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.

By All Appearances

All the small uneventful choices
the casual snap as my sons’ voices
raised in play, every second of the day
and I, devoted, watchful mother
(every giggle smothered) straight-
faced behind the camera, integrated
brotherhood, caught the three
(without invisible me) through
every season, yes, but albums filled
spring breaks by oceans, thrilled
today we page through what appears
a tribute to pure love and joy,
(wait, here I am with the boys!)
even the tears seem to say
no one reneged, the cast,
seamless, flows. We chose
to share photos between our homes.
It looks like no one was ever alone
and wishing in the dark a family goal
unbroken, nuclear and whole.

Inspired by: Renege, Integrated, Spring, Devote and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt making small, uneventful choices.

Soundcloud recording here.
Image from 1993 on Cape Canaveral National Seashore in Florida.

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.
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.

Tuning Into The Song

Toby, my new love, lies besides me.  Both on guerneys in a white, light-filled room.

His eyes are closed.  A nurse wheels in Ben, my first love, and I greet him with delight and concern.  He’s also injured.  I send a circle of love to surround him, become aware simultaneously of Toby, awake, scowling darkly, simmering in unreasonable jealousy.  And he is aiming it all at unconscious Ben. 

I gently remove the finger of smoke, seal Ben’s protection, follow the trail back to Toby.  His heart is loud with hate and fear.  I am unmoved, yet moving with calm deliberation into the blackened heart. 

He is overtaken and still I unwind the hate like music out of tune, and I the tuning fork.  Deep inside, he longs to hear the note to return, return to the song he was meant to sing. 


The electricity of his will thrumming now into a new vibration.  I lean back and close my eyes, smiling, at ease.  Something new has burst from me, my song amplified, my powers restored.


Written for the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt: Loud and this impulse to write flash fiction this morning.  SoCS rule number 1: 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. (Otherwise, I would go back and fix some things!)

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.