If Anyone Is

As sensible as a jolt of cold water ~ Laurie King

If anyone is sensible, it is

the poet, releasing logic and reason

feeling into mysteries with no desire.

While others pace with whips and

cages, we gape with new eyes,

run our fingers over the bumps

and wrinkles.  My mother cries,

did you ever? at every anomaly.

Strange and bad synonyms

to delineate edges of the comfort

zone.  Slightly mad and just plain

weird, we scribble our visions,

chatter with children and lean into

animals, whistle back to birds

and gasp as fairies flit our

peripheries.  We zoom in

deep wonder.  We live in uncertainty.

Thrumming into living clouds and

quivering forests.  Seeing being.

The lake breathes and undulates.

Tiny ones dance and hop and run

and fly!  We look into

unknowable as the divine

celebrates what cannot be named.

Written for a dverse prompt to “write in the 1st or 3rd person of your own experiences (real or imagined) or your witnessing mental health issues. Or if you prefer, base it on a poem which depicts living with, or alongside, ‘madness’ – and don’t forget to reference it!

Follow The Aah

What if nobody knows what’s
going on? Oh, we jump on any

soapbox, proclaiming our insights,
produce our plans to rectify

the wicked programmed fear
laid in place over suffering

generations. We hint darkly
of the deep state, or inner

cabals, alien confederations tightening
the nooses round our delicate

necks. Humanity teems over each
scrap of darkness projected

by unfettered greed. My awareness,
my attention, my imagination

sincere and unstoppable
the most precious resource

sought after, cajoled, seduced.
My very spine aligns

the priceless antenna
receiving sacred now.

I sit in this newfound
commitment moment to moment.

There is no other life,
no future gripped in the talons of

the past. Opening like a blossom
unfurling each perception

releasing the false narrative
with simple reflective breath.

Now commands every sense
as I arrive

letting go of time
and space and story.

Into the not-knowing
field of always available

–what is this–love?
a hummingbird comes to the screen

chittering, the poem listens
as I fill the feeder.

Inspired by: Scrap, Rectify, Wicked and Sincere.

Love of My Life

If you’re wondering, who is

this auspicious star, it’s me

illuminating every puddle.

Here you are casting shadows

with that serious face

oblivious to the solar

language of my kiss.

Come, play in these gray

last winter days, shiver

anticipate that moment

when I finally pierce

your cold constellations

and you let go of your grief

to look up


the listening at last.

Inspired by: Auspicious, Wondering, Puddle and Language.