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. And by this glorious morning as (above) the moon surprised me when I was out taking photos of this sunrise (below).

13DecDawn

 

night watches

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems ~ ee cummings

they filter down through dreams

and spaces held open urge

me to leap from sitting

brilliant light pierces my dark

being taught to outride

that quiet space

honoring the shy shore-fishing

heron focus deep and yet so light

they could slip through the finest

strainers and the only place

to land is in this fertile

mind soil or else flutter across

the high ceiling of the house

of my consciousness like dust

swirling in the noon light

begging to be put down

before swept away in that frenzy

of cleaning before night

descends once more

flashlight in hand patrolling

these prolific inky places.

 

Inspired by a prompt at dversepoets to write a poem about the ee cummings quote above.  I have never written in ee cummings style, but I tuned in this morning and wrote the previous poem (on the cutting edge) before I saw this prompt.  So that’s going on.