All disease begins in the gut.~Hippocrates
In the surreal aisles of the box store
inedible packages of cardboard claim to be food. I look askance, select kleenex and toilet paper and reject
the dubious offerings, even root
vegetables, alliums, leafy greens, fruit tasteless. The farmer’s market’s integral to my table. I ferment victuals
my kitchen fills with jars of cultured squash,
curtido, kraut, kimchi and with panache I create labels for my medicine. Real food supports well-being genuine.
Inspired by: . Squash, Surreal, Integral and Culture
Featured image: Fermented vegetables from Sommerwhitemd.com.
Warm salutations I bring to you, dear
beings of the shifting habitus fear wrought and taught you, caught in patterns deep undercover like pop songs on repeat
snappy mind control by CIA fiends
brought over after Hitler failed, proceeds funded by your own sweat and blood, dark tax collected in a secret ledger black
democracy is now a fairytale
which corporate greed rebranded, a fire sale and you deserve a medal as you say I’ll not support this evil, not today
because, you see, the castle built of sand
requires your free consent. Simply command and set your fierce intention to break out of past conditioning and be here now.
Inspired by: Weird Scenes Inside the Canyon: Laurel Canyon, Covert Ops & the Dark Heart of the Hippie Dream Medal, Salutations, Habitus, Snappy, today’s X1 solar flare, and two illuminating books: and Operation Paperclip .
Featured image: Solar flare by new atlas.
Poetry time, my dog goes back to bed.
She’s had a walk, sweet talk, watered and fed. Her black and white and pink zhuzh are doing the unexpected. Nascent hope’s brewing
and my raison d’être renewing. Slim
ribbon esperance unfurls bashful, prim these years devoted strictly to healing have stitched this glorious flag I’m wielding
Inspired by Zhuzh, Nascent, Renewing and Ribbon.
I can tell you about me with stars:
passionate Aries rules my mind and heart from Mercury and Venus. Moon and Mars swim in Piscean dreams. Numbers in charts
Aquarian ascendant beams require
to lofty heights and morals I aspire. Grounded, a Taurus-tempered bull from birth, balanced in fire, water, air and earth.
You say, I don’t believe astrology.
Then you’re in a pickle, my mystery not fickle, simply laid out heaven sent. The sky contributes clues, my fundament.
Inspired by: Pickle, Numbers, Aspire and written for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt me.
You don’t want to know what’s in your water.
You’d be perplexed what is sprayed in your air. The toxins in the soil and seeds oughta be outlawed. Greed is a dirty affair.
We are slaves in a yoke of entrainment,
our perception of real in disarray like a jinx our beliefs are containment we may resist, they persist, led astray
in the rush frantic strive for survival
too busy to eat well, to breathe, we swing from a stake unresourced. Our revival comes outside of time, unrestrained wellspring
the deep inner knowing we touch in dreams
and moments of now found under green trees a calling bird a falling star sun’s beam we realize our energy is free
Inspired by: Perplexed, Disarray, Swing and Jinx.
Featured image: The sudden swirl of mystery under a tree as the sunlight opens now.
And yes, I made up a word. Unresourced is when all your natural resources are hidden from you by beliefs imposed by an oppressive system. So of course you won’t find such a thought-provoking word in the dictionary that exact system writes!
For Carolyn Sue on her birthday.
Sitting on the floor as sun spills golden
through the green, green leaves, puppy emboldened brings her scrumptious bone and chews by my side then chases tail. Exuberance provides
the path to rejuvenation
grief and sorrow detonation
I am opened wide before this display
antics, mischief, a desire to play
The need for qualifications release
let experts drone, opine. I am at peace with wisdom carved from my own conscious breath greet certainties of life: sun, stars and death.
Inspired by: Scrumptious, Detonate, Rejuvenate, Before and a puppy who is helping me today on my deceased mother’s birthday.
Featured image: After I texted my pup’s former owners with an update, she cuddled with this pink blankie she’s had since she was tiny. Before that, she posed (below).
“You can drag my body to school but my spirit refuses to go.” – Bill Watterson
I have been attending the marketplace
where children’s souls, targeted, are debased while harried parents rush and race heedless. No fervid safeguards in that place, creedless
chaotic droning. In the overwhelm
some act out, others try to seize the helm and gentle ones put down their heads and sigh earn special prizes when they cease to cry.
My silver hair grants me an audience.
They bring such troubles. My euphonious compassion as they seek to earn my praise I give as freely as the sun’s fierce rays.
The children, our sweet future, imperiled
are staring at screens, hypnotized, sterile while guardians jump ever higher hoops away, oblivious, exploited, duped.
Inspired by: Market, Fervid, Safeguard, Audience and so much heartbreak in elementary school for an empath.
Featured image: Backyard mandala art with grandma.
At dusk astounded as double suns swash
watercolors bright across sky awash with passions from the deep unruly day I swore to keep my feet on bare earth, pray
with all expansiveness of breath, release
these judgments with compassion and find peace. Gregorian chants lulled me to sweet dreams which open channels past the world of seem
stars transfer icy siren songs, plaintive
clear notes drilling through the black domain of moon. I’m out and walking, face to heaven celebration of my self-expression.
Inspired by: Gregorian, Transfer, Plaintive and Swash.
I’m striding underneath the stars, black sky
calming the panicked puppy by my side outside my head that made my bed a grind of ineffective self-talk, sleepless bind
how worry frames my love when I account
the ledgers of my life! The debits mount my unpaid status–I’m a refugee– gives credit where it’s due new currency
and still the shackles rise to my dismay
I find the rusting keys amid the fray the healing spiral’s endless, so I breathe and walk the grounding earth as passions seethe.
Inspired by: . Ineffective, Frame, Account and Refugee My metaphors are all over the place on this difficult morning.
The abysmal ratio of teachers
one for over twenty first graders, each child needy, lost, bored with the pace, subjects confined and unattended, anchorless
all of his grief bottled up, the snafu
apparent in school: not enough staff who watch over the classrooms. He’s singled out as most egregious but I winkle out
the common theme. And so strategically
I bring wisdom to first grade so that he under my guiding eye succeeds. Alas, the covetous eyes of the kids in class
crave my attention, too. I glance and smile
and hug when they run up and all the while I’m sending waves of balance through the field the patient grounding we grandmothers wield.
Inspired by: Snafu, Covetous, Strategic, Bottle and recent visits to my grandson’s classroom.
Featured image: artwork by my six-year-old grandson. Oh, the passion with which he wielded his blue crayons!