Now Is No Time

“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.

Simply Put

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.

Hope More

Hopelessness is a psy op and it’s world-wide.  Don’t fall for it.~Jon Rappoport

“I want” implies I lack, I turn my back
on cognate kinship, all in my path

decried, the poisoned earth’s wrath
with lies. I say, this is not mine,

it’s all your fault. The circle
dancing ensō draws me swift

justice lesson-patterns reflect
the now I must bow to, respect.

Inspired by:  Circle, Dancing and Cognate. and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday post to use “want” as the first, second or third word of your post.

Featured image found here.

No Wealth To The Singer

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.”

We Need You

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
the inconsistency
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:
essential seed.

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.

 

Letter From The Front

The incidence of déjà vu increases.
My favorite cinnamon replicated;

now the two nest side by side
in the cupboard. The weatherman

predicts sunny and clear and yet
fog has swallowed the lake.

Two dates with loved ones cancelled.
The insidious hint of death and

destruction tightens my chest.
I’m eating so if my well-

being depends on diet, how
fortuitous food is available still.

Someone is nearing the end
of life and for once I hope

it isn’t me. Finally peeling
back the layers of ignorance

forced by education and language,
the theft of my inheritance, the good

earth raped and pillaged, for sale and
all the money crying in cages of the

one percent–the catchy phrase we call
our masters lately. The propagandized

mind numb to the shadows.
I’m finally open to love, standing

to claim this darkness. The hoarders
seeped in greed surround me but

their narrative can’t resonate now.
Being well in the poisoned air

requires this deliberate, delicate
shift in the clear and present danger

of endless war on war,
just a horror story after all

to seize our waking dream.
I choose to sing instead.

Inspired by: Shadow, Fortuitous, Destruction and Well-being.

Guilty By Association

Is the U.S. at war right now? If so, with whom? It is hard to rally around a cause that is not tangible or visible in the everyday lives of most, and it is impossible to rally around a cause you do not even know exists. ~ Maryanne Magnier

Last 20 years, we’ve learned war
is essential to grow
the evil empire. Civilian slaughter

Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Yemen,
East Timor, Afghanistan, Phillipines

from 800 forts, US military in 70 countries,
no budget in sight, every high school
student assigned a recruiter

Georgia, Djibouti, Haiti
Kenya, Ethiopia, Eritrea

Endless propaganda blaring over terse
reality (Khashoggi dismembered
in the Turkish embassy) Assange

Pakistan, Lebanon, Palestine,
Somalia, Libya, Uganda

deep in solitary, only puppets
parroting inane smears
distract from this litany

Jordan, Turkey, Chad
Syria, Cameroon, Damascus

(Our outraged tweets gaslit
by trolls’ cockiness only a true
echo chamber can provide.)

Venezuela regime change 

Trillions of secret dollars killing children,
converting their siblings to warriors
intent on revenge, and the lies

War on Terror, War on Drugs

like rusting hulks exposed on the lawns,
no attempt now to cover them, and we march-step
into certain doom, like a foray

War on Protest, War on Journalists

to an alternate planet, the promised treat
for good children: hush, kneel in silence
surely waiting for goodness and mercy

Inspired by:  Terse, Fort, Foray and Association.

A Pool of Tears

You left me standing here/a long, long time ago./Don’t keep me waiting here/Lead me to your door. ~ Paul McCartney

My grandson poised on this precipice
scampered up, surefooted

called by his heart, balanced
in a way I went missing,

running-screams to the locked room
at the top of the stairs,

huddled and startling at every
fierce pounding. When they found

the key and escorted a girl
with their jubilant hard fury,

how could they guess my clever
trick? And how can I reconcile

these ghosts, the feeling
cocooned in her fright

and the empty shell paraded
in front of their swift justice?

I reach for her
finally

moved by despair
but my words don’t land.

There is a faint trace
like smoke

irritating and acrid.
You turn away.

We all need breath.
The hands that might offer

salvation require a currency
from a stream far behind me.

I am wandering deserts,
the shoe of certainty lost

miles behind, limping on this right
tightly shod

pinched by what I’ve outgrown
but sticks. I’ve forgotten

the waiting child
in that inaccessible house

surely drowning
now.

My words like tiny black spiders
skittering over white riprap,

incomprehensibly linked
to nothing

I’m aware of.
That shore also unreachable.

Did I mention this
parched agony

skull-crushing
nausea?

Nourishment cannot enter
overwhelm.

Heart in Nature

Breaking news

Breaking heart

Heart of flesh

Heart of stone

Stone cold sober

Stone wall

Wall for the border

Wall Street

Street walker

Street smart

Smart mouth

Smart bomb

Bombs away

Bombs war

War chief

War nation

Nation of zombies

Nation decline

Decline fake news

Decline mainstream

Mainstream babble

Mainstream turn

Turn to Twitter

Turn off POTUS

POTUS liar

POTUS bots

Bots of hate

Bots from Russia

Russia laundry

Russia money

Money talks

Money tweets

Tweet and retweet

Tweet the silenced

Silenced children

Silenced races

Races for cages

Races for power

Power behind the throne

Power of quiet

Quiet mind

Quiet space

Space out

Space Force

Force focus

Force of nature

Nature walk

Nature way

Way

Walk 

 

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.