Category Archives: Nature

Seed.

How deep the earth
And dark the soil
Wherein this seed
Does grow.
How long awaiting,
Germinating,
Potential energy
Redoubling intensity;
Refined;
Purified;
Forgotten like some
Misplaced treasure
And buried ‘neath
Life’s rubble
And winter snow.
Ancient roots uncoil,
Unbound by bindings
Most mortals know.
Infant rhizomes
Regrow anew.
Verdant shoots,
Crimson blossoms,
Ascend up and out
Like vibrant plumes –
Radiating primordial glow.
Seed,
Planted and forgotten
Many seasons,
Choked out by
Shallow enterprise.
New depths plunged
And uncover
That which was
Waiting to be
Rediscovered;
What was promised
From the beginning,
New bountiful experience
Springs to life.

Crowned.

This heaviness in gaia’s
Pelvis
As this new child
Of heaven and earth
Crowns;
And old stories
Emerge
To foreshadow
Past foreboding,
Hoping to control
And to give shape
To formless
Becoming
Form.
We taste the light
Like honey,
And walk in sway
To that angelic tune
And keeping pace
With the unheard.
We’re not pretending –
Though you would
Never believe
Reality as it
Occurs
Within us.
We see through
The unseen,
And undo the undone,
And watch the
Undertow as chaos
Bend and flow
Into something
Predictable-akin.
Our doing
Is simply being,
As purpose
Flows
Through us
As you.
We experience
That which only
Those ancients and others
May decipher
As future forgotten
Truth.
Release the grip of the past,
That old uncertain path.
Let go of what was
Before;
For we never shall
Need her again.
Children dream
Of new creation,
And masses cry
Enmasse
For relief.
We can touch
And taste and
Sense it,
Though quite out
Of sight and
Far from belief.
Forget what was
If it’s truly unwanted.
Let go if
Expired is the need.
Put away
This bridegroom’s
Fair garment,
Twas rent in twain
Under false pretense.
We carry our codes in our skins,
And each combination
Part and piece of the whole.
Wheat falls to the
Priestess’s storehouse,
As chaff scatters
Away in dark winds.

True Beauty.

I was a goddess
Before I
Tweezed plucked and shaved,
And moisturized.
I was perfect
Before I
Starved sweated and crammed
My curves into this
Binding of cloth
With some false idol
Ideal of perfection
Designed.
I was beautiful
Before I
Covered my beauty with paste
And shaded over
My laughter and
Hid wisdom lines.
I was exquisite
Before I
Tamed wild locks into
Well behaved mane,
Gathered like good little
Girls spilling
Over white shoulders
Held back and high.
I was already
Enough
In my too much for you,
And too much
For women
Whose power hides
Behind thier puppet master
Or self-made mask –
The gender disguise.
I was already
Goddess incarnate
Walking barefooted
With unpainted toes
In unperfumed flesh
Gathering specks
Of Gaia beneath bent grasses
Upon my path
Of meandering lines.
This vessel is
Merely focus
For the flow which
Never ends
Has never begun
And will never cease –
And you focus on
The vessel
Ignoring the divine
Which pretends
To dwell inside.
You will never
Have her
Though you may try.
Because what you
Seek is only
Thin-Veiled
Thin-skinned
Thin-depth
Disguise.

Division.

We tell stories
Of theys and thems
But “not me”,
And divide into
Sheep and asleep:
Others and outsiders.
We pretend we’re
A separate kind
And not takers
From the common
Provision and plan.
We walk in
Our hubris lock steps,
And thumb our noses
At the masses
Amassing outside
Babylon’s picket fences.
We march as legion
Pretending allegiance
To higher virtue
And nobler
(Even off-planet)
Law.
We invent new
Labels to label
Our labels by,
And place ourselves
Above our fellows
By standards invented
To displace blame.
We make up stories
Of supernatural
Superpowerful
And sovereign
Graces,
Which place us on
Platforms built
By spiritual egoic
Cloudforms in chloroform –
Pretending to live
In other dimensions,
To ignore what’s been
Agreed to and done
By all of the
“Not me’s”
Scattering like fleas
Thirsting for a
Dog with new tricks.
From whence is your
Savior come due?
Do you imagine
You will be alone
In that boat
Being towed on
Hallucinogenic seas?
Do you imagine
Yourself
Pure and safe
In your rebellion
From the insanity
Of the sane?
How long since
You listened to
Your brother?
Acknowledge we’re
In the same ship,
Hurling through the
Abyss around
The same hurdles,
Which we place
In our own pathways
In our resistance;
Our attachment
To persistence,
Though we recognize
The old ways
Left over
From old days,
Brought us to this
Gloomy place.
Denial of what is
Will not save us.
Nor will doomsday
“Light the bitch up”
Drunken nihilists
Enjoying their own wake
Before death claims
His due.
Blindly begging on
Bended knee
While expecting
Some authority to
Deliver –
How many divisions
Can be counted
While those who
Profit are counting
On long-division
Exponentially
Producing
More and the same.
Look to old
Dead prophets
Dust and ash
Spewing forth
From thier graves.
Unheeded omen
Ring hollow,
Devolved humanity’s
Voice
Ring true.
There are no
Others,
Your mirror be
Broken;
But the projection
Remains –
One body,
One soul,
One You!

Apart.

If we’d chosen it
We could have held each other
As the world descended
Into madness;
We could have
Made sense of
The senseless –
Simply sensing what
Our own bodies,
And hearts,
And minds,
And souls,
Breathed between us.
We could have –
If we’d only chosen –
Written our own
Reality
Independent of any
Need for the
Simulated stories
And hearsays,
Claiming as proof
That which the
Sounds of our
Own heartbeats
Proved to us.
If we’d only chosen,
We could have
Made shelter in
Brambles and thickets
And bathed in warm pools
And foraged for sustenance,
Even just for
An afternoon
Away from the concrete
Confinement, housing
Television and internet
Bouncing off the backs
Of our eyeballs –
Feeding the fears
With invisible stuff
Stuffed into the
Ethers where
God’s angles
Mutter utterances
Into the machine
Still churning
The swill drank
By good churchfolk,
As flesh and blood
Pleas for safe
Passage through these
Times,
And punishment
For imaginary crimes
Committed by the
Good folk who
Walk thier own paths
Awry
Apart from the
Not yet departed.
We could have
Just gone fishing
And let the sun set
On humanity’s
Debate,
Humming like crickets
Who haven’t decided
To feed themselves
To fishes.
We could have just
Made a simple choice
Listening to the only
Voice
That mattered –
That frequency
Humming between us
Wherein we seemed
To always understand
Without speaking.
You wanted us apart
And the world
Has literally gone
Mad
Since that day.

Hear Hear.

I found my voice
And so I started to
Speak –
But did I
Forget to
Listen
Or is it a question
Of hearing?
And what did I
Forget to hear?
When so many voices
Clamoring for the
Attention
Of the silent ones
Formerly only
Observing,
What is this
Maelstrom made of
Many voices singing
Their trauma and drama
In harmony
As many in
One accord?
Is the only true
Unity
In complaint?
And when we hear
The discordance of
Falsehoods
Ring out like
Metal on ceramic
Bashing what was pure
Into fragmented
Shards of divinity;
Do we have the stillness
To discern
The spiral
Of creation
Which presses upon us?
Are we
Thinking
Or feeling
Or speaking;
And can we
Recognize the difference?
Can I love that
Which I still believe
Incapable of loving?
And can I allow to
Heal
That which I judge
Incapable of healing?
And can I allow?
Can I allow?
Can I release from
My clutches
That which carried me
In a basket
On a sea of tears?
Can I simply allow
That which is seeking me
To arrive with certainty
Without my clutching
To some abstract
Idea of formalized control?
Where is located
That final
Alchemical combination
Of imagination and
Blindness?
It’s been written;
It’s been dreamt;
It’s been asked for;
It’s been summoned;
It was promised
Before any of this
Ever unfolded,
In that abyss where
Childhood called the bet.
Time has been
Fluid,
(Or is it the observer)
And space unraveled
And folded into
That paper lantern
First lit
With the breath of
Ancient reds.
Primordial forces
Unleashed from the tomb
As the mother
Ankle deep in the womb
Of gaia
Danced
With pernicious
Delight.
Tonight
I’ll glide with starlight
And see what can
Still can be seen.

Sutra 32.

Love is a conversation
It flows through – as.
It’s no small wonder
Poetry is the preferred
Conversation of Lovers,
Poetry, like love,
Requires air to breathe
And to spring to life;
Room to grow and to fill
The dark cavities which exist
Between worlds being
Birthed into independent
Experience.
Love requires patience
And tender nurturing
For love’s timeline does
Not bow or conform
To the timeline
Which rules flesh.
Love requires silence
To hear her delicate breath
Echoing through the silence
With no walls or bounds
From which to reverberate
And return true.
Love requires faith
For he follows no formula –
No equation or recipe or compound
Will yield that which the
Heart seeks.
Love requires creativity
For once you are
Believed
To have it,
Love will change form
And you will find empty
Palms clutching
Empty bedsheets.
Love requires humor
Lest it become too heavy
And love falls beneath you
And is lost to
Gravity.
Love requires boldness
To declare
Inwardly
And externally
That it has arrived,
For your word will
Call Love into being
Just as your word
Will send it from you.

Dichotomy.

Don’t want to be controlled
But I do want to be chosen.
But want the respect
For commitments to be honored;
And when the choosing is through
Want the dignity of
Necessary conversation;
Not making it about me –
Not all about you.
All things must evolve –
All starts have their
Finishes.
Don’t want temporary
Nor a permanent lie.
I don’t want to be owned
But I don’t want to be shared.
Don’t want to control
But don’t want to be blind.
Don’t want to dominate
But don’t care to submit;
Equal exchanging
Sacred energy’s gift.
Want clarity,
Transparency,
And connection;
Not out of obligation
But out of obsession.
Want to feel wanted,
Want to feel steady,
Want safety that allows
It to naturally unfold.
Want open doors
Not walls,
Want solid bridges
Not moats,
Want ease,
Want fun,
Want green flags;
Want what I thought
I was getting
But never got.
Want self-responsibility
That leaves each to her own
But seeks creative cooperation
Where together everyone thrives.
Want the things that aren’t logical,
Want to be wholly unreasonable,
Want to defy sensible,
Want to give over to impractical.
Want super synchronicity,
And excited soul-discovery,
And sober-drunken revelry,
And peacefully
Flowing from here till infinity.
Want what’s been promised
Lifetimes ago
To finally have an easy
Path unfold
To finally have time
And space just to play
And explore every minutiae
Of Mother’s broad face.
The thrill of chasing
Life’s unattainable
Intangible
Unsustainable
Dichotomy –
The feeling of home
With an eternal best friend.

Allowable.

You’re allowed to take up space.
You’re allowed to show your face.
You’re allowed to be heard.
You’re allowed to be seen.
You’re allowed to be angry
And to seethe with righteous rage.
You’re allowed to feel broken
While you wait for the pain
To subside into healing
And to rest and to cry and to
Give in to dark tides
And to be weak
And to feel small.
You’re allowed to be emotional
Or emotionless
Or stale – stuck on a feeling
You can’t seem to escape.
You’re allowed to be loud.
You’re allowed to scream
With wild beasts
The words composed by your heart
As it beats sonnets
To you in private –
That pulse your
Private inward universe –
The inverse of
What’s typically acceptably known –
Singing you awake
As you take a moment
To plan your next play.
You’re allowed to be
Exactly where you are
For as long as you choose
To be exactly You –
Whichever You –
You choose to show up as.
And you’re allowed to
Decide –
Where to go to from here.
You can rest
You can withdraw
You can be silent –
Saying everything
By saying nothing at all.
You’re allowed to run forward
Swift as March winds,
To gallop with wild mares
Or soar o’er verdant trees
Slooping and looping
Through currents high
Above blues and greens
In that space between
Space and cottony clouds.
You’re allowed to
Roll slow
Like innocent brooks
Sunning and tumbling
Slipping over sand and silt
Gentle treasure flowing
Steady and enjoying the view.
You’re allowed to sleep,
To surrender
To that dark unknown,
To slip into that space
Beyond wakeful control.
You’re allowed to not know,
To not plan,
To not strive,
To not measure,
To not compare,
To not push,
To not try.
You’re allowed grace.
You’re allowed love.
You’re allowed peace.
You’re allowed tender embraces
And sweet breathy sighs.
You’re allowed ease.
You’re allowed to just be.
Be.

Nature.

A bird is still
A bird though
Her wing be broken.
She will not suddenly
Become a serpent
Because she cannot fly.
The gentle nature within
Will not corrupt
Though it be driven
Into hiding spaces
In places only shades
Dare to go.
Though she may pretend
To be content with
Skipping about on
Feet never meant for
Walking, she will soon
Return to her high
Spaces when given time;
For all do mend and
Heal and return to their
Nature true in God’s
Due time.
A bird is still
A bird though she may
Not sing – whether t’is
From injury or grief for
Her beloved sky.
She’ll dream of singing
Songs anew, soon as
Strength returns
And she takes flight.
One who’s made of
Love and light
Will always return
True to form – despite
All false belief
And cloudy sight;
We are but vessels
Toting stardust
Through the night.

Harvest.

I’ll not tell you
Not to clip your wings,
For I’ve done the same
For the love it might bring.
I’ll not tell you
Not to muffle your song,
For I’ve done the same
Thinking it was for love all along.
I’ll not tell you
Not to hide your light,
For I’ve done the same,
Thinking it would brighten love’s flame.
I’ll not tell you
Not to silence your voice,
For I’ve done the same,
Thinking love’s best choice.
I’ll not tell you
Not to give your whole heart,
For I’ve done the same
Thinking love’s playing its part.
I’ll not tell you
Your love is a crime,
For I’d choose the same
For love I’d take any punishment –
I’d do the time.
I’ll not tell you,
Not to bend, crawl, or stoop;
For I’ve done the same
Thinking love would deliver, true.
Love as you choose,
Like the breath in your chest,
Holding it inside
Becomes as toxic as not inhaling at all.
Allow it to flow in and out,
As natural as a breeze,
Attempt not to control
Lest it die to be free.
But when the love you offer dies
As fruit on the vine,
Do not blame the wild tree
For another’s crime.
Uproot and seek fertile
And rich earth to replant,
And watch as new love flowers
And all that was spent
Is returned in full.
See how in due season
Richly harvested fruit
Pressed into wine of the divine
In the fullness of time.

Depths.

Shadow
Automatons dance
On gently stirred
Air
Like motes of
Mother’s dust
Eternally agitated
By the motion of
Movement –
A rollick of
Memories born
To flesh
And the forgotten
Yesterdays
Which whisper their
Foreboding tale
On vibrational staircase
Winding ever upward
To lofty tomorrows.
She pirouettes in place,
Her thick-tufted
Pajamas clinging to
Thighs whose
Regresses and egresses
Have become more
Shapely with children
And baring the weight of
Many men
Who would give her
Their burdens to
Carry
Like water vessels
On her back,
In her heart and mind,
On her soul.
The stars and crescent moons
Bend and bunch
In places which
Attract and distract the light
And in symphony with
Grace
Do there create
Winding roads
And lonely paths
Many have wandered
After the lights of
Day have retreated behind
Expectant moons.
What use have
You of me?
She asks the shadows
As they swirl about
Her and she gathers
Them like fish
Caught in the net of
Her flaxen hair.
What use have I
Of your echoed
Lament?
She does not hide
The abyss of her
Seas
But only those
Who venture into
The bed of placid
Deep
May find that
Treasure which she
Keeps.
There is no binding
Nor secret map,
She offers her stores
With open access
But few should wish
To see
That which could be
Inwardly plundered.
Attempt to narrate her
Movements,
Guess at her motives,
Create your own story
Which explains her
Free spiritedness –
From your high vantage
Only mirrored reflection
Return shadow-
Prancers to mind.
You’ll need to dive
Deep
Unencumbered
By false pretense
Or expectancy –
Plunge depths previously
Uncharted
And see the secret
Gardens she keeps.
Those who would
Delve unbidden
Into forbidden troves
Will find themselves
Puzzled – perplexed,
For the
The laws which govern
All others
Applied here
Leave visitors quite
Vexed.
Not upside-down
Nor inside-out
Nor distorted reality –
No, that which paints
Ancient walls here
Depicts strange
Curiosities indecipherable
And indescribable by
Those whose frequencies
Keep to low-tides.

Silver SHADOW.

Ancient
Formless
Flowing
Placid
Fluid
Timeless
Feminine
Wise
Divine
Connected
Source
Abiding
Translucent
Directed
Steady
Peaceful
In the recess of
Consciousness
Behind thought which
Steers the thinker
She is me
She is mother
She is the universe
She is god.
Faceless nameless
Soul-self
Beyond what time
Measures
In lines
And hexes
And spirals
The space
Between
The breath
And the breathed
The exhale
Which births
Life
The nothing
Which gives definition
To all
She is neither
And in her neitherness
Others
Are sown
The void
Which divides
Masses
Unto
Masses
Her voice is
The rumbling of
Earthquakes
Hum of
Silence
Ringing
Piercing
Pulse beating
Like the tide
Rustling of fingers
Through wild
Manes
The voices
Of billions
Murmur
In prayer
She is the spine
Of life
Connecting
Heaven to earth
You may see
Her faceless face
When the mask slides
Or the windows
Forget to hide
And when wholly
Surrendered to
Christ is
Alive.

Foreigner.

Writhing vines
And crunchy leaves
And twisted
Snarly snares
Bare witness to
Her treasonous
Trespass,
While
All the while
A surly
Landskeeper slumbers
In his shed,
His head
Drowned in absinthe
And anise dreamscapes
Divine.
Maiden fair
Untended,
Intended,
Betrothed to the
Snapdragons
And dandelions,
A blanket of
Pollen
Her dowry,
Into crickety
Rickety
Canoe
Climbs.
She gathers her
Skirts
Of baby’s breath
And fastens a veil
Of honeysuckle,
And pushes
Off into
The wintry winding
Bubbling
Babbling
Brook.
In Ophelia’s
Repose she
Exhales a lilac
Breeze.
Hawthorne’s
Child
No longer,
That ambrosia
Formulary
Forgot to unbind
And found itself
Apoptosetic;
The inner clock –
Dickery-dock –
Does chime.
Time’s hands
Turn back
Like windmills
Unfettering
Millstones
Long tied,
They slip-
Drop splishy-
Splash-splosh
Like unhitched
Anchors
Into the depths
Left behind.
Gentle current
Carry this maid
Steady forward
As the winding
River widens
And bends
Round tangerine
Clouds stretched through
Indigo skies.
Those yester-shores
Now are foreign
And old tongues
Twisted to
Dialects new,
And slumbering
Landskeepeers
Forgotten,
And multi-chromatic
Schematics lose
Their hue.

Heaven.

There is a green
Plane of life
And a young god
Digging in
Rich earth.
There’s a
Maturing goddess
Still very fond
Of her own infancy
Watching,
Gently swaying
To the rythm
Of the breeze
Trough guardian
Trees who stand
Watchful and true.
There’s a rainbow
Wall of swirly-whirly
Magnetic tide
Which carries
What’s wanted
Swift and succinct.
The occasional
Winged warrior
Flits from verdant
Watchtowers,
Encircling this
Heavenly haven
Carried on
A stream of
Grace.
There’s a fiery
Father
Sending warm wisps
Of love from
His high-throned place
And round and
Nurturing mother
Receives his
Delicate embrace.
Eyes which
See the lens –
Eyes which pierce
The veil –
Eyes which
Frequencies dissemble –
Study the playful
Exchange.
There’s a private
View of heaven
Which opens into
The expanse,
And all who
Venture inward
Enter and wish
Ever to stay.