Month: September 2016

Let me tell you what I love….

I love the sound of certain voices

Like medicine

Like salve on a wound

I love it when I laugh

I love the rain and the smell of rain

I love meadows

And the woods

And sand stretching as far as I can see

I love stones and gems and crystals

I love fire and smoke

And walking in the dark with a good friend

Shall I tell you more?

I love good conversation

About people and their hearts

About places I’ve never been

About what lives inside of us

I love painting, and making things that move people

that move Me

I love magical spaces

And believing in fate and kismet and

long life journeys

I love beds by windows

Scents and oils and candles

I love tasting

I love listening

I love The Great Mystery

Spirit

One who lives in my heart

and guides me…

 

I can go on…

 

 

 

What I I mean is

I have been asking them to fly

with me

to be under a bird in flight

to see a bird fly

feel the air

inside you

watch the undulating flap

taste the wind

I enjoy the underside of them

the belly of a bird

as I look up

their movement

the forward stroke

effortless ease

I am dreaming

I am dreaming

am I dreaming?

this kind of normalcy

for winged ones

is

just

flying

If I gaze long enough

I am flying too

 

 

 

I’m kind of flat now

I am pressed

I noticed it in the mirror the other day

Like a paper doll

sort of flimsy or just

just flat

The juniper oil in the air here

It’s like a light

It is a light

my papery dust wings

 

searching for it

I remember things

No one knows

So those memories

are my own nothing

Silk

Swan

Howl

I suppose those are good

Occasionally the leaves let it be so

The pine needles

stick to my skin…

My kid ate one

I want to be three dimensional

I like the idea of things poking out of me

And into me

I like the jutting out

The obvious curve

When I feel flat

I wait.

I slumber

I remember

any hand that touched

this sculpture

and made it sing

I sometimes make soup

or puddings….

 

or crawl straight into the lions

roar

once, when i was a bird

a made a line across the sky

 

winding through the clouds

i punctured silences of things long buried

and so the rain came and wash-ed over me

 

the water came

the rain

looking like the tears of a bird

dripping off my tongue

and down my throat

 

it soothed my flight

quenched the long standing unspoken

i had held to my breast

opened the river in my heart

set loose the smoke

of a woman’s long

inherent song

the ancient strength

borned Goddess right

all came pouring in

and pouring down

as I stepped off the edge

and into the sky

gifting my foretelling or prediction

of what is to come

 

 

Once

I heard a sound

from you

it sounded like a hurt dove

I felt ugly

And so I turned

and I welcomed the death

and the crying bed

and all of the

things I thought I could fix

I listened to the little heartbeat

the pulse

of my child’s finger

I whispered things

I don’t remember now

I captured the beaten, pulpy, disregard of it all

in a clean cloth

and then set it free

I remember that day

I spoke to the branches

and to the wind

and to the mosaic tile

I tried to create
It went unnoticed

It got swept away

 

by things I can’t put names to
torture tools of

the unbeknownst

 

be present

I still cringe

and I still wonder…

I had to scratch it out,

black it out

and then write it all down again.

caress the smokey path

the tilled journey of blackness

the lilt of shadows

let the flute and the coyotes

sing you

to the gate

as the red lights flash

the weird little red lights of warning

flash

don’t hesitate to climb onto the big rocks

climb them to the precipice

and then jump

even if your bones break and

people ponder

the fall

Leave the mess

Leave the torn and attempted bandages

take your wrist and turn it downward

let your hand dangle

notice how it hangs in the silence

this is a type of language

the language of a hand held

against its wish

all the moths dropping

from its fingers

in the dark