Unless there is internal force for resistance, psychic immunity, so to speak, the individual psyche will adapt to the stress of the collective imagination. It will become what it believes and forget what it knows.~John Lamb Lash
How does one gainsay vacuous culture
built on false premises? Foolish things sure
to topple in the ring of sound inner
knowing, but the words are colored. Sinner
take warning. Perpetrator victim bond
is sealed. Rat race mouse wheel and I respond
to abject pleas and harsh commands: join in.
Homeless, unemployed, I have no coin in
and yet my heart aches as the clones skitter
surface glitter, find the next outfitter.
And how easily they could new create
if they could just release this grasping hate.
Inspired by: the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt color/colour, vacuous, foolish things, skitter and gainsay.
Featured image: a tricolored beech outside of my window.
Consciousness wants the electricity and dynamo of endless creating.~Jon Rappoport
She warns a rant does not resolve the pain.
Increasing the polarity’s insane.
The males say it’s not ladylike to fight
–that’s their domain. To suffer, woman’s plight.
Yet I stand. I raise my clarion voice
determined to feel anger, to rejoice
as each emotion carries me to realms
and depths, I paint my ensōs. At the helm
of true creation, numbness has no place.
Death in life is so intense, I give space.
I open to imagination’s blaze
and just release the ones who call me crazed.
Inspired by realm, in the circle and Fleet and the Saturday stream of consciousness prompt to use my least favorite word (the last word in my poem today) which keeps being used pejoratively to undermine my credibility.)
“He tilts their tired faces gently to the spoon….The wires in the walls are humming some song, some mysterious song, bars in her head beating frantic”~Joni Mitchell
My mother grows translucent as dawn’s sky
she misses every morning. Sleepless nights
wracked with pain and only breath mastery
can bring control. There’s no relief in sight.
And even so she hobbles through this one
clear moment to the view seeking the sun
and blooms she’s planted, the window braving.
The ferns’ furcate venation, forks waving
soft sighs, romantic promises of life
eternal, lovely gentle green unseen
and all the angels’ wafture through the screen
could lighten and delight, could ease her plight
but energy is gone, the morphine calls
and tiredly she slips out of pain’s thrall.
Inspired by: the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “igh”, Symbolic, Venation, Frantic and Disunite.
Seasons will pass you by. I get up. I get down. Now that it’s all over and done, now that you’re fine, now that you’re home.~Jon Anderson/Steve Howe, Yes.
Bringing home the bundle of pain, schlepping
through hospital corridors, half-stepping
past diagnoses, on her way to lake’s
wide tranquil gaze, patiently as she takes
these faltering moves into a new groove.
They’ve made her feel incomplete. A death cheat
hex undoing all the work we’ve done. She’s down
but birds will sing her up again. This frown
will ease. Even this vulture soaring high
right now in heavy gray and silver skies
a message designed just for aching hearts:
when life ends, it’s simply a brand new start.
Inspired by: the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt up/down, Bundle, Incomplete, Patiently and Schlep.
At dawn, I drive off the geese who can’t fly
herding goslings–this spring’s generation
cover the lawn under dark cloudy sky
star-obscuring. Recurring vibrations
lure bare feet. Rain-soaked grass. Felicity
a song I summon past complicity.
Arrive at compassion through murky fear.
With a snap, awaken, summon love: Here.
Inspired by: Snap, Felicity and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Drive.
In the awakened state, you perceive not only the physical world. You see also the spirit world, the world of potential and shimmering design.~Ken Carey
I could compose an atmospheric yarn,
I suppose, here at the old shed, a barn
with clutter aplenty, attic’s rejects
brimming full of treasure-to-trash prospects.
The kids finger their phones and eye the wreck.
Dumpsters await on speed dial, I suspect.
Possessions own and weigh us down, they’ve learned.
They’re anxious for this pile of junk to burn.
Aweigh! Sentimentality’s for fools.
No longer will it anchor here and rule.
All of the pretty illusory lies
are clearly just reflections in the skies.
Wisdom is shining through the cracks, the light
expanding to consume dark things in flight.
And so crumble edifices of old.
The new’s emerging as bright love unfolds.
Inspired by: Clutter, The Old Shed, Atmospheric, Aplenty and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt yarn.
Be gentle with them, these literal flowers of your love.~Ken Carey
Trust yourself, your instincts, your intuitive senses. Accept the birthright that has unfolded with you from out of the Being behind all being.~Ken Carey
I’m driving through a striated canyon
sunlit, full illumination, at one
driver, passenger, car and I avail
myself of every stunning vista, sail
smoothly with gladness, collect every hue
exclaiming, heartstruck by the gorgeous view.
And when we’re through, the road ascends, then bends
exquisitely reveals just where we’ve been.
I’m permeated with joy and such deep
knowing as I’m thrust awake. No more sleep.
It’s hallelujah time here at death’s door.
I greet the predawn darkness, my soul sure.
Inspired by: Permeate, Avail and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Collect and the first rose of my mother’s garden blooming yesterday.
Believing lies, they exchanged their beautifully unique individuality for conformation to a fear-centered external code.~Ken Carey
In cool air this eagle swings by. Glass lake,
hidden magnificence in the dark greens
of reflective trees. Veeing straight, a snake
vibrates through waters, welcomed by rocks serene.
Tiny spirit messengers hop and flit,
chittering the ancient songs. Awake. It’s
uncanny, whatever issue most weighs
exactly what I need is here emblazed
upon the scene. I blush to think how I
enclosed in boxes have ignored the sky,
caught in the dread and fear greed proclaims must
be all life offers til crumbling to dust.
Inspired by the loving messengers of nature this morning (thanks for the lessons, snake and eagle) and Uncanny, Swing, Blush, Issue and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “roc“.
The Redwing Blackbird prompts you to try to be the non-judgmental, unconditionally accepting force that provides balance, grounding, and a haven for those experiencing change. Do not participate in the drama – merely be there for them.
Growing light dispels illusions, startles
then the new perception sinks in. Portals
open when least expected. I’m rejected
by my brothers, disrespected. It’s all
a part of the connected field. Inject
fear and scorn. Nincompoop, fool, lunatic
name calling, no discourse, laconic shtick
masked by a jocularity. The sick
exposed by a quick wit. I bide my time,
deflect the barbed arrows hate seems to fling.
After all, love and compassion will bring
the hope of reconciling anything.
Inspired by: Nincompoop, Inject, Bide, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Growth, Laconic and Jocularity.
Eternal intent radiates fields of energy not visible to your physical sight.~Ken Carey
I read this with delight, my sleepless night
common for homeless folk whose seeming plight
demands unceasing antenna precise
and coldly practical despite respite.
All fodder for the perplexing spinning
thoughts, dexterity rejecting winning
losing as the options narrow wholly
captured by the past when all that’s holy
yet to be in seeds that seem unlikely
to sprout with this doubt running inside me.
The book rests to my left, offering hope.
I read one line and once more, I can cope.
Written for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to write about the thing “to your left” (The Third Millennium: Living in the Posthistoric World by Ken Carey) when you sit down to write and inspired by Dexterity and Fodder.
Featured image: Did the geese at this lake take fertility pills? One family of 18 newly hatched goslings sailed past on Thursday. Yesterday, this family took all prizes with 21 babies!