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.

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.

New Year’s Treasure

Emails crashing in bringing
flotsam like high tide, mixed
feelings, everybody’s seized
My 20/20 Vision. The net
cast wide, but the appeals
fill up my Spam, let’s take
a hiatus from the scam.
Ophthalmologist’s jingo
scientific theoretical lingo
no longer serves. What swerves
us into newness on this journey
demands that we find trueness
in our words–pleas on these
surging seas. Being clever
seeking verve isn’t ever
gonna move us. Touch a nerve.
Just beyond the known
in the ever expanding now
the seeds we’ve sown
invisible somehow
open the year. We’ve grown
past the parameters of
reality. To proclaim
I don’t know will free
the inspiration lighting
darkened places in our
newly celebrated loving faces.

Inspired by: A deluge of emails, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt year, theoretical, mixed feelings, journey and hiatus.

Soundcloud recording here.

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.)

 

Running Dishes

He let me know this spooky
dress-up costume Mommy sent
is not for me and so we leave
it in his bag. After all,
I’m going as a poem
in spite of his advice:
poems are not scary!
I grin and scribble more.
Shine a light on family
secrets, spark irate debate
from friends and huffy sighs
from lovers. In between
we sing a little star that
twinkles. He ad libs
verses of the shiny moon-
friend, cows jumping and
a rebel spoon. Sparks
winking in innocuous
rhymes all the time.

Inspired by: Irate, Light, Innocuous, Spooky and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt dress.

What Appears To Be

It is time to practice how to attune to the new reality that Gaia is preparing…See people awakening and walking their own paths towards the new.
The circle of humans that stand in the light of the new reality is larger and larger. Rejoice and give thanks.~Marko Pogačnik

In the ubiquity of fear and smear
of politics and media, oh,

we fall asleep standing right here,
declare we’re copacetic—cheer

thrilled as the festivities appear.
We forget that we are desperate

addicts, looking for a fix, oh,
we won’t call it that, hush, dear.

As Gaia makes this quantum leap
in her own evolution, the sphere

we are vibrates into light, oh,
breathe into us the words: all clear.

We’re fingers on the hand waving
into the mirror. We are love, oh,

look into our palm, life peer,
the lines are trails into the new.

The web we weave spinning, oh,
into the space appearing now.

Inspired by: Copacetic, Ubiquitous, DesperateFestivities and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, oh.  (The rules: 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.  And today it was sooooo hard not to edit.)

What Is Fog?

Still infatuated by summer, huddled
in fleece jacket and blankets, piping

hot coffee, I’m in between and so
tingling with tomorrow’s initiation into

esoteric lore that I sprang from
sleep in the dark. I’m easing out

of political borders and national fervor
sliding into a global village web.

Dawn paints majestic
bright pink clouds as blue

sky announces the coming sun.
The lake ghosts spectral moving

westward as if summoned–not
a retreat from the power of east–

dancing columns rising reaching
like fingers of smoke. Oh, don’t

nag me with science. I’m all about
the soul right now. Here outside

the trance of modern life, taste
synchronicity, allow each significant

message to open me. Amidst
mystery, tasting cold on this

autumn porch. The light moves
me just as the dark

eases awareness into new
possibilities filtered out

by fear available now as I
fall in love with the portal

between night and day birds
assure my waking from my fog

Inspired by: Esoteric, Amidst, Infatuation, National and the Stream of Consciousness prompt to use -tast-. (And yesterday, my three-year-old grandson stopped me as I read an unfamiliar word and asked, “Bibi, what is fog?”)