the Red Cardinal and the Blue Jay…

they held time

bending air

if only a few seconds

hovering

the length of their wingspan

chest to chest

wide open and roaring

as if the twisting of flames

to lay claim their truth

an undeniable totem

so beautiful a rare moment…

 and suddenly there we were

you and I

suspended and stilled

secret and lies

truth and clarity

a spiritual silence 

 a warring awakening

…nothing and everything

I have really stepped away from writing for quite sometime now. It’s not an intentional thing, rather I just found myself distant from my writing self. Perhaps I created these heavy barriers!  My fears spoke a little while back, I was paralyzed for a few minutes in the space of a few minutes, and that fear ultimately pushed me into a silence I no longer care to fucking endure. Of course there are more reasons I care not to reveal but let me say it is/has been a rough path I wander. I know now why I have gone this way…I do so for growth, truth, clarity, because it is a necessary process, the kind where towers collaspe, the truth of the weak foundation exposed, the kind where I welcome the shedding of old skin, ridding the dust that has settled inbetween the cracks of all the previous years. Despite the overwhlming ache and pain, in the deepest part of my soul, this shedding comes regardless. All these dark layers, the wastelands that are uncovered, they are the fuel for a beautiful propulsion through an opening in the veil. I gratefully, achefully, painfully, knee-deep and drowing, wade through it all. I don’t want to go back to the other side, the side faded of the truth of me. So I let the vapor overtake and permeate, the ghosts care not to stay here in this atmosphere. This valley I look out into and walk through is for the greatest reason and that greatest reason is always for LOVE…a love beyond the limitations of our human mind. It starts within! A deeper, slow growing seed, watered for longer than a millennia, or more, and often again and again!

The poem is not necessarily speaking of the field I have been in. And yet is so true to form in my writing. Multiple layers weaved through simple words as the humaness of me and the spiritual inner knowing of me soaks into and colors the pages. I never see it until later afte r the writing is down on the page.

This morning during my walk I realized how much I miss the poetess in me. I feel more beautiful, as if she is the only truth to me, but I know I am she and she is me! I am many parts of a whole…some parts lay stilled, far away, seperated from me/she (That is a longer story!)

Anyway, this morning during my walk I knew I needed to bring back my breath, open my heart again, break free from self-imposed chains of expectations that have failed to come true. So after my walk, when sharing space with my granddaugter and one of my beautiful daughters, we sat quiet as the music played. I was relaxed and at peace, content for the gentle moment. I could feel the energy building, the words daring to writhe to the surface. A hunger…a knowing

Music is a muse that manifests poetry from a deep place in me. I always feel I am reminisceing of earlier lifetimes when writing. Often I stare out the window and let the sound move through me. That is just the dancer in me…lost in the rythmn and it was in that moment, lost for a few seconds, that suddenly a flash of blue and red flew by my window. And there they were, the cardinal and the blue jay, stilled, as if time stopped or at least slowed, wings wide spread, chest to chest, a beautiful war, a beautiful dance…

And, so very reminiscent of the many shades and shapes of us, my love!

 

heart like this…heavy  love

Many hours 
have I been
as this 
coagulated 
gummed 
trying to lift my love
out of the slurry 
of the deeper well
I have perfected 
eviceration
many written blood moons
phases of a heart like this
I lay open altered
sacrificial 
slabbed and stuck
ruptured
wildfire seeping through
ripped scars
my blood runs
a long trail
of heavy love

til death steals…

cannot fathom such touch anymore
its meaning slit and deleted 
gone 
dissipated
desire
in the h0urs, days, months
lost track 
what is like anymore
in between the heat of thighs
moans and sighs loitering no longer
her youth stolen
her prime unwanted 
do they find pleasure in wasting her
no understanding of their inner working 
perhaps she has known all along
the poetry of being used
tossed aside
wasted 
unwanted
unloved
so offensive is she? deserving?
and yet she burns evermore
burn baby burn
Til death upon death 
steals this soul’s fire 

rupture…

I can’t be here
not as this 
too many drops
per square inch
in this storm

I splatter 
falling to earth
left run off water
into the gutter

that’s where it takes me
everything I feel
in the dankest place
dark and dirty
sewer swallows my hope

I am ruptured
nothing to gather
except blood in hand
unfashionable to taste
dry this rusted color 
burden hued
heaviness in your hand
simply wash it away
scrub hard…

yet particles of me will only remain
as you shake dry your hand
wipe it across your chest
parts of me absorb into you
pretend I am nothing once again…

but for a breath of a moment 
I was more…

more than nothing
yet not enough 
to be more…
not enough to be
more than anything 
but ruptured metallic
bits

felled from my lips…

there will be an end…
I’m uncertain with which means it is to happen

perhaps I’ll be 105
well beyond breathing expectation

I may still carry an ocean in my eyes but maybe they’ll reflect his sky

I won’t ever unknow him and my heart races surging with that truth

yet I may never ever truly know the movement of he…my heart already feels every ounce of that kind of empty

I probably won’t hear very well at that age as my ears are forever plugged into music…even now I write with live and intoxicating sounds flowing through me

I am fluid in uncertainty; the remains of hesitation line my lungs; these effects travel through time…I know I still feel this, what this is in the now; and so feel it then

squeezing every drop of he from me…I’m airless and deaf in the loud disclosure of quietness; even then when I’m 105 I will feel as now; alone…uncared for…exposed and unfurled, scented with don’t waste me

I dont know how to navigate this terrain, its foreign soil slipping through my fingers, and chokehold on my red dusted heart

tell me, should I turn to leave
jump from cliffs
slide into the crevasse
disappear into a dark lake bottom
never speak of you again

I can’t undo you
too late 
I am 105, carried in my last breaths I whisper of now, of you, your every obscured words puzzled, nuzzled in my pores 

I whisper of the ghosts in your writing…chanting your name

come here
show me, love 
let me practice the entirety of you
open to me
the sound of you…

falling until felled from my lips