Girl Power!

We cease our labor, dive
into that fling your arms
around joy when you get
gotten. Fire uncovered
under pastel pretties,
our blaze begotten,
we discover girl power!
The musical beings we are
empower each other beyond
the scoffing provable hypotheses.
Doffing those scientific hats
we’re up to bat.
They doubt what we know
bound to their blinders
saying what’s so with
constant reminders of
facts they’ve learned in books.
We take a look and see
they’ve forgotten their experiments
need them, spirit-
less evidence decreed
crystals are just rocks,
for the lack of a voice box.
Soured by their lack of magic,
and even though that’s tragic,
we slide around their tricky
doubts, weaving our knowing
through their stance
without a single glance
to see if they’ll follow.
Listen: I’m a warrior for
sentience, it’s all stardust
wherever you are. Sitting criss-
cross applesauce with younglings
we discover how to run
rings around the stagnant
places. We do fun things:
offer handmade impossible
treats, our pizza flavors:
blueberry love
is our favorite. Singing
the new grove as we co-
create reality with no limits.
In harmony we offer
our hearts: just try one bite,
you’ll see just how we be.

Inspired by: Discover, Labor, Musical, Pastel and a visit with lovely grandnieces.

Recording on soundcloud here.

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.)

The Old Stomping Ground

For M.C.

I met my old lover on the street last night.~Paul Simon

At four in the morning, I detour from prone
shadows rasping through the sudden chill

winter’s first hard shove and though I
bunched my summer blankets in a scrum–

nervous dreams–still sharp cold nipped
every inch of skin I offered. When a lover

dies, we all clamor for recognition, jostle
into chronology as if grief gives rights

at last. All the newly revealed lessons,
once mouldering in the dank basement and that

final call we never made–did I think that
he would rise from his deathbed, demand

my distant voice? He plucked my heart
in his passing, so I reenter that sticky

web I fled so many years ago, the one
I carry with me still, in the dark enjoining

strangers and new friends, regale my
side, painting romance over the edge

of terror and pain revisited. Oh, I saw
this day coming, long ago, and yet right now

there is not even a glimmer of dawn, not since
nightfall descended. The moon is bursting

wide-eyed full over my shoulder as I peer
into indigo east searching for signs.

Inspired by: Detour, Nervous, Shadows, Nightfall and Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness prompt: ground (which means no editing, just put pen to paper and press publish.  No matter how much I wish I could change.) The soundtrack for this one is Paul Simon’s Still Crazy After All These Years and Stars by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.

The Essential Dive

Double-crested cormorant gold bill pointed
skyward before you dive, I’m already

missing you. Native in three realms
at least, and I’m queasy here

on the porch, just in time to heed you
knowing to go deep today, into

the fundamental roots anchoring
my mistakes. Yesterday I stretched

far past my former limits
seeking to duplicate my youth, perhaps.

In the tenuous now I’m tremulous
as the earth shifts beneath me.

I’m longing for the easy paddle
through the surface. My hunger

dissipated, dehydrated, headachy
with clouds of pain and sorrow,

even the sun brightening above
is too much, though I’m still here.

In the deep night, summoned by the
moon, I tried to see the hole

of my absence through the years,
to know my worth through casual

eyes of friends and family, immersed
in their own trials, appearing

distant in the false narrative
of separation. Listen, I know well

the claw that raked through me
unsettling to the depths I avoid

brought all this surfacing, my grip
holding the wriggling essential

truths of my existence like the morning
catch. And though I imagine letting

go, life keeps me holding on and
rising, dripping, from the dark

places, flying to the top of this
nearby tree. What feeds me emerges

infusing every molecule of stardust.
Eyes closed, I swear

a bird I’ve never heard is
chirruping, insistent, my name.

Inspired by: Duplicate, Missing, Fundamental and Native and a very hard 24 hours.

Here We Are To Save The Day!

This opulent planet stripped of her
finery, species dying unmourned and

unremarked, surely transcending
to the next dimension. God knows

what reports they’ll give — most
likely, block the doors, the humans

are killing machines! Our eventual
arrival delayed by these harsh

and sinister forces who keep
us distracted from the starry skies

locked into time and space with
this electronic glitter and cold

glass marbles we toy with.
Dazed and shaken by this

unrelenting greed, we meekly
accept our masters. Waiting

for some savior, just as we’re
instructed. Look up! This

lunar eclipse celebrates the star-
dust we are, deep space dance

truer than any Googled fact
or live-streamed story.

Break the spell. We call each
other’s true names and pull

our fingers from the pulsing
keys that lock our brains

and zap our spirit. Coming
to life at last, we burst

into now, hoping
it’s not too late.

Inspired by: Shake, Marble, Eventual and Opulent and the fairy tales that instruct us to sit back and wait to be saved.

All My Relations

In the quiet space alone, I fall

into my representation of you,

my love, but outside

I can’t even get along with geese,

noisy with prodigious poop,

aiming to nest exactly

where I walk barefoot.

I’m blind, hands outstretched

questing for what I know

as concept, tripping over

the object of my desire

in my delirious cling

to a separate identity.

I seek to integrate Divine

Masculine and Divine Feminine,

nonplussed when my grandson approaches

my oaken altar, touches the male figure

with his long braid,

“Is this you, Bibi?”  I splutter

my denial while he laughs,

“This is YOU, Bibi.”  I ask

and I’m given

confused and disoriented

until I can sit

the tracery of my lineage

emerging with every drop

of respect I yield.

My love, you are inside me

exquisite joining,

my bones throb in a way

no forensic pathologist anticipates,

sawing through the shell

in search of stardust’s drumbeat.

I wipe the wood

with care, aware

my ancestors have come calling

a fine layer

a vast assemblage

to answer

my deepest prayers.

Inspired by Assemblage, Delirious, Tracery and Identity.