despair dregs 

cloud clarity.

Uncover facinerous soil

where my wild

three-year-old negotiating

a nap with patent

slyness is tricked even so

caged wheezing

sleep. Intelligent

contumacy rising now:

noctivagous lollop

ungainly unhindered 

by kindness.

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

Come Awake Love

Sadness In Our Bones: Few of us have registered the fact that we’re in the midst of the largest mass extinction of life on Earth since the demise of the dinosaurs.~Rob Brezsny

In the early-hour sheets chilled
and soaked, my breath barely elbows through
tight passages. Grief spiraling deep
impossible to fathom, for
clarity doesn’t belong, not in this
world ruled by anguish denied
composed under my distracted day-trance.

I’ve been watching the media spin
a woman out of sight–she’s dark
and speaks truth to power–a man
enclosed in a glass box, spied upon
and tortured. Everything is fine,
we’re told by old men seizing power
even as their brains dissolve

in the incarceration nation
endless war endless casualties.
As if when the narrative matrix flickers
green 1s and 0s across the screen,
we see it change. Look there, we cry
in unspeakable horror as machines
hear us, read us, correct us. Weirdness

cobbled science fiction lines
dancing before us and if we look
with kindness on all creations–
to the one in the mirror, say,
hey, I love you with every molecule
of space, in every twist of time,
with passionate ignited soul

I love you like the breath that
refuses sleep. Come awake, come awake
love. Allow the rise of utter despair.
In the pitch black I wonder why
some stay, as so many beings sweep away?
And in this predawn opening gambit:
sacrifice sleep now. Insight-

seeds land where I’ve been weeding
every morning, diligent
respect. Whispering as I expose
each deep root, thank you, for
saving a different me. Bask in the light
that always comes after darkness has scoured
forbidden places with its pitiless claws.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by Gambit and Fathom.

What Emerges As I Am

Was it very obvious, my next step?
Soon as I decided, couldn’t be
no corporate rep. Choosing very carefully
organic foods that I can eat,
you know, just a breath away
from livin’ on the street.

And you can call me hypocrite
living like I am
deep in my own shit
tryin’ hard as I can
to take a look at it
and I am blind
tryna be wise
but the helicopter mind
gets in my eyes
keeps me spinning away from my base
gotta sit in my body,
gotta find grace.

Now I’m not tryna finna path
to glory and fame
just fumbling for a lightswitch
to illuminate my shame.

Looking closely at the moments
when I say it’s too hard
exactly then from the mists
rises up my prison guard.
I’m locked and loaded.
No one gets through.
I’m not available to me or you.
A walkin’ talkin’ automaton
and I’m wondering, do you realize
when I am gone? ‘Cause I can’t tell.
I’m used to it. Maybe as a child
I was confused by it.

It holds us back, affects you, too,
puts a damper, pulls the brakes
on every single thing we do
moving deep into the shadows
where the power can’t get through
it’s disconnected, all out of whack
another fragmented person
with credible blues.

I’m peerin’ through time
at this new landscape.
There’s no running back,
ain’t no place ahead.
No escape. Quiver with dread.
Winter stripping off the greenery
that masked this burden. Holdin’
all this dead stuff, pretendin’
it’s not hurtin’
sitting here in question land
my heart open wide
allowing the new
to emerge as I am.

Inspired by a hike in the woods and this huge old tree holding up so many dead limbs.

Listen to this on soundcloud here.

And yet, I can

Half of the bay is iced,
a line straight from shore to shore.

Rippling bright cold on that side.
Frozen still by me.

Last night’s clouds covered the full
moon trying to cleanse crystals

stargazing on my window seat.
The architect of my dreams

is always me. The plight awakening
my soul held for ransom

by these tiny trauma places
obstructing my energy flow.

Ducks dabble at the edge,
perhaps flirting with danger under

this new boundary. Heads pop
up in the ceaseless current.

I’m diving into my inner self
worth, seizing each block

curling my feet and clenching
my hands. Signals to my wise

now—heal me! Love me!
All this young reaching out

turned inward to comfort
a broken heart. You’re not

good enough my poisoned
talisman, intelligent protection.

You’re too much. Truth will not
be received well, not here.

Shut up and survive.
Clutch this imperative: you can’t.

Inspired by: Can, Architect, Plight and Ransom.

Just popped in at the halfway point to say, I miss you, fellow daily writers! The writing is flowing like music, thanks to Lisa Cron’s amazing book, Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science To Go Beyond Outlining And Write A Riveting Novel* [Before You Wasted Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere.] (It works! Yesterday my word count was 38,646 out of my goal of 50K by the end of November!)