Don’t New Normal Me

An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior.~Viktor Frankl

Twenty ripening spaghetti squash hang
goldening the garden. Orange and red
yellow zinnias burst in a color bang
call to awaken as the sunrise spreads

rosy skies west. The east is glorious.
Dawn in my hometown, a fleeting visit
now the skies compete in pinks curious
the morning’s cool under heat’s implicit

sultry air.  Here an old bass leaps. Waves ring
smaller circles as minnows flee.  Recall
past Augusts, shouldn’t some morning birds sing?
I’ve ceased comparing years, a construct all

along, time shows her true colors, slipping
in and out of these timelines—narrative
ridiculous, and I won’t play.  Flipping
how life flows absurd—it’s imperative

to speak the truth, do you know how?  Don’t New
Normal me, your credibility will
not stand the test of common sense, you
try to sway beyond your ability

to drown my sovereign song. Limitless
creator, sing!  Simple as breath concealed
power now rings. Harmony stimulus:
ground in fall’s score, insanity revealed.

Inspired by: Sway, Accidental, Credibility and Sovereign.

Consider This

I hang out with poets and shamans
pure-hearted children create art

willing to question
this cosmology, the start I need

to find hidden beliefs`
walking me.

Scientists not so much, that religion
leaves me cold, separation’s touch

of pain, peeling every layer much
like an onion to reveal the emptiness

you feel when dissecting dead things
expecting life will emerge. How absurd.

We’re schooled so young, punished and scorned
when we speak the heart’s knowing

formed in play’s glowing. In these strange
times as illusions crack

and collapse, limp in our scrutiny
at last our new eyes see,

the false outline renounced—
inevitable when so pronounced.

The smallest being shows
the emperor has no clothes.

My young grandson demands I talk
to my people, who sleepwalk

led into constant dread.
There is no time to play

in fear. We enter now:
we presence, clear

the dregs of hypnotic tales
which fail as we wail

just before we enter joy
centered and connected

the balanced whole respected
as we choose to drop the ruse

manufactured illusions
so obviously untrue.

 

Ah, about that Emperor…

What do people without an ancient tree

Outside their window dream of?

My own nights are guided

My thoughts rooted through and

The soil exposed, so that I toss

And turn, wake up blearily

In the hold of a narrative

Repeated like a list of wrongs

I’ve endured, ensorcelled

By a frightened being

Insistent upon protecting

Me from the evils lurking

Without, building a solid

Cage to help me survive.

My tree sends me downloads

That open in the night, snaking

Through the fractures of my 

Constructed reality, illustrating

The sheer lunacy 

Live on stage

This sullen detailing

Snuffing out any probability,

Any compassion for the other

Who struck out in her own fear.

And this rewritten history

To ensure that anyone listening

Will feel oh, so sorry

For….who?  Fully awakened at five,

Lucidity-impelled to let this go.

No matter how far along the path

Of self-healing, I drag

These patterns of sheer

Survival.  In the day, easily dismissed,

A sugary smile and a cookie,

An offer for an outing,

until in the darkness,

The little voice insistent

As the tired adult slumbers.

I leave my bed, read an email

— A comedy show poking fun

At the cultural dissonance

Between the lies absorbed at childhood

That keep piling down

Blizzards of misinformation

Covering up the stark truth.

The murmuration of starlings

Yesterday bursting from the bare

Branches of this Poplar.

I cling to the tale of the clear-

Seeing child declaring the naked

Truth, waking me

until I hawk and harrumph

Through this throat-closing mucus

To sing:

Separation is a lie.

Our walls are built

To keep us busy as

The few enrich themselves

Destroying and selling the remains

of the age-old beings

Who reach us in our sleep.

Cousins

Billions of years of intelligence

Coursing through us, invisible,

Unutterable, the harmonic sounds

In registers we ignore.

The evil trance-talk keeping us

Apart, dozing instead of embracing

Trees, bees, birds and coyotes —

And oh, goddess, where are the elephants?

Their stomping rampage an echo

The smallest children hear, surprised.

We re-member our connection

Recognizing the sentience

Right outside these doors

That we coveted for so long

The ones that now resemble

Sterile jails, like the cars we huddle 

In, driving past our hopeless

brothers holding

Childish scrawls for help,

Reacting angrily to a clear-cutting

That we forget as soon as we pass,

Led to exclude

The very best parts of ourselves

That growl and pounce and scream

And squirm, anguished,

Sensitive

Hurting

Fragments

We reach to reclaim.

Inspired by: Lunacy and Ensorcell

And Lee Camp’s new comedy special. Check it out here.