Song for the duped

In our view a full-blown
psy-op—what a beaut!

Turns out, who knew,
we’re all afraid of death

by virus (at least that’s
the line they’re feeding us)

the usual suspects fumble it’s clear
they aren’t the masterminds

W.H.O. here could claim
the C.I.A.’s hand is anything

to blame Pompeo gleeful
with evil plans to kill

civilians starving them slow.
Hunker down inside even though

you all want to riot. Be quiet!
Follow the money, not the fairytales

(they’ve chanted this one before.)
Makes you gasp with dismay

when the Federal Reserve just adds
a bunch of zeroes. Hey!

They’ve got the world entranced
with that groovy money dance.

We’re all convinced. It all makes sense!
We binge on Hulu and Netflix.

The budget for the Pentagon is insane,
ominous lines of bases in range.

We’re complicit, dammit.
The true fear: standing up

speaking clear. How dare you
say this will take generations

to pay? Give me my money back,
you bitch. (I’m with Ben Folds

on this.) We gotta pull down
the satellites, ditch 5G.

The rain forests gotta be replanted
heal the lungs of our planet.

Are you up for this?

Control of the globe
the urgent shift

we’re birthing it
don’t look away.

I’m right beside you.

Soundcloud recording here.

Written for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “beside you.” Write about whatever is beside you when you read this prompt. Which is interesting, because this political blast was ten lines long when I stopped writing it, and thought, glad you got that off your chest.  Remember, you wanna put love and care into our sacred space. Be nice. Look at the SOCS prompt and write something…and then this specific prompt asked for what is precisely beside me and seemed to say, you do you, gurl.  

Oh, and inspired by Ben Folds’ classic, Song For The Dumped

Go Figure

The embers are cool, and I have lost
the eyes of long regard and so alone
I face my darkest corners, create
a ledge and perch watchful.
This is the glitch I spy
from far below, peeking with
frightened courage. Overwhelmed
by life’s adventure, everything
strained, the ice holding
beyond the boiling water.
If I could cut a romantic
figure, I’d persuade you to
look deep into my heart
the way I do and with such calm
kindness hold the sinewy
dark cords pulling insistent.
More and more space, there’s a
crowd and I can’t catch
my breath. Sidereal Sun’s in
Aquarius. Earth quickens
toward spring. Moon flirts
with fullness. Deep in spaces
of unclaimed dreams, do you
invite the end of the world?
Do you ask if you are worthy,
do you wish someone to show
exactly how to love?
Fairytale-rescues of
powerless, bound
by magical powers unseen.
I set out to see the world
and find love. And do we all?
Is love a luxury? All these words
of course lead me astray.
I sit in quiet, greet
each moment precisely.
And when a thought proclaims,
you’re not who/what/why/where
you should be, yes, and
I learn, oh, this is love.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by Adventure, Everything, Water, Glitch and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Figure. (Rules for SOCS prompt, and why this poem is all over the place, “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.”)

As We Sow

I’m committed to uncover
the love. I recover my power
as I leap off this steep tower
of lore, the stored beacon
beliefs that guide me
and weaken my strength.
There is no adequate
shortcut. We reap
the harvest of impossible
decrees, improbably
impelling us to the brink
of extinction. We call
the world into being
awake or asleep as we
breathe. The intricate surface
drama triggers our unexpected
trauma, hidden, uninspected
or seen, denied, rejected.
I’m calling attention
manifesting intention
literal, precise, I’ve released
being nice. So obsolete.
In the new paradigm we’re kind
to ourselves mattering
while old ways continue

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by Leap, Recover, Adequate, Beacon and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ect,” for a post which “must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write” as well as this intriguing article about the power of power.


Betwixt and Between

“The world cannot be translated; It can only be dreamed of and touched.”~Dejan Stojanović

Soundcloud recording here.

In civilized company, I forget
the animal sounds I uttered in sweat
giving birth. That epiphany groaning
like a goddess instantly transformed
my self-perception informed that I am
woman, fierce and guttural, no longer
immersed in the deception of a pretty
thing. And no chagrin as I connected
to the earth, my purpose clear: to
mother this new life emerging in a
shocking strife. When life begins
and when it ends, we shatter.
The fragments of our created shell
no longer matter. Right now in this
dance betwixt and between, ears open
I am listening. A silent dog beside me,
both alert to early spring. Mating
red-tailed hawks chwirks and squirrels
kuk. Bluegrosbeak warbles a duet
with a Carolina chickadee’s fee-bee-baby.
How I wish that I could speak these
ancient ways, not cluck or twitter
cackle or jabber, a pure heart
sound offered and received. I am
a foreigner to myself and all my
cousins, listening in mystery
feet on the ground, as all
around me, beings praise and call.

Inspired by: Forget, Chagrin, Perception, Epiphany and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Animal Sounds. The rules of SOCS are stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write. And even though I write fast, Saturday writing is always a source of chagrin as I watch my wandering thoughts spin out of control. Fun times, though. Try it!


In Thrall

I step out of my waiting
into our debate: every move
you make embraced.
You’re from the tribe that likes
to speak of turning the other
cheek, pampered, smooth and oh,
so white, isolated from the freaks
in their unspeakable plights
that arise when clean water
can’t be touched without gold.
You’re sold on this platform
competing for energy you willingly
provide to run the ugliest
game in town, in the world
so round. Your chains
disdain and scorn for those
you’ve climbed upon.
Standing isolated in your mind
the ones you’ve left behind
beseech you: turn
in the spiral of life
that burns us all.
Listen. In your heart
we call.

Inspired by: Pampered, Debate, Waiting,Isolated and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Cheek.

Soundcloud recording here.

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.

Someday I’ll Wish

When man up is extinct
and we escape the patriarchal
clinch, embrace instead
what’s rarely said in macho
bravos–lunatic fringe
simply a piece of our
extended tapestry–in short,
when we appear just as we
are, with deep respect
(the long neglect of hope
suspect when we must always
correct some fault that’s deep
within our ancestry) when
that day is here
I declare
the evolutionary leap
the shift is in the air
we breathe and suddenly
we see the edgy intricacy
of our imperfect beauty
simplicity when we
bowing, stunned, aware
there is no better you
the one that we receive
and care, unplumbed
perfection when we dare
admit the hidden pieces
the critic sighs,
looses and releases.

Inspired by: Rarely, Extinct, Hope, Clinch and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Man Up, the last movie I saw.  Once again, the demand to create a stream of consciousness post stretched me beyond my comfort zone.  And I’m glad!

Soundcloud recording here.