“We are living in a time where large cleaning processes show us the massive amount of collective fear that is arising. If we combine that understanding with presence, it’s an amazing moment for humanity to deepen our grounding and the connection to our embodiment. Without presence, I will only be scared and frightened and will allow fear to run my decisions.”~Thomas Huebl
The trees are dripping light and tender drops
of rain they’ve held as if this ray of sun
is calling us each to let go, look up,
receive the sweet abundance, rightful one!
We emerge from old stories once precious
cast aside as new creations shake us
awake. Ascend in this now precocious
losing fear, rejoicing our love takes us
to the central core: who we are and more
why we together gather here awake.
I offer you insights, hardwon, implore
open space! Now is no time to waste.
Soundcloud recording here.
Inspired by: Sweet, Space, Precocious and Rightful.
How can I speak into cranky fear
simply, leaving the prolix soapbox?
Our awakening is unpredictable;
the AI masters gnash their teeth, perplexed.
Look into the fire in the sky,
dig fingers deep into our earth
mother running through our songs.
We breathe a symphony. As we assemble
onstage, so many sleepwalkers wander
out of tune. What joy as they rouse.
Fighting the cancerous cells, labeling
psychopaths in corrupt old systems
ancient and disintegrating in our light
feeds that dying flame, the silly
illusion of separation. No more!
That song has left the galaxy.
We hold space in the flowing ether
of unity. On the front porch,
a hummingbird hovers by the new feeder,
testing my intention. Love and service
even to these frazzled, triggered ones
plugged into the false web
just a song away from true harmonics
as we reconnect to the light
we are, allowing source
again and again, receptive, letting
go of judgment and arrogance because
we don’t know this immensity.
Welcome ourselves as we turn
into the music of now: awake, alight, aware.
Inspired by: Cranky, Fire in the sky, Unpredictable and Prolix. Featured image by Linda Stuart capturing a moment of me doing my favorite thing in the world.
Oscar Wilde wrote, “The best work in literature is always done by those who do not depend on it for their daily bread and the highest form of literature, Poetry, brings no wealth to the singer.”
Which is quite the relief, I have nothing
to lose, my stentorian voice is not tied
to a paycheck or any kind of recompense.
I don’t pay dues, I’m not allied
to a patron, my scope’s immense.
My site’s free, every word
is a gift adrift.
If there’s no wealth, why do I sing?
There is sheer joy in being free.
Oh, there’s despair, a grief
constrains my breath. Always
the death of hopes confected
in the sweetmeats of childish
tales, songs I composed to
keep sanity in the throes.
High and dry I’ve somehow escaped
the moorings of the mainstream
daydream anchored afloat
in the moat circling
the plutocratic castle, all
the facile vassals limp and blind.
The current keeps them dazzled.
I don’t mind, don’t take refuge
in a twisted pride, misguided.
The system’s broke,
not me. I sink roots deep,
mindful of the company I keep.
Letting go of the shackling
beliefs: it’s too late to tackle,
the rot has gone too deep.
I admit, I’ve been asleep.
Waking now to shout: my choice
is here. I add my voice.
Every being arrives with a song.
We open and we claim: we belong.
Inspired by: Daydream, Stentorian, Afloat, Pride and Caitlin Johnstone’s question today, “We are collectively being asked a question here, and our answer to that question will determine the entire course we will take as a species.”
In my teens I quadded with simplicity
earth, fire, air, water
made perfect sense to me.
I could calculate in quiet
using energy, emotion and my skills
to form synergy: lost things found,
a future perceived, plants that lived
and flourished with my thumb so green.
And I could hear
animals speak, quadding
body, feelings, thoughts, relationality.
I make up words, as you can see.
Love is precision, you know what I mean?
I could read hearts.
And as for lies
they loomed as large and painful
as smoke in your eyes.
Flagrant wrongdoing seemed to melt
heated words ungrounded in reality,
dissonance felt, and yet unseen.
Or so it seemed.
For when I pointed out
all around me
the lying was indulged and
mediocrity took hold
of the adults. I fought the mold–
said I would never grow old.
And that still holds.
I gotta speak my truth
—call me witch, call me weird—
my heart holds in sooth
reality is multitiered.
And I’m holding space for you
that bold heart of your youth.
Your voice, unique,
is all we need:
Inspired by: Indulge, Flagrant, Calculate, Quiet and Quad. And this illuminating piece by Caitlin Johnstone.
I snapped the photo at the Lyon Arboretum on Oahu.
Heart of flesh
Heart of stone
Stone cold sober
Wall for the border
Nation of zombies
Decline fake news
Turn to Twitter
Turn off POTUS
Bots of hate
Bots from Russia
Tweet and retweet
Tweet the silenced
Races for cages
Races for power
Power behind the throne
Power of quiet
Force of nature
Today’s blitz poem is written for the #OctPoWriMo Day 8 prompt with the theme of obsession. I’m illuminating my struggle to find my power in a contemplative life, and the difficulty when the mainstream news just gets more and more appalling and alternative media reacts.