An Enemy To All Mankind

All these grandiose schemes
of a nation proud of melting
ethnicities if only they can all
become white men or their
grateful servants. Those old guys
identify an American Dream–
just accept the belting
ignore the soul’s last call
to sit and shelve and swear
allegiance to the oil that buys
what they’ll call freedom.
These Orwellian shelling
innocents, the sanctions fall
on children rummaging on bare
earth, too far to hear their cries
the toppling regimes
tax dollars helping
surely then our prayer
the war-empire’s demise
is only fair?

Inspired by: Ethnicity, Nation, Grandiose, Identify, the horror of war by economic sanctions, Edwin Starr singing War (What Is It Good For?) and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Last Call (Talk about the enterprise (sales or service) conducted by the last phone call you received from a business you’re not associated with (i.e. your workplace), or talk about that phone conversation itself.  Checked my call logs for the last two months.  Only received calls from friends and family.  I’ve got my blocking/spam ID in rare form!)

Soundcloud recording here.

To Be Clear

To be clear, I am far from stating that the material world does not exist.  Rather, I propose that what we think of as the real world is a holographic consciousness construct that–in all ways at all times–is subject to modification by our consciousness (or unconsciousness) of it.~Potentiate Your DNA, p. 70, Sol Luckman.

To be clear, I corroborate
starry-studded hope. The great
scheme permits a shift
deteriorates these rubber
stamps that once defined
a quirky campaign purely
designed to control us,
shut our inspiration down
before it’s found.
Wait.
That’s opaque.
Words lead
astray. Our hearts
know truth when we can
sit aground, intuit,
follow every trigger
to its source as a matter
of course. Everything changes.
The bigger gift appears
inside the rift
of our exchanges.
Mumbo-jumbo yet again.
Bafflegab gobbledygook.
In essence, I applaud your juju
all the power flowing through you
transmutes the lies
and obfuscations
into clear sight, wordless
roots of transformation.

Inspired by:  Permit, Rubber, HopeShut, CorroborateCampaign, Scheme, Quirk. and Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start my post with the first three words of the first full sentence of the book closest to me when I sit down to write.  (That sentence is the quote at the beginning.)  I was overambitious today, trying to use all of the past two days prompt words in this stream of consciousness post.  Braving my inner critic to hit publish even though it does appear to be mumbo jumbo.  Creativity needs to be released.  So be it.

Soundcloud recording here.

Tuning Into The Song

Toby, my new love, lies besides me.  Both on guerneys in a white, light-filled room.

His eyes are closed.  A nurse wheels in Ben, my first love, and I greet him with delight and concern.  He’s also injured.  I send a circle of love to surround him, become aware simultaneously of Toby, awake, scowling darkly, simmering in unreasonable jealousy.  And he is aiming it all at unconscious Ben. 

I gently remove the finger of smoke, seal Ben’s protection, follow the trail back to Toby.  His heart is loud with hate and fear.  I am unmoved, yet moving with calm deliberation into the blackened heart. 

He is overtaken and still I unwind the hate like music out of tune, and I the tuning fork.  Deep inside, he longs to hear the note to return, return to the song he was meant to sing. 

Dissipating. 

The electricity of his will thrumming now into a new vibration.  I lean back and close my eyes, smiling, at ease.  Something new has burst from me, my song amplified, my powers restored.

***

Written for the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt: Loud and this impulse to write flash fiction this morning.  SoCS rule number 1: Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write. (Otherwise, I would go back and fix some things!)

Where We Belong

His journalistic range, Black Thought expressed,
is a catalyst for change–for me, a big yes!
to all this live electricity streaming down
to find my ground. This is key:
finally sitting in my base
expressive face
letting my body feel it for a change
open and available to mystery.
Don’t get frosty–the way I do,
all my chilled trauma places preventing you
from touching me, containing us
I could regale you with the stories
but why make a fuss. The energy
sets the stage: when a child cannot
express her rage, she goes inside
or finds a pen, crafting rhymes
to keep her hand in. Until today
excitement bounds in the deep
inner space that channels the sounds
from higher places
where we are round
integrated, safe and sound.

Inspired by: Stage, Frosty, Regale, Excitement, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “key“, and my commitment to make December a “freestyle to prompts” month with soundcloud recordings.  (Today’s is here.)

And the continuing inspiration of Black Thought Tariq Trotter’s freestyle chops expertise utter brilliance.  (An amazing interview on his process here.)