Monday, October 13, 2014

pumpkin sky


 

 

 

pumpkin moon, celestial bliss

shine down this giggling goddess ~

 

in gently rising autumn flight,

with tawny glowing sunset delight:

a pumpkin moon light’s watching me

in fairie worldly curiosity veiled in ghostly

cloud shrouds.

 

don’t hide away but help me burn

the seasonings of  passed learning:

in celestial delight with childlike eyes

I feel myself turning onward inward ~

 

with luminous contemplation

carved not by man, but woman’s

active imagination.

 

wax full ~ wane soft ~ still reminding me of lovers

sharing starry skies…spooning dunes and

questioning runes, new moon now in my mind’s eye:

 

blank still willing silence

freedom sky’s kiss on

 

illuminated goddess

 

tonight we fly

in our pumpkin sky

Monday, August 4, 2014

I used to think that ignorance was bliss, for all the children of the world, and in this moment, the ones in Gaza



I used to think ignorance was bliss

 

but then I kissed my ass goodbye

and opened up my mind infinitely.

 

I became possibility, and what did I see?

 

myself…

mosaic creation’d being:

all my pieced parts are you and me and we

every one and thing being in love.

 

so I don’t feel ignorance is bliss anymore.

 

I feel it’s a prison: divisions in the making.

I feel it’s war and apathy.

I feel it’s a sorry excuse for humanity:

 

nationality jaded.

 

I feel it’s children without hope,

starving in their bombed-huts…

while others are in the drive-up.

 

I feel it’s a copout.

I feel it’s greed and gluttony and perversion…

denial of subjectivity

 

in an immature tantrum…

a case of the conundrums.

 

I feel it’s conformity

and a made for t.v. movie,

 

or even a dumbed-down sitcom.

and religion on a Sunday morning.

 

I feel it invites mediocrity,

blind melancholy without seeing.

 

I feel it labels and makes us smaller;

I feel it denies our universal matter…

 

and wonder and imagination and beauty

I feel it’s just static scatter.

 

I used to feel ignorance was bliss.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

pickin time


 
in the garden and the wilderness

undulating rows of sea island or maybe pima

rising and falling in tides of dowdy white

they wait…

 

squinting , I wade inside embarrassed,

like an awkward traveler to an exotic shore

seeking to trade nothing for something

I snake…

 

between the stalks that seek to swallow my

trespasses…My breath--held in expectation of

sights and sounds and smells feeling so new to me

yet so familiar…

 

I am aching in my need to know them for who they are:

not who they pretend to be with upturned white faces

occasionally nodding in approval but more often just staring

at me like the foreigner I am…

 

they cut me?

bleeding into their dead sea souls

leaving small dropped traces of myself: unrecognizable

in mirrored silence…until the crows caw me back...

 

slave to my words

to my work

to my thoughts

to my hands

I promclaim myself…

 

A writer.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

woman rising


woman rising

 

I am rise of the new woman

created within image of divinity

I am page and palette

I am infinite destiny

 

I am  rise of the new woman

conjuring wisdom within my plight

I am dispelling manmade illusions

created by evil in night

 

I am rise of the new woman

quietly healing mother earth

I am fertility cradling crescent

engendering awakening’s birth

 

I am rise of the new woman

denied my goddess too long

I am more than immaculate miracle…

I am the spiritualist’s song

 

I am rise of the new woman

storyteller setting us free

I am creating new holy words,

re-writing our life’s book history.

 

I am rise of the new woman

mother to all humankind

I am a happy beginning.

I am peace in our time.


“A strong woman understands that the gifts such as logic, decisiveness, and strength are just as feminine as intuition and emotional connection. She values and uses all of her gifts.”
-words by Nancy Rathburn // image by Akageno Saru
 
 
 

 


 

Monday, March 31, 2014

cosmic dandelion 33

 

in a lovely yellow space,
there is a magic place
where dreams become real
and we're allowed to heal.
 
in that home we grow and dream
we're tendered to be...everything,
and any that we want
and all flows to us easily.
on winds and willows heath,
home's space above and beneath
feeds us health and abundant lives
without strife or stress or sorrow.
 
it is ours anytime:
in all of our tomorrows,
let us be....
simply, happy.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

the purge



I really like when the words spill out of me

like some dirge in a symphony unrequited

 

watching them fill the empty spaces I love

being alone with you, finding myself being born again ~

new spirit, baptized in fired taps on keys

feel my release of us in spent harmony, no rhyme this time

 

only raw emotion lit irradiated, can you hear the animated sound

of all my nouns and verbs and adjectives? ~ the satisfying stop

of a period.  the only silence in my mind in displaced time.

 

I really like it when the words spill out of me. . .

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Reflections from a Southern Pedicure....or, a Wrinkle in Time


 
Is it just me who’s worried that many people’s tmi- boundaries are getting a little too wide-for-comfort likely because of social media? The restraint people used to have in public is rapidly disappearing.

Recently I walked in a local spa and immediately know I'm in trouble when I see (and hear) this mouth of the south older woman with heavy makeup and somehow wrong spikey hair talking to her peeps all over the shop.

((Insert expletive you know I used (IN MY HEAD) here.))

But I haven't had a pedicure since like before Christmas and my feet look like a troll's.  I only have this one hour of opportunity that I’ve planned with a precision that would make NASA proud?  There’s no turning back now.

So I settle in. And I hear about their hormones, about their hormone replacement, about their husband's responses to Viagra (varied results-- I thought that crap was like foolproof), about their eyebrows, about how they might get eyebrow tattoo's about how eyebrow tattoo's cost out the wazoo apparently, about how they don't like to cook, about how they don't like to clean, about how they don't really need to know how to cook and clean if they're good at something else (wink wink)-- GROSS! Did I mention that these ladies were well upwards of late to mid-60’s?

Are you scared now? It reminded me of the e-surance commercial where little old lady Beatrice is an "Offline Over-Sharer."  Beatrice is rapidly adapting to social media and the consequences, as you'll soon see, could be disturbing...like when they started Instagramming their feet.  I mean I’ve done that once but it was a joke? I had a rainbow loom toe ring on for heaven’s sake?

From now on I'm going to the VIP area with comp’d champagne where at least I can get buzzed if I have to listen to this banter?  It was funny and depressing and irritating all at once, kindof like fbook in realtime?

Maybe social media really is dying—or the demographic that it’s appealing to the most will be?

At least they'll have nice feet? And, they will have the Instagrams to prove it!:/