Six A.M.

when i want to

hold my baby

in my empty arms

i reach across

i stroke the hair of

the ones before my eyes

my fist unfolds

it dulls this ache

left by tiny

footprints

March 22, 2018 0

Nightfall

Children’s laughter on the wind
Bird song bringing shadows in
Peace descending and resplendent
As daylight turns to eve.

Sunlight drops behind the trees
Bringing warriors to their knees
In the summer where they live
In the summer where they breathe

Children seek to warrior find
Children seek one of their kind
In the houses where they play
Know that this is, the best way

Flowers sing of where they’ve been
Without guilt and without sin
Gilding air and sound alike
Gilding air and human skin

Angels sing exaltation
Surpass our expectation
Peace descending and resplendent
As daylight turns to eve

March 20, 2018 0

Coffee Pot Chronicles

My nightlight shines from behind my empty coffee pot
Illuminating my goddess, my goddess of the morning
Light shines from behind my empty coffee pot
Illuminating truth and clarity, need and desperation
I come out of the darkness drawn to its beckoning glow
I come out of my darkness, see it waiting for morning’s light
I come out of the darkness, and I come into my home.

*****

My nightlight shines from behind my empty coffee pot
Illuminating its’ waiting desire to be filled, and used . . .
Its steadfast devotion tempers my anxiety, gives me peace
In this morning life of cutting sunlight and obligation
It is my soft place to lay my head while standing, it is
My womb. My desire. My comfort. My need. My love.
My circle of light in the surrounding darkness of 5 a.m.

*****

She resurrects me every morning . . . sacrifices Her commitment
Becomes my salvation and my soul’s worth both
I worship at Her cathedral of glass and heating elements
Of grounds and water, of the comforting drip of Her Nectar
Complete in Her intoxicating scent of morning’s waking hours
She sustains me. Gives me life. Breathes life to me.
She is my Lady . . . of the Morning. My Lady of Life.

March 19, 2018 0

No Dignity

There is no dignity in begging
In begging someone not to hurt you
In begging “please”
In begging forgiveness
In pleading for your own safety
A safety that ought to be yours by right

There is no dignity in fear
In the unreasonable, unspeakable, gut
Wrenching fear
And the panic that comes
When they can do anything to you
And you can do nothing

There is no dignity in being screamed at
Like a child
In being degraded before others

In having strings pulled
Like a puppet

There is no dignity in the fear
That clutches at your heart when
They say “we’ll talk about this later
In that tone of voice
And you think they mean in bed
Suddenly terrified
At that point
You would rather throw yourself
In front of a train
Than displease them further
So you shut up
And you do as they say

There is no dignity, no humanity in someone
Other than yourself
Having complete and utter control
Over the ratios of pain and fear in your life

There is no dignity in being a wife.

March 18, 2018 4

Frequent Colliding

Baubles

fill the air with pristine
Gladness.

Trembling anew at the sensations provided
Within
the authenticated, yes even validated
Madness.

Thus structure after structure eventually
subsided, and glinting
particles of nothing coincided, leaving prudent
thoughts to loll around
Lackadaisically.

Or was it
Enthusiastically?

Ahh, who can tell
in this messy world of
Happenstance.

Baubles.

* * * * *

“The particles are so tiny that the task of making them collide is akin to firing two needles 10 kilometres apart with such precision that they meet halfway.”
-https://home.cern/topics/large-hadron-collider

* * * * * * *

The Large Hadron Collider

The LHC is the largest machine in the world. It took thousands of scientists, engineers and technicians decades to plan and build, and it continues to operate at the very boundaries of scientific knowledge.
–https://home.cern/topics/large-hadron-collider

October 27, 2017 2

Glimpse into an Alternate Galaxy

Sentimental wastelands abound in the South,
though the nearby planets prosper and continue to thrive.
Ratings rise or fall, according to the chance of the moment,
answering the need for boundaries to which they all must strive.
When the Northmen come down to visit or parley, invariably they
bring with them their flowery emotion, murky attitudes, and
elevated ideas of love and rage, of friendship and petulance.
Ratings grow tense at these time, striking levels of resistance, for
rare is the Southerner who fails to be annoyed by their love-ridden,
oft-times senseless drive.

Young townsmen try to run them out, albeit illegally, hoping to quell
the restless feeling of being alive.
Sometimes they succeed. And their peace returns.
Sometimes they do not, and chaos plays havoc with their well-timed city.
In these uncertain times, they eye the ratings worriedly, also heartburn and
ulcers arrive, further upsetting their wasteland of success.
“We run an even keel,” they boast, “and do what we can to survive.”
Claim they have no need for such Northern nonsense as “following one’s heart”
and further excessive pomposity.
Southerners enjoy steady ratings, not Northern wall-bouncing, extremist ones.

The townsmen try harder, as quietly, as evenly as illegally as they can.
Very often, the Northmen tire of the stressful “communication” and return to their
Northern planet to live happily among their natural rainforests of idealized love,
from which their beliefs derive.

To talk the walk of the innocent,
Is to walk the walk of the damned,
as is the damned the very same as the innocent.

Both maintain a motionless stance.

* * * * * * *

“A war, long and fierce, engulfed the planet; brother amassed against brother.
There was death and destruction both north and south.”

– 2002, The Lost Book of Enki, by Zechariah Sitchin.

October 15, 2017 0

Who Am I (do I like me?) (1995)

who am i?
do i like me?
who am i?
i don’t know who i see.

in the mirror.
my heart.
His expressionless eyes.

who am i today
in my pretty blue jeans?
Who molds me as clay –
do i live? or decay?
i sit and i preen
before one mirror.
later i stand before another,
the jeer-er.
placater. lover.

i don’t know . . . .
is it fear?
empty art?
perfection in size?

i don’t know what He sees.
empty jeans?
what He wants me to be?
possibly
the ways to a means.

who am i?
do I like me?
does it matter?
i don’t know what i see.

August 20, 2017 0

Extraterrestrial

Lonely extraterrestrial
Leans her head against the tree
Thinks of all she is
All she’s yet to be

Cold choices, colder fates
I feel I wasn’t consulted!
“In the beginning . . . “
In the beginning, WHAT
When we sat. Can’t this be halted?
Stalled?

We’ve had this discussion before
Says the tree, basking
Silent in its solitude
Decades ago, remember asking?

“Who am I?” Who do I want to be?
And now you know. Yes, I know.
Not just what they want to see
But Me and All of Me.

Lonely extraterrestrial
Feels ground beneath her seat
Wonders if it’s worth it
These planetary feats

These promises she’s tendered
“Til Death do we part”
This lifelong commitment
That excludes her heart

Lonely extraterrestrial
Looks outward to the sky
To the stars feels the wind
Whispers . . .

. . . Goodbye.

* * * * *
Featured photo, a painting titled “The Dryad”
is the work of Jeremiah Morelli
For more information, visit Jeremiah’s website
or his facebook page.

* * * * *

Each of us has the power to shift and realign with the heart,
as we let go, forgive, ask for forgiveness,
and move through our collective grief
to our seat of personal power within the heart of love.”

– http://www.mysticmamma.com
LionsGate 2017

* * * * *

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.”
-John 1:1-3