Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Early morning Santa Fe -
It's a different place
than the city different the tourists know
the greet the dayers - early risers -
get up to urge forth the sun
from its slowly waking slumber
up and over the undulating horizon
with carpools and bike rides and speed walks
and homeless shuffling away from the city center like oxen laden with goods
time to start the new day!
and the sun obeys
the light is just like Venice in the afternoon
which of course is why the artists stayed
when they came here with bodies choking with tuberculosis
the asylum became home
and sanctuary its offering
despite throngs of visitors now
some things haven't changed
once upon an Italian sunset
we sent each other to bed crying
he was so kind, angry, and so very real
my first contact
with a vulnerable
broken
perfect
thing
he made black pictures and offered them to me
to hang on my wall
for what I'd done
(he may never forgive me for the many times I have failed him)
and yet I love him with my whole being
neither of us knew then that it is my job
that some medicines are both poison and cure
he always saw me for who I truly am
and, he gave my my totem
I treasure the moments I get to bask in it all
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we sent each other to bed crying
he was so kind, angry, and so very real
my first contact
with a vulnerable
broken
perfect
thing
he made black pictures and offered them to me
to hang on my wall
for what I'd done
(he may never forgive me for the many times I have failed him)
and yet I love him with my whole being
neither of us knew then that it is my job
that some medicines are both poison and cure
he always saw me for who I truly am
and, he gave my my totem
I treasure the moments I get to bask in it all
I sat down across from him at lunch today
and he asked me about my non-profit
I stumbled and stammered
tripping over the oozing content of who I am
as I poured myself back into my skin suit for "normal" time
and tried to make a sentence understandable to anyone but me
as usual I couldn't
but he could tell my heart was in the trying
at least there's that
only
I'm not my skin suit.
I barely recognize myself
when I look in the mirror I am horrified
because the me I am
is not the me I see
and the me I am knows she did this to me
scaredycat bearmother hiding in a cave that I have been
but hey that's not the point here
when I was done moulding myself into someone I desperately wanted to be
I came home and prayed for an opportunity to miss this afternoon's meeting
and it came with a member of the other team not being able to be wrangled
score one for me
I sat and read @DanielleLaPorte
who's fault this all is
and wove that into whoever told me today
"think adventure not crisis"
added a heaping helping of four new Core Desired Feelings
and bathed in Matt Kahn 's idea that maybe, just maybe
we can be lightbearers of heart centered consciousness
which is her point too
and realized I am here to be a storyteller.
that is not all I am supposed to be
( there's also lit up, authentic, seen, and aligned, to name a few...)
but STORYTELLER is the important part
and no amount of scared is going to stop it
there's no numbing can dull the pain
there is, however, a business plan to write
I am not what I was and not yet what I am
still it is time
and he asked me about my non-profit
I stumbled and stammered
tripping over the oozing content of who I am
as I poured myself back into my skin suit for "normal" time
and tried to make a sentence understandable to anyone but me
as usual I couldn't
but he could tell my heart was in the trying
at least there's that
only
I'm not my skin suit.
I barely recognize myself
when I look in the mirror I am horrified
because the me I am
is not the me I see
and the me I am knows she did this to me
scaredycat bearmother hiding in a cave that I have been
but hey that's not the point here
when I was done moulding myself into someone I desperately wanted to be
I came home and prayed for an opportunity to miss this afternoon's meeting
and it came with a member of the other team not being able to be wrangled
score one for me
I sat and read @DanielleLaPorte
who's fault this all is
and wove that into whoever told me today
"think adventure not crisis"
added a heaping helping of four new Core Desired Feelings
and bathed in Matt Kahn 's idea that maybe, just maybe
we can be lightbearers of heart centered consciousness
which is her point too
and realized I am here to be a storyteller.
that is not all I am supposed to be
( there's also lit up, authentic, seen, and aligned, to name a few...)
but STORYTELLER is the important part
and no amount of scared is going to stop it
there's no numbing can dull the pain
there is, however, a business plan to write
I am not what I was and not yet what I am
still it is time
%2B(Large).JPG)
since I'm not much of a faithful person
(not in the way most want me to be anyway)
I struggle with the idea of prayer
as if some bored omnipotent man
with a beard as long as a model's legs
is sitting in some gilded chair
on a fluffy white cloud
waiting for ME
to humble myself enough
for him to justify granting a miracle
to someone who really, really needs it
but last night under the full moon
I started to think
about all the peope I love
the people I am grateful for
the fact that I survived this year
and not once due to my own doing
but because of all those who were reaching out to me
trying to save me from the darkness
and the ones who didn't even know or care
but were leading by example
as they headed from their caves
and into the light themselves
staring down their own dark demons
full of alive and well
despite spitting vipers as big as houses
hissing at them
as they stretched their legs to stand tall
afraid no more
(sometimes because they had no other choice)
The abundant reflected light
in the dark of night
was special
but that wasn't what caused me to see what I saw.
What I saw was
that every time I thought of someone close to me -
my family
my friends
my beloved
my fuzzy
in ever growing circles
reaching further and further out
into my sphere of influence...
a light went on around that person.
a light! really!
A golden white light that pulsed with the stars
and emanated warmth and KNOWING
and I knew, that just for a second,
that persons load... was lighter.
even if they didn't know it was.
I realized, that by...
praying...
for them...
remembering them with love...
I was sending them MY light.
And while I was busy thinking of others,
it was growing stronger, in me.
my Acoma Grandmothers
made sure to teach me
to offer the first taste of my meal
into a small bowl at the center of the table
The Spirit Bowl they call it
in honor of the ancestors
we feed them as if they are here
and speak of them as if they are too
because they are and forever will be
(((right here))) in the secret and sacred part of my heart
after the meal, they said
take it outside
and offer it to Nature
and she will be fed and able to nourish us all
the balance will be restored
we've taken so much
and offered so little
and lost so much
maybe it's time
we filled our Spirit Bowls again
♥
I am here
to speak for the muse who has been gagged for too long,
and upon whose honor rests my gift in this life
I fear I am unworthy,
but right now
in this moment
I stand
alone
terrified
the silent night,
beckoning me
scaring me towards the light
and yet the only way to defeat it… is to face it.
and upon whose honor rests my gift in this life
I fear I am unworthy,
but right now
in this moment
I stand
alone
terrified
the silent night,
beckoning me
scaring me towards the light
and yet the only way to defeat it… is to face it.
Waaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Cat darkened with desertness
And so have I
Thick skin now folded
Dark with age lines from learning
Georgia got old here
It seems we all do these days
This is my New Mexico
harsh with light
and desiccation
My hands and feet seek solace
in springs and soft green grass
Leaves so tender they don't cut my parched skin
Mother Earth
Mother moon
Father sky
Father sun
Children and muses and christs
and masked Indians
and me
all singing ancient songs
that transcend time and place
songs to the stars and ancestors and
everything you could wish to believe in
life is sacred here
and harsh
and light
And there are flowers smaller than your fingernail
Waiting to be discovered
Living in moments in the desert
Don't say she's barren
She's resplendent
If you just take a moment
and breathe her in
You might remember the miracle we all are
Living on the edge brings a lively awareness that way
And so have I
Thick skin now folded
Dark with age lines from learning
Georgia got old here
It seems we all do these days
This is my New Mexico
harsh with light
and desiccation
My hands and feet seek solace
in springs and soft green grass
Leaves so tender they don't cut my parched skin
Mother Earth
Mother moon
Father sky
Father sun
Children and muses and christs
and masked Indians
and me
all singing ancient songs
that transcend time and place
songs to the stars and ancestors and
everything you could wish to believe in
life is sacred here
and harsh
and light
And there are flowers smaller than your fingernail
Waiting to be discovered
Living in moments in the desert
Don't say she's barren
She's resplendent
If you just take a moment
and breathe her in
You might remember the miracle we all are
Living on the edge brings a lively awareness that way
it's like mother's milk to me
my southern extraction
black and orange pekoe
brewed to perfection
dark and sweet
like a man or two that I have been known to love
and with enough sugar
to take the bite of of any heart aching sting
when i close my eyes and remember
this all started
on a hot day
with air thick like mud
where my skin felt at one with the river
running by but a mile away
my soul leaking into her through my sweat
feeding the mother with my own being
and like the taste of my wet...
ahem... (shame on you!)
it's better when I'm fueled by sweet tea
nourishing the world through succulence
soaking sweet wetness
now that's southern charm
Many props to my girls @HolisticCynthia @MagdahliaStudio @DanielleLaPorte
for the inspiration to start writing again! xoxo
my southern extraction
black and orange pekoe
brewed to perfection
dark and sweet
like a man or two that I have been known to love
and with enough sugar
to take the bite of of any heart aching sting
when i close my eyes and remember
this all started
on a hot day
with air thick like mud
where my skin felt at one with the river
running by but a mile away
my soul leaking into her through my sweat
feeding the mother with my own being
and like the taste of my wet...
ahem... (shame on you!)
it's better when I'm fueled by sweet tea
nourishing the world through succulence
soaking sweet wetness
now that's southern charm
Many props to my girls @HolisticCynthia @MagdahliaStudio @DanielleLaPorte
for the inspiration to start writing again! xoxo
(whispers, because I don't know if I can say this any louder than the sound of cloud passing by...)
my true nature is luminous
momentous
bursting
erupting in diamond encrusted flares
like a jewel encased star gone supernova
I know that I am made of light
.
the only time I ever doubt
the only time I question
is when I listen to those those slithering seething sounds of doubt
the world whispers to me
you are not enough
.
I believe that sometimes,
and then I remember that the world is sick, twisted, dark, lonely, fearful
And I, none of those things
.
my soul soars
is afraid of nothing, noone
it is blindly ignorant of everything that I'm supposed to care about
and listens instead to the unspoken between the spaces we fill with words
and acts on that.
Maybe foolishly, it whole+heartedly believes
that I
and we
are capable of almost anything
when we agree to believe
to the best of our unique ability
.
And of all of the things that I know that I know
I know most that there are no two things that will ever be the same
and that I can never ever really know
well, anything
.
I revel in opportunity, curiosity, hope...
and seeking to be the change
Only now that I'm older and wiser,
I don't seek to be
as much as I refuse to let me stop myself
from doing the things
that I know nobody else is going to do
because no one else has this voice,
this passion,
this knowing,
this grace,
this curiosity,
this unfailing knowing
that we might,
we could,
we know...
we must...
we are the only ones that can
make a difference
and if we need a hero,
we must find her amongst ourselves
which means we have to each be one
my true nature is luminous
momentous
bursting
erupting in diamond encrusted flares
like a jewel encased star gone supernova
I know that I am made of light
.
the only time I ever doubt
the only time I question
is when I listen to those those slithering seething sounds of doubt
the world whispers to me
you are not enough
.
I believe that sometimes,
and then I remember that the world is sick, twisted, dark, lonely, fearful
And I, none of those things
.
my soul soars
is afraid of nothing, noone
it is blindly ignorant of everything that I'm supposed to care about
and listens instead to the unspoken between the spaces we fill with words
and acts on that.
Maybe foolishly, it whole+heartedly believes
that I
and we
are capable of almost anything
when we agree to believe
to the best of our unique ability
.
And of all of the things that I know that I know
I know most that there are no two things that will ever be the same
and that I can never ever really know
well, anything
.
I revel in opportunity, curiosity, hope...
and seeking to be the change
Only now that I'm older and wiser,
I don't seek to be
as much as I refuse to let me stop myself
from doing the things
that I know nobody else is going to do
because no one else has this voice,
this passion,
this knowing,
this grace,
this curiosity,
this unfailing knowing
that we might,
we could,
we know...
we must...
we are the only ones that can
make a difference
and if we need a hero,
we must find her amongst ourselves
which means we have to each be one
my heart has pounded so hard it broke
again and again and again
and the only balm that would soothe it is always invisible to me
until it is not
the sound of the hawk's wings slicing the air
like knives made of pillows
divebombing the white winged dove
missing my head by just a few feet
and startled by me as much as I by it,
missing the dove too
landing and squawking its dissatisfaction briefly
as we stare at each other for a moment
before it takes off into the dark evergreen tree in the neighbor's yard
the one they will use for roosting between baby hawk training flights
in just a few weeks now
the dark stranger child who clamors onto my lap
and lets me hold her
the way I always wished I had been
and was
but it was so long ago I can't remember
the way my gram would play with my hair til I fell asleep
let me cry until my tear well dried up
and stayed that way for a LONGGGGGGG time
I hold her like the child inside me who longs to be held forever
and she smiles and stays and doesn't move
until I make her
the spiraling quills of a tiny cactus
10 years old and smaller than my fingernail
spiraling towards and away from the center of the universe
which all belonged to it
I could feel it breathing in ancient breaths that lasted longer than my life will be
a flower so small
you need a jeweler's loop to see it
my body
beautiful fat body
still limber and still succulent
even though it feels like its not even mine anymore
still oozing with sex and love and lust and magic
still ripe with possibilities
as if the young woman who is buried inside
is still so young she doesn't know any better
all she longs to do is taste the world
and love it with wild abandon
my dying eyes
so tired
that when I close them,
the scent of fresh-cut lilac
and cinnamon and saffron and turmeric spices from week old Moroccan food
penetrates into the soul of my being
reminding me that even without my eyes
I'm still be able to see
and that's why that little child loves my lap
everflowing fountain within me
born from the crack in the mountain I am,
my heart bleeds, ripe... with life, experience, and a willingness to see the unseen
and that is why
I am not afraid
of my heart cracking open
again and again and again
and the only balm that would soothe it is always invisible to me
until it is not
the sound of the hawk's wings slicing the air
like knives made of pillows
divebombing the white winged dove
missing my head by just a few feet
and startled by me as much as I by it,
missing the dove too
landing and squawking its dissatisfaction briefly
as we stare at each other for a moment
before it takes off into the dark evergreen tree in the neighbor's yard
the one they will use for roosting between baby hawk training flights
in just a few weeks now
the dark stranger child who clamors onto my lap
and lets me hold her
the way I always wished I had been
and was
but it was so long ago I can't remember
the way my gram would play with my hair til I fell asleep
let me cry until my tear well dried up
and stayed that way for a LONGGGGGGG time
I hold her like the child inside me who longs to be held forever
and she smiles and stays and doesn't move
until I make her
the spiraling quills of a tiny cactus
10 years old and smaller than my fingernail
spiraling towards and away from the center of the universe
which all belonged to it
I could feel it breathing in ancient breaths that lasted longer than my life will be
a flower so small
you need a jeweler's loop to see it
my body
beautiful fat body
still limber and still succulent
even though it feels like its not even mine anymore
still oozing with sex and love and lust and magic
still ripe with possibilities
as if the young woman who is buried inside
is still so young she doesn't know any better
all she longs to do is taste the world
and love it with wild abandon
my dying eyes
so tired
that when I close them,
the scent of fresh-cut lilac
and cinnamon and saffron and turmeric spices from week old Moroccan food
penetrates into the soul of my being
reminding me that even without my eyes
I'm still be able to see
and that's why that little child loves my lap
everflowing fountain within me
born from the crack in the mountain I am,
my heart bleeds, ripe... with life, experience, and a willingness to see the unseen
and that is why
I am not afraid
of my heart cracking open
Slow Rise
I peeled open my eyes
slowly
waiting for the sun
the father
on his holy day
to come...
this time
he was only a wink
in a dark sky
predicating storm.
waiting out the darkness
is no fearful place for me now
winter tales
and firelight dancing
has been the way for so long now
in the tiny swath of sunlight
I saw an iris blooming
flash of Spring
arriving...
eyes open.
I peeled open my eyes
slowly
waiting for the sun
the father
on his holy day
to come...
this time
he was only a wink
in a dark sky
predicating storm.
waiting out the darkness
is no fearful place for me now
winter tales
and firelight dancing
has been the way for so long now
in the tiny swath of sunlight
I saw an iris blooming
flash of Spring
arriving...
eyes open.
dear golden ray of sunshine,
most days
I love you so much
that I turn my back on you
to turn on my camera
and capture your twilight
as it dances
across some beautiful edifice
whispering a silent story in twilight I long to tell
today though
my soul longs
to feel you
soaking into me
so I ignore the camera
and rush past and outside
before I change my mind
to sit at the foot of my temple
and bask in you
most days
I love you so much
that I turn my back on you
to turn on my camera
and capture your twilight
as it dances
across some beautiful edifice
whispering a silent story in twilight I long to tell
today though
my soul longs
to feel you
soaking into me
so I ignore the camera
and rush past and outside
before I change my mind
to sit at the foot of my temple
and bask in you
worked at it all morning
and yet, still...
always...
the end eludes me
my long list of to-dos
never seems to be without new ideas
and I've got plenty of pens
so even the ones that get away
are only free for so long
before I capture and imprison them
on the paper I delight in throwing away
as if its abundance
makes up for some lack
and yet, still...
always...
the end eludes me
my long list of to-dos
never seems to be without new ideas
and I've got plenty of pens
so even the ones that get away
are only free for so long
before I capture and imprison them
on the paper I delight in throwing away
as if its abundance
makes up for some lack
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