Monday, December 31, 2012

new year's eve












we write and we breathe
we live
we die
taking inventory of our days, our hours
hopefully noticing the snap of the stars at night
at mercy to the sorrow-holes
at mercy to the sun's reflection
we show up
we retreat
we grasp & release
resolutions made by fools & thieves
paths are walked by the weary & the paisley'd wanderer
in woods dappled by constrast
hold it in
give it away
with
arms made sinewy & beautiful to hold the sky, to hold the fragile
backs of willow-marble pink to lean into the wind
legs sure & liquid
a heart that recalls the taste of snowflakes on my tongue
and
the magnetic north of your skin
and
dreams that speak the gypsy tongue
we write
we breathe
unfolding to the evergreen of possibility
to the grace within . . .
we breathe

forecast




empty, restless, hungry, tired, wanting, feeling .....
... the snow that waits outside these windows awakens me to
a desire for wine ....
a bold, deep cabernet with heavy bread
a want of books, of blogs, of leather boots with high heels, flannel sheets
& clean white socks with nakedness, of lectures & knowledge, of greys & blues, of smells.
i'm fucking hungry !!
i crave visions, revelations, magic, snow, dancing, language, poetry, thoughts that explode or linger, words that bleed, words that bruise, touch that heals.
i want to eat your laughter, the sound of your sighs
to consume the dust of your soul
happy hours of your silence & your semen
medium rare steak, underwear, wind, thunder-ale drowned in music.
music, music, music ....
i'll devour your salt-honeyed skin
i am obscenely starved i am ....
of touch, movement, snow, alice's looking glass, peace, sunshine, mountain breezes,
affordable health care
edible words like cunt & fuck & snow & linger & mango
give me cigar smoke, tribal dreams and new orleans
sweet smell of honeysuckle jazz
and your smell 

your smell
one, two, three ...
madly jonesing i am.
let me chew, gulp. lick, smell once again, kiss forever
lie in your arms forever .....
to lick every warm inch of skin, to have my mouth full of your
songs, strawberries, earth, joy.
wake up !!
turn off your cell phone- pull down your underwear- get wet-
- pour your mind into my hands
and
i
will
tenderly
hold ...... 
you.

Friday, December 21, 2012

let the light catch up with you …..
















On this day
 … the sun is peeking over the roofs to my east & moving over the pillows of snow drifted & frozen upon nearly everything.
the sky is clear …. forget-me-not blue.  pale. clear.
at 8:30, i realize it was one week ago … around this time that sorrow landed with the pop & chaos of catastrophic violence in sandy hook.
i stop.
and breathe … watching the sun and its reflection upon the snow.
i remember loss.  my own personal, deep-to-the-marrow-loss and how above all things, i just wished that everyone would just stop
…. and i truly mean everyone.  just fucking stop :
for a moment, for one moment - to realize the depth of my loss, the world's loss ….
to notice my aching & tattered hole.
to stop.
and in stopping, i notice the light is moving closer to me …. silently sure & bold
silently illuminating my place
in stopping, we let the light to catch up with us

Monday, December 17, 2012

love in a grove of trees or what comes after .....










the smooth slip of the silver needle lies between fingers dry & uncertain
my 6th vain attempt of bulls-eyeing the vanilla thread is heavy & ringing
things will be alright if i can just sew this button on a pair of jeans she wants . .
things will be alright if i say the right thing, look full & compassionate
pointedly earnest & hanging
yet
not
too
much
concern defines chaos
outlining evenings buckled in grateful fear & mortality
things will be alright if i buy her a new skirt, complement her hair
hold that ancient precious memory close .... enough
feed her right & she will grow strong & resilient
show her the shores of the world & read her books of peter rabbit & frog & toad
let her choose her clothes & she becomes confident & free
define her poppy-sparrow-laughter
and
suddenly
there is the blue-red of
needle pricked flesh ...
leaving a scar ever-so-slight & insignificant
slight & insignificant
is there such a thing ?
ever ?
no one ever tells you what it's like to swim in paralyzing gratefulness
thick, blue & smothering
warm & murky
gratefulness is an insignificant word . .
it is more a mercy-steeped-grace
beating & throbbing with all things ....
all things alive and green & smelling of a ripe peach in sunshine .
no one tells you how to love inside out & lost to the
rhythm of a clock not your own
no control, except to press the wound gently & steadily until .....
things are alright

Friday, December 14, 2012

threshold



Everything is candy apple sophomoric and flat
Void of sensation and bite
Air chilled and strained of Mozart, honey & stars . . .
Pluto exposing our fire, our wise blue nakedness
I need to swing out higher than tree tops
To run alongside cars & mustangs
I need to plunge into water braced for a December night
To wear a gown of Edwardian lace : full & resplendent & tight
Carve out whatever magic-seed is meshed into my soul and roast it
With sage & lavender until my soft palate quivers with need
Tie me to the white aspen & allow the sparrow to tattoo it's name along my thigh
Fill my heart with gems of blue & azure . .
Hold it up to the moon & catch the scent of your archer self. . .
Hold it. . . just right and you will shine that sparkle
Into my marrow and
I will feel


Tuesday, December 11, 2012

calling moon to venus











violet-blue wash  . . .
a softness of dusk-pink defines the horizon
lift the brush
& carry the felted bird,
the pined branch
as
forgiveness lies thorned & dry upon the scarred skin of acceptance
run your hand down the sternum of this fairy apple-soul
to
light the way to love
in corners ash bold & sharp
thrumming to season's shift
and
winter's bite of frost & fragility gray
no more
no more
paint my path with the colors of this day


Friday, December 7, 2012

samadhi


what of the things that surround us. . .
textures of cotton or hemp, silks or stone
colors azure bold or softly veiled
scents timeless & traveled
tapped in, wired in
candles illuminating our path or
corners shadowed & unknown . .
what we see. . . we become
step to the side of the ordinary, touch the extraordinary
see what has lied there alone & covered by earth & leaves
kicked aside as if some gypsy's dream
blink
focus
shed those garments that weigh your shine down
pick up a scent of a new path . . and follow with trust & possibility
we become what we know . .
so know deeply
see differently
trust your steps
listen to all the shades of gray . .
and with your voice raised to the clouds :
risk


Wednesday, December 5, 2012

VI


this isn't about love
not about the tracing of maps upon skin-streets
not about needs
wants
60 days
kisses
or the shape i found you in
it is the feel
of my body - this body
striving to be all it can
bones of hand swollen and aching
reaching
struggling
learning
rebelling
skin becoming creped, freckled from age
not sun-kissed and peachy
as before ....
as before.
bones thinning
remembering
refusing to listen
heaviness
lingering
in hips, waist, thighs
heaviness
reckless youth
what i would trade for the effortless birthright of ease of movement
coltish awkwardness & strength
...... and joy.
i ache
from the grinding of bone upon bone
muscle against the gravity of the moon
and the space between where we are and where we want to be
held there by the tautness of your will

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

enough












it is
what I get from you . . .
unheralded & honeysuckled
this bridge of
enough . . .
spanning the place between cargo pants
and lacy underthings
sweet clove surrender
folding into a pink borealis of
feminine fire
decidedly belonging .
enough . . .
to fill the broken places & saddle the phoenix-rising
from tail to breast
snow white of bone-hollowed fullness
secrets carried close & wild
always enough . .

Friday, November 30, 2012

for the water . . .













these words have steeped for a while now . .
in this vessel of November sky & the golden light of plowed fields . .
you are Water Turquoise-Cinque-Terre-Blue :
soothing, enveloping & sure
with the crystalline smell of first snow - icy & apple-crisp
spiced with a lavender borealis & ginger zest
you allow the float, the surrender, the paintbox to swoop in & rise to song
present in love, forgiveness & laughter . . .
you ride between wonder & sage-ness
taking prisoners wildly delightful in their felted chains
with a hand of grace & skill
mischievous . . you lure your sailors with Guinness Cake & a canvas of surprise
crafting connection with brush strokes of vibrant color-wheel possibility
holding us all closer to the light
shining & floating. . .
Water Turquoise-Cinque-Terre-Blue

Monday, November 26, 2012

illumination











You steal beside me like an ochre whisper
phantom presence
softly erasing all negative space
blooming into darkness & the quiet burn of a million stars
"Make a strong line, don't sketch it out - be sure when you draw", you once told me.
Be sure
 . . . drawn then
Held - with a kiss that carries the weight & spin of this blue rock
Exquisite : containing the 1949 worlds fair, the soundtrack to fantasia
& maybe the partridge family
ruby-throated hummingbirds land on my tongue & travel into my soul
stealing all measure of hurt
weaving a patch of feathers, words & succulence over all wounds
skin is diffused & forgiven - effervescent . . .
inconsequential to the heart of the matter
celebrated by the sureness of snow as it lies on my lips
direct & boldly waiting for the sureness of the melt
boreal & piercing
and sure  . . .

Friday, November 23, 2012

davis avenue


underneath the sofa
was a perfect place to lay
tucked & pajama-footed
in my secret hide-a-way
yellow flannel-orange blossoms
perfect to blend between
nylon threads, vanilla walls
picture-window tv screen
parents glued to Carson,
no one saw me sneak
along the shadows of a room
to risk the chance to peek
grown-ups had this cocktail life,
up late with cigarettes & rye
as I triangled behind the couch,
a pony-tailed-bobby-socked spy
I watched the world unfold from there
my vantage a hushed thrill
if I could only turn back time
you'd find me nested still

Monday, November 19, 2012

thankfulness


Hollowness is only hollowness when viewed from within the hollow
When beside it, it shimmers with a ripeness found only in peaches
and the sun
Most often, it is found in shades of blue & green
though gold sometimes hides deep in it's pockets
Lay your ear against it's tautness, and listen
Do you hear the ocean ? the pulling note from a cello ? rain on a sidewalk ?
Maybe the soundtrack from Goldfinger or Doctor Zhivago
Lay your hand upon the hollow, and snap down a beat . . It's ring of rhythm surprises
It holds a tone & a thread of story . . .
Hollowness holds everything when one stands from without

Thursday, November 8, 2012

fragment









Darker though becoming. . . .
of clear water frozen shallow
with no benefit of kites or bridges
traveling in wires thin of courage
ring-tailed moon
and
a silver mapled soul

Saturday, November 3, 2012

epiphany











mid-day shadows
and
a
longing
for an island upon which to gather berries & silence
thorned & violet as cotton acanthium
bring me quiet blue
splashing against sinew & marrow
wide & pale as fragility
still …. 
hushed birdsong & anthem
hushed to lines bold & righteous
hush ….
i will wear feathers
and
      find you







At Plum Tree Books, we are having a little Blog Walk
to celebrate Joss Landry's new book Mirror Deep, 
This blog walk centers around a paragraph, poem or piece challenge - using the word longing.
I can run a little luke-warm on traditional blog-hops, so this is a great incentive to write something new, include other artists & writers … and meet some new friends !

I hope you check in, and see who has joined our longing walk …...

  




5th November:
Jennifer Kiley http://thesecretkeeper.net  @occultguardian

6th November: 

8th November: 
Tonia Marie Harris http://passionfind.wordpress.com/ @TMarieHarris

10th November: 

Dianne Ebejer: 

Susie Bertie: 


Tuesday, October 30, 2012

of


the cape marmalade with lightning feathers
held fast to allow the ride
sweeping the crest of constellations
arms stretched strong & made to guide

wind lifts to rage and power
wind lifts to shift the tide
wind lifts to hold the sorrowful
wind lifts with hope inside

a cape to shelter the homeless
arms sure to hold the lost
heart bends the will of thunder
as soul tenders a storms cost

wind stills to land and linger
wind stills upon the sea
wind stills to hope the hopeless
wind carries the still to me . . .

a cape to warm the travel
a force to lift a tale
a story born of nature
a wish for mercies unveil

of things between. . .


Snap of leaves and crackle of night
the scent of pumpkin fires
branches bereft of summers green
as tonight our dreams take flight

masked & marked the goblins play
kicking up the the dust of fall
weary the spirit that lingers too long
as midnight tempts the fey

thru the streets the trail weaves
pocked by crumbs of candy corn
hauntings & howlings under moon's spell
tonight on All Hallows' Eve

Friday, October 26, 2012

the cusp of longing


blue jay on the window sill
moon ghost-hangs in the sky
morning frost presses into the corners & cracks
sidewalk gray, this dream ... owl's sigh

sharp wood smell of grass & sage
return to the blue-edge of winter
catch up to the joy-shadows of your past
with stars as bright as vetiver

it's soft and it's rolling and cold as the hollow
the passing of days in years deep
love-piercing and bold as the tail of a comet
come away to the bite of dreams keep

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

debate, parenthood, peanut butter & crackers



We live, work & play in this strange world where our real life and our online 'second lives' collide.  How we engage & respond has morphed over the years to include this public format where love is declared, battle lines are drawn & score is kept by some illusive & ever-changing social sentry.  What did we all do before technology allowed us to 'write it out'?  We wrote it out : long-hand & private, in notebooks & journals .. with sloppy pages of self-mutilating-depricating angst. Well, that's at least what I did. Now, I will tuck it here for an immediate, cathartic release. Still angst-ish & full of remorse for the definitions & crumbs that, as a parent, I have laid along the path. Few will read it . .  maybe a few dear souls, but not the players in this melodrama. This immediate cathartic process now spent.



Where exactly is the 'Parenthood' moment? That argumentative tumult of hot feeling that bubbles & froths spectacularly during some barbed sibling battle ? All hurts & wrongs aired over a soft Bruno Mars ballad rising in the background . . . faces flushed with anger & mess, until someone storms out causing semi-confusion before being pursued, or the tension is broken by some innocent gesture ; the dog jumps on the table, a silly ringtone is heard, a child says something pointedly astute ... and after the Chanel #5 commercial, we find the Bravermans / Us, laughing & engaged ... once again seated around some colorful al fresco feast. Yea. I want that.

I think I had it with my dad to some extent.
I am an only child, so the concept of siblings not 'fixing' things ... not getting along is way beyond me.
What a bunch of lucky basterds you all are !! People with siblings.
Ready-made friends for life !
Family with a capital F.
So, after my mom died, when it was just dad & I ... well, we would fight. Hard & emotional & until I would find myself collapsed & sobbing against his shoulder, as he hugged me to him - hard. And emotional. Then he would say something like, "Come on, let's go have some crackers & peanut butter." And we would be better somehow, bigger & healed.

My husband has two brothers, each with wives & families. We have been estranged from them now for a couple years ... this was explained in a previous post & I won't go there.  It is relevant, but only so much ....
suffice it to say, there are vast political differences we seem unable to bridge.
But recently, ( ok, like tonight ) my husband's older brother, took it upon himself to bully my daughter on her social media page on a political statement she posted.
She liked Obama . She did not like the 'other guy'.
He called our POTUS an idiot, and he called her an idiot.
In the social media world, this is a troll move, though he was just being an ass. Where does this come from, this need to feel more powerful than another ? I don't understand. I am a deer in head lights a la tharn.
Who does this ... and why does it seem to so fall predictably along political lines ? I do not want this to be a truth, but it is glaringly apparent. This is not how we respect family, grow our children ... This is not how we learn to lean & listen across party lines, across divisions of any kind.
It got worse & it got better.
My daughter replied back with fierce passion & a resilient stance. Declaring her right to her own opinion, her right to say what she wanted & the ownership to the contents of her page. Yea, she dropped the f-bomb. Big fucking deal.
She was accurate & sassy.  Also upset.  I was pleased she walked boldly into her voice.
I did not jump in, did not fuel the proverbial fire.
Then it got worse ... he threw the family under the bus so-to-speak, well, me more accurately. Going back 25+ years, to a time when I commented a crime.  A significant act, under significant circumstances that I paid dearly & thankfully for.  I survived the consequences - I rose up & out.   It was a horrible, nightmarish time, that echoes still every day of my life, in sometimes unexpected ways, and in some surprisingly profound ways.
But to throw it in the rant, as this example my daughter is aspiring to ?
Wtf. This is akin to throwing pandas into a debate about Detroit.
This is an action based in hate, fear & bullying.
This is not something family does. Oh no no no …. And do not bully my child.  I will eat you.
My daughter is a warrior Celtic Princess of the highest order - capable, smart, beautiful & sassy. It is heartbreaking to witness someone over 50 attack someone not yet 22.
How fucking dare he, how small & fearful one must be to live & act with such vile emptiness.
This is family with a capital F.

I want a Partridge Family family, a wild & joyful Parenthood family, I want Eight is Enough, Dawson's Creek, and shit, throw in 41 Jump Street .... but I want a family that hugs it out, stays and sees it thru until the love hits ...
I want my father's shoulder & crackers with peanut butter waiting on the other side. No more hate. No more.
We will be our own family with a capital F, a family with enough love & fearlessness to always make it thru to the crackers & peanut butter.

Friday, October 19, 2012

captured light


it doesn't work like that ~
wanting seeds longing
and takes you away from the shade afforded those who breathe in the three o'clock dust-atoms of autumn wisteria
blue jay calls to winter's snow to come easy, come gentle
kneeling at the alter of crisp borealis nights
skin stretched over bones replete with enough of you
surging to lie sure & solitary to the sun
no tempest worth the price of unknowing
no flared ego rising into storied tales of hops & ash
be still & listen
the blue jay calls for you by name . . .
winter

Thursday, October 18, 2012

waking to saturn


surely
we should write in the sky with cinnamon toast points
ruby chalk the leaves to play red rover among stars
peeling otter bark from taffy streets to feed our souls relief
crystal rolled to open
pine & honeyed
if you close your eyes just right
softly with the dreams of your six-year-old self
close your eyes
and lift the scarred corners of your peach-pit mouth
to rise & fly
to
the constellation north of the meridian
of
you

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

wind










dangled
hanging
treading
poised upon the thin, dry vermillion wire of autumn
balance illusive
time irreverent & fierce
prosperity viscerally teasing with its apple warmth
gathered molecules of venus
awareness mine  .…
all mine
 . .  for a time
the wind north, north-westerly
blustering with fractious indecision
as we tumble to

yellow

Monday, October 15, 2012

night visible


willow-curly
trembled femininity pursued against the chipped & sullen gray
sun upside-down hedge-apple-cake
words buried under the yellows of fall
falling . . .
winter eager at the gate of white-evermore
as
the porcelain berry sings of
indigo-blue stillness
a dream of evening's new moon
willow-curly hanging moments

Saturday, October 13, 2012

slumber

somewhere between the risk & the rain
traveling down
palomino highways
replete with tambourines
and a woolen blanket of red
fast
fueled by awareness, apples & antares
the milky way illuminates the night
drowning out the buzz of tilting plants & thunder
burned out & left in a million shallow graves
Nuggets of dreams & leanings dot the blurred space between
Marked by harvested fields, deer crossings & pinwheels
Flying along on the ghost horse
Flying .....
As the rain comes down harder making choice immediate
Serenity fleeting as a glimpsed electric golden portal flashes
Defined & aligned with intent
Purpose is murky & the way is overgrown with reeds of rust & linen
A mordant algorithm of aqua-depth & stars
Purpose exists to be found or it is just a buckled paisley regret
The ride is relentless & the scope of beauty & possibility endless
Time is on my side
As I wrap the blanket & the milky way around me
To wait out the rain

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

bond & galore













Candy-light dappled memory . . . sunshine day of early fall,
Summer echoes as a secret carried in a blue backpack
Waiting in the hallway
Playful - easy
Colors danced as providence pulled along
No spy-games today . . determined goal set
Anticipation
Suddenly stretched & waiting in someone else's rumpled space
I have always possessed a fondness for texture, corvids, corvairs, snow, rain fragile things, the smell of summer grass and your birthmark
A map to home, my compass . . . found
Stretched & waiting with studied diligence & mirth
To be noticed & touched in the sieved air of an afternoon
Something smells of dust motes & oranges
Reverence beckons . .
Walls fade . .  sound & light fractured ... dappled still against the awakening
An ease of intimacy is discovered . . . and the strange tempered blend of
Pressing weight & surrender
Pleasure & pain . . lying alongside your length was a lock into the flecked space of
Something exquisite & unfinished
Fireworks & forgiveness selected,  and set aside for a distant hanging moment
No struggle with definition & words, as if we just knew
This
Was
Unlocking the birthmark that points North
Recognizing secrets can be shadowed & cut with a sharpness divine
Tapped in and set afire
I stole a shower to study the abstract release of red ribbons watercoloring down my thigh
And felt hollowed - as if a part of me had been pulled out
Filled now with the dappled
Candy sunlight of that vermillion moment ....

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

thistled dream












Gentle-man's Choice ...
Take me to a movie and let's put m&m's in the popcorn
I will unzip you
Buttered
Nesting my hand there along you
in
Sacred asanyukta - I will
Seamlessly take you to the sandstone edge and
We will jump into woodycreek canyon ... together
Let me lean into you at the river
Water, wildlife, wheat & weeds
Syncopated & dancing
Setting a thistled rhythm of deepness & need
Wet open wondering ....
I will wear black stockings, leopard print heels & a little black dress
You are in Armani : slacks, white pressed shirt, oxfords .
And we will eat tender & rich & divine
Escargot, black mussels in thyme, garlic & Guinness
Pinot Grigio
Full, yet hungry of that place only we travel
Pink cotton-candy mouthed surrender
Taunt, tight . . yielding.
This End Up ... Mr. Darcy at the door
" If lost return me to . . . "
Take
It .
Paint my vanilla-orchid-rising in deep indigo, heliotrope & pale blush
That's right . .#23 kolinsky red sable
Bracken paints Rebecca
By hand . . .and tongue
In dreams
Your hand fits mine as we walk, 
discovering
the people-light of places old & forgotten
Stories unfold with questions asked & topaz smiles
Cool of red brick & warm of marble yellow tells tales old & laced-amber
In New Orleans, I will hold you captive
Feasting on filet mignon, strawberries & creme brûlée .....
Easy-naked-MTV-intimacy
found in the 
between
Do not wake me come morning as this dream is far too sweet and
We will adventure deep into the French Quarter to find an elevator
kiss me . . . french blue

Monday, September 17, 2012

The Edge of the Desert . . .













Oh HeLLo World that lies outside these walls ….
as i sit here, the wind is picking up, and it looks & smells of coming rain … somewhere 
and i am rocked by
contrast  :
the contrast of morning against the night
the contrast of quiet against the noise of water running thru the pipes, music on the radio and children outside calling to one another as they walk to school ….
less and more
empty to full ….
the promise of rain .. and the bleakness of drought
' those who have; those who have not.’

a sneaky, orchestrated segue to share with you a new anthology
 ( of which i am a part ,,, )

Song of Sahel
from
Plum Tree Books 

is now dropped into Amazon & available for download …..
this is a beautiful & poignant work of compassion & action, with all proceeds going to aid the magnificent people of the Sahel . . .
( that's that orange band trailing across Africa, on the southern edge of the Sahara in the above picture )

There are many areas, throughout the world that require our help & awareness , a moment of our time, our dollars …  our care.
The Sahel region of Africa is one.
Take a moment and jump about our Plum Tree Web Site

We have an amazing ArT auction happening for the next 27ish hours
( yes, I even have a piece there !!!  )

there is the most haunting & beautiful music to download  . . .

 . . . even Claudio Fiore's radio show full … just fuLL of tales of the Sahel,  music & poetry

jump onto our facebook page to catch more information, make a bid on some art or just tag along
it's a lot … i know.  You, dear reader can handle it !!!

STEP into our dream with your heart.

THIS  is social media at its best … when we are brought together over a labyrinth of time & distance into a dream of ArT & HoPe
We are - each and every one of us, but tiny grains of sand on this blue planet
but when one looks close enough, the remarkable beauty of each grain is evident and the infinite understanding that we can indeed change the world  -  one grain of sand at a time ,,,,


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

5 o'clock thicket


IT
is lonely here , quiet
Windows of sunlight feed me ...
Waiting on this cold pink-marbled bench for a sign
And even though you can't see it - it is snowing
It always snows here
It can rain but that happens most often in the morning
Snowing softly in this captured glen of birch & pine
A slow, dropping sparkle of designed brilliance
Always
A meadowlark sings , maybe a meadowlark is always singing
My feet grow restless as they tap & play in the foliage
Should I play a pennywhistle while I wait, or sketch the inside of your heart ?
Definitely should take up smoking, or knitting, or model airplane building.
I could build a plane & fly away to the last place where i picked up your scent
Rich cherry-earth, honeyed & mine.
Hmm . .
That is cutting too close. Too close to the burn, the pinch, the punch that is the want of you .. It resides in a scarlet-arched line from the base of my throat, to my groin and travels out in a spiraling crescent moon
to blossom-explode upon
this night marrying to star-shine & nightingales
That is cutting to close
Just wait ... Here .
In September's snow ...

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

tapped









Chutes & ladders of pulsing light
Wrapped in flannel white
Soft
Transparent
Ethereal fragility felt
Impossibly delicate
Mechanics of design sublime & bone-china-fine
In this quantum pocket of night
Cradled & held in soft apricot light
Beyond the scope of this gather
crawls a maleficent  force
Intent on the rip & tear
Baring down with ropes of pearls, baskets of emptiness
And the sharp cut of destruction knocking, knocking ,,,
At once  . . .
Finally ::  i am AWARE
 . . .  of the magnetic awakening
Found in the paper-thin cooing of small things
To feel it all churning, grinding, riddled & intent
As an inky slickness looms, spreads
To know, see & feel the bitter-root of Mephistopheles
and to warrior that darkness
With the knowing purpose of starshine
Well, here we are.
Shielded for a brief spell
A brief captured spell
Here in this Oz-curtained human truth
Rest, nestled in this winged sureness
Stay
Sleep
And may this tangerine veil linger forever between ...

sometimes it catches you


it does ...
the light catches you unaware & open
vulnerable to it's glimmer dancing
caught there in a suspension between what is
and
what is always
bridged by the light
into
wholeness
trapped between shadow & white sparkling
it's a door
open

moving between

this is the quiet hollow of pain before surrender
dull in it's persistence
and ringed in cotton quilts & ginger
chilled
on this last hot alfalfa night, of a long dry summer
hollow
but not.
gnawing
grinding
hollowness
of this piquant hour : midnight
restless mooned midnight
where somewhere on this last hot alfalfa night
a boy in a red truck waits under the big dipper for a girl in a hurry to grow up
hollow, but not.
timeless
stillness
fullness . .
jackson brown plays on a radio from a station just south of chicago
hollow buzz buzzing of energy puzzled into heart and thighs hot
the last hot alfalfa night of a long, dry summer. . . .
cotton & ginger

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

too much to say : Plum Tree, Sahel - dreamers & doers. . . .


















There
is sometimes just too much to say …
too much to read & absorb in the course of our days ….
we are stretched tight in the hours & tasks set before us …
and
it is with that realization that I am humbled & oh so grateful to know a company of folks
known as Plum Tree Books
A fearless & fierce Leader, Artist & Goddess of all Things Stardusty - Niamh Clune, has gracefully allowed me to contribute and play within their realm.
I am lucky.
We are in the midst of dropping a new anthology September 15th : a world fusion-anthology of poetry, music, art, photography … words & images to bring awareness to the plight of a region in Africa known as the Sahel.
Please, take a moment from your 'too much' days … and participate, visit & experience this amazing community of artists.
On, a personal & surprising note … i even have a piece of art up for auction here .
A prismacolor colored pencil piece ( pictured above ) entitled Jym.  
( and a special thanks out to Mary Vaughan - my friend & art teacher for nudging & dragging me into a place where art happens …. )
There is sometimes just too much to say… too much to do …
Now … I'm going to go do . .
thanks for stopping past
&
a beautiful day to You !!! 

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

gemini moon at Beverley's place !!,



Guesting at ~

FEETFIRSTBOOK

Walking with Beverley


How cool it is to connect, blend & share across the miles .....

Guesting here !!!!


Thank you Beverley !!!

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Mars Night


i
sleep under a circus tent
under a pinwheel chandelier
reading
Anna Karenina by firefly-light
tucked into my scarlet lofty cocoon ~
locusts thrum & hum
as stars
dirty-honey thick
call ...
owls and the masked ones
broken & bare
thick . . .
pulling at indigo dreams tripped out on
summer dust & particle physics
pulling through skin caught out on a cool august night
stark & stunned . .
pulling slumbered tendrils up to the milky white haze-light
to feed
the
souls of love warriors & poets cognac
pulling it free to tightrope walk its way
to distant planets
on fluffy socked tiptoes

never
looking
back . .

Friday, August 3, 2012

Solidarity .
















Once Upon a Time, there was a
Lovely Lady of the Thames, Niamh Clune
who manifested a vast & crazy publishing house - Plum Tree Books
It became filled with artists, writers, poets, dreamers & drifters, and the occasional dancing bear.
This international tribe of creatives came together to champion not only one another, but the whole creative process. . . .

The Spring Anthology  , The Butterfly Effect   : AWESOME !!!
Then, there is Youth-Tube … a fresh & unique tool for children & art.
There is a sweet spot for musicbook reviews , and visual arts
I know I'm forgetting something, but you get the idea ….

Along with that creative awareness, also comes an awareness of the Holes.
( this happens intrinsically with creative souls as we look to the World for inspiration & answers )
Holes : the places in our world that need filled with more than just our pretty words.  Places that need our attention and our relief dollars.
Places that need a light shined upon the cracked dry landscape, the famine and dust.
This place, is Sahel Africa.
Now, frank & compassionate discussion about places of need, are not the topics we turn to perhaps during the course of our day … but they need to be.
So we take our pretty words, and turn them to songs of hope, we take our pretty words and create a poem ripe with imagery where the dust sticks to the roof of our mouth.
If we talk of these things now … our children will grow up with an awareness of world & need, our neighbors will see perhaps a place they can help in very real ways.
Our hearts will open & we will come together - Solidarity .
This place is Africa's Sahel ….
We are creating an event

Look inside ….
A Song of Sahel


and be sure to visit DiAnne's Place ,
Shirani Rajapakse's Blog  ,
Claudio Fiore Music 
The Secret Keeper

… more to follow ….

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

The Coming of the ....


One hangs around writers, talking dogs, artists, spell-casters & dreamers long enough - magic happens. Sometimes it's merely rounding a corner into a poignant phrase, a story well told. 
Sometimes it shakes us, wakes us, takes us someplace unexpected, rich and transportive. 
This was my experience with Niamh Clune's recently released : 
The Coming of the Feminine Christ. 



I was not expecting such a quest so deep and expansive ....  so personal. 
It seems easy & somewhat simplistic to use the phrases that pop into my head … talking points designed to intrigue & pull - 
wrapped in the mystic of the divine feminine, instinct to nuture, to love & the innate nature of belonging

We write blogs, cross-promote with a deft & subtle touch within the confines of our friend-clusters, from the shores of what speaks to us, moves us ... we cast a line out, hoping someone is listening. 
Well, with Niamh's book, I do indeed hope that someone is listening, waking and paying attention. 
The times they are a'changin'  ….
..... and to be our best selves, to pull from our hearts, to tap our minds ... the tools of the future are in our hands, and Nimah takes us on a journey form Tor to shore as she drops a pebble and follows a trail rich in myth & material …. so we may find our way too, so those of us on this big blue marble might be the best we can be.  



Wednesday, July 11, 2012

don't drink and edit

it started innocently enough ....
and I had been working since the sun broke thru the wisteria
on the west side
amongst the brick
and dreams
editing ... eyes on words
soaring with the story
transfixed
( don't tell Marta this happened ...)
( Ooh wait 'til you read her story !! )
soaked & steeped
a margarita called ...
just one
at five o'clock
all good ...
it happened outside ... in the afternoon-cooled-green-yard
the first time I spilled on the pages
first time
and
I found myself noting the spill with a turquoise bubble
and
explanation
'opps ... margarita :-) '
and I believe myself
hilarious & bullet-proof
or
100 proof ?
see ?
hilarious.
does your author need to know this ?
should it be more of
a
don't ask
don't tell
or
what happens while editing stays in vegas sorta thing?
or tulsa, or boulder ....
where was I ?? oh, yeah ...
I knew when I could not spell evoke
well . .
I had turned a corner so-to-speak
3 margaritas deep ....
I began hearing my own story
feeling my blood tumble & roar
dangerous
behind the pencil
3 margaritas deep ...
ssshhhhh ....
don't tell Marta .

Thursday, June 28, 2012

back to the future

Remember those notes you passed in junior high ?
( yes, I said junior high. not middle school. )
( ages me, I know .... )
yeah, yeah .... those notes . . .
between girlfriends - boyfriends ... wanna-be-boyfriends. But some where down the line, one was always intercepted . nabbed by some saggy, scary study hall teacher ... and it was always a bad one ... either about making out, smoking weed, or cutting class. and shit hit the proverbial fan . .
those notes.
I am slightly uncomfortable with social media, and the forum it presents for discourse. particularly when it comes to those things that ... well, not-so-long ago ... would be done only face-to-face ... or over the phone for the passive aggressive approach.
we loose the nuances of expression, the non-verbal cues, the passion that lies underneath things .... and well. let's be honest .... I'm not one to shy away from confrontation ... I can say what I mean ... but am amazed how fucked up things get, and well, it's like those notes ... you just wish you had said less, more ... or said it better, not said it at all, or at least passed it thru Jordan instead of Karen . . somehow ... got it right.
but, every day , we see on blogs & fb ... the friend quarrel, the family squabble, the back & forth sniping between siblings or spouses.
we also rant from our sparkly pink unicorns ... pushing the visual or verbal envelope ... are we hoping to raise awareness, or are we merely strapped in on some virtual roller-coaster-mirror-ball-ego-ride.
I don't know ....
I like my pink sparkly unicorn ..
and
I think I can sometimes see a clear way to the balance, the clearest, brightest path.
but,
it has also bit me in the ass. words turned, and not heard. intent forgotten, or lost in the boiling of blood.
tonight, I am thinking about my father ... how he stood up to injustice & segregation. how he continually pushed me to be more, to take notice & pay attention. he was never a bully . . but he was Irish fierce with a poets heart ... a champion of the under-dog. a champion for me.
tonight, I am thinking about my daughter. she is not what she seems ... but ohhh so much more. she is beautiful, and irish-welsh fierce ( that's my mom showing up ! )
she is an artist at heart, and a champion of the under-dog.
tonight, she has grappled with a wing of the family over social media in a way that made me proud of her, breathless & stunned by her savvy, class & humor. she was succinct ... could not have said it better.
and i was simultaneously shocked, pissed and heart-broken over the way family continually allows their political or religious agenda to trump love.
I should quit being surprised by the behavior of people .... but I'm too busy riding my sparkly pink unicorn.
meanwhile, my daughter has become her own champion.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

first-quarter-libra-moon



















evening falls
and it carries upon it the barest chill & trace bird song
fleeting dusk it is ....
and it removes us from the coarse, narrow existence of our day ...
allowing us to 
breathe
breathe
as the chill settles about the green-growing-things 
and scarlet bruising of my knowing heart....
wait for me ...
just beyond that curious twisted tree ...
as i am meant to hold that hand
& tender your worries ...
slow your pace and
wait 
for me 

as i discovered the strength & ability to wait for you ....


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

scene three




















everywhere a tingling pocket temple
rock words paving
lines define
paths taken
under
the shine thrown from a moon beam
mirrored in ink waters possible
and
our quartz city rising
lives scripted
outlined
except
one never can quite predict
the play
of
light & shadow
and
the sudden pull toward a new line
a forgotten curve
heart blue silver kissed lightening



ArT by Marta Pelrine-Bacon
http://wordsareart.wordpress.com/