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

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.

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.

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

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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. . .

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!:/

For Savannah, at 11

http://living.msn.com/family-parenting/raising-kids/stop-teaching-your-kids-to-fear-disappointment

 

Savannah, now that you’re 11, there are two things in life that I want you to begin practicing:

First is to continue to think for yourself.  Just because everyone else is doing or thinking something doesn’t make it right? In fact, quite often it makes it wrong?  I want you to trust that little inner voice (your intuition) when you’re thinking for yourself too? It is something that, as you age, people will try to tell you to ignore (so that you can listen to what “they” are saying.) The reality is that voice is there for a reason? Don’t be afraid to ask questions and listen to that voice!

Secondly I want you to become comfortable taking educated risks once you’ve mastered the above? Anytime we (you, me or anyone else) takes a risk, disappointment can and will happen! It’s as inevitable as death and taxes.  I know I’m guilty at times of saying that I hate to see you sad or disappointed and it **is** hard because you’re so precious to me? And, often I’ve been guilty of trying to make you feel better by pointing out that a situation was unfair and you’re smarter or more talented than that? While that is truth…

The reality is we grow and learn through struggle, so it’s not like I don’t want you to struggle? I hope that makes sense?  See, I know I appreciate being a parent more because it was a tough road having you.  And I know we will appreciate our house more one day because we are sacrificing for it now! And, at a point in my life I kind-of took for granted having a nice house.  When we are humbled, we’re a bit more appreciative honestly?  It’s like if you have every gadget known to man you’re never really happy until you get the next gadget? You’re always chasing that next thing instead of enjoying what’s in front of you? Struggle helps you learn to be happy with what you have, instead of what you want….risk helps you find really high peaks of success as well as some struggle to keep you humble.   Sometimes God sends us some humbling times to help us grow in our faith and in our appreciation.  That pride you feel when you’ve earned an archery medal or a really good grade on a test is there because you’ve sacrificed for them?  You’ve practiced and studied and it wouldn’t be the same if those things were just given to you? If you never took a chance / tried out for them you wouldn’t have those experiences either? The truth is risking failure helps you find success. If you never try, you never know greatness?

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes those risks can get you into trouble (remember the food fight discussion), but if you use number one above when deciding about the risk then you’ll be okay? And even if it’s not okay and you get in trouble, you’ll own your decision. If you can do those two things with ownership, when you get to the dark side of your 40’s like I am, I guarantee you’ll have fewer regrets? I know I do! I love you!

Mom ♥

without rain

without rain

there wouldn't be that sound
like bacon sizzling
above us lulling us to sleep
even tho our flashlight and book wait impatiently

for us on blurred lines days
when maybe it's okay
to lay longer in puddled sheets
lingering without coffees?

and without rain
there wouldn't be
that memory of when we were 7
rushing relief there was no spelling...

only coloring that tuesday of thick-lined umbrellas
and that awful miss grovenstein muttering to herself?
bitterly about storms
and no playground period
that made my first purposeful smirk?

caught your shy eyes, sneaking ~
with a sideways glance to
windows, now fogged with glazy bedroom drops
reflecting all the prism'd reds and yellows

putting on a sideshow...I know

how lonely we would feel without our rain.

imagine, revisited

imagine revisited

 

 

I’m igniting an anarchy of one

inside of this Saturn’s return,

~ knowing ~

I can’t keep re-winding myself

caught up in spiritual adolescence.

 

and so I’m working on me ~

choosing to work myself free…

 

free of the cocoon that got me this far,

of religion and nation and my own bloody wars.

free of  self- inflicted disillusionment:

my best intentions without my focused intent.

 

how is the time best spent?

not running out but spilling into itself?

now all we have are those endless possibilities…

 

I’m so tired of exploring myself,

everything seems so tightly shelved:

a closed book with ripped-off cover.

 

I can’t be written off like that?

I’d rather burn it all away

like a free-bird firebird phoenix in the ashes

red cinnamon anarchy rising, not in chaos

but uncompromising divinity:

birthing human’s kind hood.

and, lennon’s dreamstance finally understood.

 

and so I’m working on me ~

working to choose myself free…

 

replay

replay

 

there’s a spooling song inside my head

and blackbird feathers in my bed

wishing I could lift and fly

whitebird feathers by and by

 

origami’d lust deep inside me

folding virgin wanton ecstacy

stolen kiss from a timeslipped shore

blackbird whitebird love me more

 

blackbird whitebird on the rise

freedom’s wing in our shared skies

a thousand cranes herald harmony

blackbird whitebird set me free

 

two feathers stroke me wide awake

soothe this angel’s longing ache

in this inky feathered pen’s release

blackbird whitebird passing peace ~

 

blackbird whitebird on the rise

freedom’s wing in our shared skies

a thousand cranes herald harmony

blackbird whitebird set me free ~

 

all my life……

radio silence

radio silence

 

protect me from this interference:

give me a little radio silence

 

let me stop transmitting this

let me just rest without a guarded hiss

with nothing on the lighted spectrum

and my old dashboard dead quiet.

let me just break through in silent riot.

 

I am just a small array of being

that’s the way I’ve always operated.

 

Hearing all the dark matters,

gravity’s always co-operated

with-in me diffusing all that vacuumed energy

disbursing in the static so it automatically

feeds back in and on itself pulsing white now

 

in my head, thumping above my right eye

a pulsar of exquisite pain looking to a twinkling sky

 

released in radio silence