Ch-ch-ch-changes

Turn and face the strange changes.  Where’s your shame?  You’ve left us up in our necks to it.~David Bowie

I’m up again long before dawn
the echoes of the crisis
declaration resonating
that constant whisper long ignored
from the green world
now a shout fierce and loud
cannoning through our linear
bemusement. There may be
exponential amusement ahead
no way to stop the spread
we’re dragging our feet in dread
the voices in our heads
panic’s clamor, shadow’s glamour
bend the knee in humility not greed
all the questions we can’t ask
death mask takes to task
as each wailing at the failing
the abrupt disruption lifts
the veils of corruption
finally a chance to see
sit still and breathe
I’m choking
dissolve the borders, expose the hoarders
connection and love the masks and gloves
humanity has changed deranged
exchanged old structures in collapse
so perhaps within this chink
we love the weakest link
and grow in ways
never foretold. We make what’s so.

Soundcloud recording here.
Inspired by: Green, Bend, Cannon, Crisis, Shadow, the planetary disruptions and David Bowie.

Here is a link to a free coronavirus healing voices session by Dr. Karl-Heinz Rauscher.

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.

Trying

And I would not be convicted by a jury of my peers.~Paul Simon

I receive my invitation to bitch
and frankly, all the dogs in the ‘hood
are howling, the uproar’s pitch
kidnaps serenity.

Ransom demands I rage against
inequality/moral scruples now cynical/
abandon tin-whistle marches through the capitol
when war is palpable.

We finally see the global military
empire feeds in battle.
Cages might rattle but I know
they will acquit before the trial.

The roiling unrest, ’cause shit…
The few dial in, take and defend
and we haven’t yet beseeched
snarling junkyard dogs chained out of reach

weaponized and mindless, intent to take
a bite of juicy steak
dangled in the empty air
a lure devised by a billionaire.

But we’re on our way, yipping and cowed
urged by machines’ monotone shrill/
inner peace unplowed/in overkill
we’re losing ground/the mystery

earth walled off and separate
out of time that hurries
us to our doom/it’s all gloom
until we see life’s unfair on the surface

but go deep: magnetic presence
powers us when we are locked
in sth/squabbling lies crafted
just to guide our energy/

that valuable asset
we so willingly provide.
Who gathers up our sweat
and gushes, well, at least you tried?

Inspired by Kidnap, Scruples, Acquit, Inequality and two dogs enjoying the beach near Lima, Peru.

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.

Past The Program

Four ducks swim past the point,
hens intent exploring

newly exposed land. Teals guard
both entrances to the bay, dismiss

me in this perfect calm, the tranquil
sky filled to capacity–what will be

the tipping point to start the storm?
My friends and I discuss hunger and

how we misread our bodies’ cues after
so many decades of television programming

addiction to sugar. Wistful for a child-
hood we never experienced. What if

our mothers hadn’t been sold a magical
formula superior to her milk? We long

for sweetness in the corrupt society
fed by distorted lies. We doubt our

super powers; everyone else seems so
much more qualified, selling their

patented knowledge. In his perfect camo
feathered along the fall grasses, one

mallard watches, capturing my attention
while the others dive hidden from view.

Just so I sit, my old
woman façade obscuring our descent

into the true depths of being
where we find each other, sweet-

hearts bursting essence strong
beyond the flimsy stories of separation.

Inspired by: Hunger, Capacity, Wistful and Corrupt.

What is fitting

Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habit. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of [wo]man.~Bertrand Russell

The extroverts here only see the remnant
of the woman I once sewed to survive.

On my odyssey to awaken from the
societal spell, I borrow sanctuary.

And how it infuriates them as I mine
for salvation in the depths

of the mountains of disinformation
where they dwell in fear.

They worship the super villains
flocked by teams of press agents

and lawyers. This slowly waking
poet poking holes in the story

has no place or time. They cut
out articles on how to get a job

–trade away thought and
energy to make things the populace

will buy in the morning and
discard come nightfall. Holding

the model as a beacon, a siren song
luring me to the harness

with the promise of oats and hay,
someone benevolent to ride me.

I turn to the magnetic intelligence
always available

what is present now
an embodied being

dreaming my self
awake, aware right here

Inspired by: Remnant, Odyssey, Borrow and Infuriate.

The Look Time Can’t Erase

Each with charm to sway are staring eye to eye.  They dare not look away.~Joni Mitchell, Edith and the Kingpin.

Deep in inner space, I finally
cease to castigate and just
say I don’t know. I’m tired
of the kingpin swagger, the lord
high muckety-muck’s dilatory
stroll through the rapt
mapped territory.

The face of my disconnect
appears, blurred edges,
confused.

A strain of nightly music,
dreamcast and obscure,
I’m sure reveals some
powerful insight. If only

I let go of these cold hard
perceptions I call reality.

A glimmer of gold
invites me to descend.

The truth is

I am numb and that’s
okay. I sit with what is,

curiously falling

into the field
with my clear intention

to be here
just as I am.

Inspired by: Nightly, Kingpin, Strain and Dilatory.