Balsamic Moon

Dynamic comes alive

Leaping like fish

Gleaming in dark moonlight

Absurdly like a bird or wish

Hits he waves without a splash

Now speeding sunwise

Reverse engineered

Where we’ll be at sunrise

Watched Pot

Never boils?

So,

Expands time

The universe

Deepens an eternal moment

Opens up Life

And everything

Watch a pot

Art

The feeling of home

Cooked up all of arts

Gorgeous soul blossoms

Soup of flowers

El taco for our hearts

Some Things Don’t Change

Falling Up?

Original Art by Daniel Caleb

Perspective

Flip

Whiplash

Flying

Whip

Eat Your Heats Out Fools

Original Pedestrian Art by Daniel Caleb.

Some Legend

Be resting, you asleep apart
Dear smith of my intellectual-soul
While I sit here and weep
A liquid sugar salt

Guy who pays The Boatman
He thinks of it!
With his resurrected art
More than just a turn of phrase
It turns a world

It turns my gaze

It twirls my heart

Is-ness

This is-ness

Is

Is

Is

Some prism thingy

Rainbow

What was just light

To Thisness

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

No One Cares Who You’re Superior to Kid

The lowest common denominator

Of lovely human noobs

Can just get on with growing up

Just like your normal kid-bro boobs

And let the grownups talk

Irrelevant

Y’all perfectly worthy

Wonderful cherished noobs

Wherever you are

However color-misguided y’all be

Or how

That, and how anything else

But, for the purpose of clarity

This lowest common denominator

Of human thinking beings

Now

Can just go fuck themselves

DailyLoveSpell

Add a large dollop of beauty

To your eyeball

Replace it in your head

Connect a sturdy cord to it

Not a flimsy thread

Plug that new connection

Right into year heart

Then don’t forget to start

Seeing by projecting it

Weaving and connecting it

Love may be an art

Nectar of the Gods

I’m on a real mood cloud
anticipation just bubbling brewed
A foamy expectation of good


Lucky elixir


Instantly Thrilled

Silly
Unicornie
Free!

Like that thunder just now
These raindrops
May clap just for me

What is it?

Not engaging

Just allowing

Un-supposing

Broken-vowing

Space gets made

Be afraid

Rage and strut

Behave strange

Lose grow crow

And change

Life Itself

 

Where am I?

Where am I?

I just splashed in

Saunteted in here wet

just to get

a kingly fitting fibbing met


This brave desire to take

Or be taken

In

Line by line

Fiction threads

Entangled in exciting webs

Spun into golden yarn


Now fantasy transports

Delicious delighted scammed

It’s what you get

Unimagined yearning met

Captured

Fantastically converted

Relish

Falling

Captivated

Danced to

Dancing you

Book Club?
or
Strip Club?

Maybe

Evil is the error part of this ongoing trial and error.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It could be

A way to wheedle out what’s

evolutionarily viable

Or how would Life know?

Without evil, err error

Surupy

Boring

A heroless

Story

Day without night

So what then?

What?

Choose

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

A pure cool sip of sparkling daydream

Instruments

We quills

You sketch your lines

Your red letter days

blue places

A mystery wire frame

Scratched in permanent sky

Or something water color ink that never ever dries

These cities grown between us all live on

Forever?

While everybody dies.

Then Live Between the Lines

When my eye holds only angles

They suck thought out between

the lines

Being lost here somewhere is my moment

Where paint-flow washes out my mind

What’s Real Magic?

As if 
any
Could thwart
A Light
A Way
A Life
A Day!



Go Ahead, Believe In Coincidence Instead

My writing corner, it’s ceiling light went out

It’s been six months

Here I am, Your avatar, amused

It’s back

In the midnight, the only night

As I sat here and cherished the dark’s dancing candle light

How Do You Know Yours Does You?

This Morning loves me

I can tell

When fist He brings me coffee

Then goes tempting my eagerness with

forbidden gumdrop fruit

Designed and built all just for me

He, then, He let’s me be

I Bet You Don’t Know It’s You

It’s made for me

The world is

The way i am made for me

i am the World Herself

i adore You World

You adored me first

– i just noticed

Your own personal fairy dust

This moment touches you

Oh, we’re here, here, here

Joy and you hold hands just then

To breathe,

the atom splits again

Again, again, again

What Does “World” Mean Anyway?

For God so loved the game that he played it.

John 3:16

That’s all I have to say about that. I only wish Clown Head were still here in the game and not logged out.

The World

Just One Good Catch?

Is everyone, every single believer, having an intimate personal relationship with the same person?

Big Polygamy?

A Future

How Do You Define A New Life?

What’s so good?

sketchguru_20160417231843.jpg

 

What do I do?
Here I am updating my LinkedIn profile, and back to being twelve. 

I feel like my kid-self gushing to my kid sister:
Look what I can do!
See what I just did?

Her forehead wrinkles.
Her eyes drain.  She cocks her brow.
Her chin turns up and her mouth turns down.
She looks away. Then turns back with a disinterest and 
that tone.
Her and LinkedIn, both.

What have you been doing for the last few years?

Yes. And?
What’s so good about that?
Oh yeah?
So?
So what?
Yeah. But, what’s so good?

LinkedIn’s haughty smug questionnaires are a different kind of third degree.
Why, only that?
That doesn’t answer the question.
From when to when, and what exactly?

How does that add up?

I’m painting myself into a corner. My instinct is to back away from these intimidating forms trying to get me to trim myself down into a formula.

What are your accomplishments?

Even if I had been working at a conventional job for the past few years, I still wouldn’t up-sale my heroic accomplishments like most guys would.
I’d still be down-playing my worth and value like as many woman do.

What have you been doing for the last few years?

Do you really wanna know?

I didn’t think so.

img-0035

Chocolate Darkness

When darkness is thick

Creamy and sweet

Your tongue is alive

It climbs up your feet

All wrapped in the moment

A being of taste

Is it what you are now

From what you have faced?

Self-Potrait

Each thing I do
Gets done in me
What I make up
It marks me up
Each choice I make
Is colored paint
My palette is my day
Skillfuly blended
Chosen colors
Artfully painted
Or just mixed up
I make me
Anyway

The Painted Door

Green nice
Let me see
Oh,
Orange!
Show me
Please

Come in
Through
The color of
Fresh squeezed
Fruit

This Something

 

It fills you full of wonderful

Even when it hurts

Sometimes it doesn’t

Then sometimes it works

 

 

 

Hello There Ms Week

It’s a Weeks work

So here I sit

Waiting happy

For

The Week to do it

Drink?

wpid-1348151449157.jpg

 

This elixir of fortune
That coffee of fate
A whiskey of accident
Territory of your story
Drink it now or wait?

It Just Happens

The Wayward Spirit

By

M. L. Redford

the wayward spirit wafts in
through the window when the patterns of weeks, months passed, at last,

let go and shift
she moves about the room like Franny Glass making one or two things

flutter a bit, and is gone
out past the opposite shoulder as I turn in to see what I hear

to notice things
in the room which were always there but hadn’t been noticed for weeks

or maybe months
and which had obviously been there for a purpose, staring through the books

on the shelf to find
a forgotten bookmark, an absent fold, maybe a latterdaymexicanpink

autumnal ritual –
seven parts revelationinitiation and fifteen parts flutterbybestowal –

curiouser and curiouser
are the ways of the spirit: if I follow, will I flutter, will I perch or will I fall?

either way I’ll find
the pink of gist and need to meditate before I waft or get stolen

but the spirit talks
of grounding, without talking, for she is no airy/faeree: the meaning disappears

the more you look
but in looking at the unfindability you discover all the meaning for to see:

body, soul and beauty
but no room at the inn for language, ‘you can speak a hundred languages

if you want but
you’re never as wise as the illiterate who speaks with love in her heart’

she says, without a single word
but thought of a hundred languages smaller than the stars which float away;

the language of Waywarduese
butterflies about all over the points, and all of those points held

in one wing-spread,
colourful and puckering hold, sprinkled and dlappled like rain

Oh!
Can I have it?
Is it for me?
It’s for me?
It’s for me!
It’s Mine!
You stole it from me!
I’ll be generous and
share it with you
if you let me keep it.
Please

blue green orange and red rainbow design decoration
Photo by Ghost Presenter on Pexels.com

Have You Ever Gotten Lured Into A Disqus Discussion?

 

person looking searching clean
Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

 

I just did.

I Just got lured by a Disqus discussion…

Question that trapped me?

You won’t belive it. I didn’t.

Since I spent all my writing time on Disqus tonight I have no choice but to horrify you with my unsuspected wayward answer to that pirate question.

Here goes.

Question:

What home appliance has helped you most?

That’s when my answer surprised me.

 
Air conditioning, and refrigerator.
No, refrigerator and then air conditioning, that’s what I thought at first.

But then I remembered.
The rest of what appliances to you can hire someone else to do for you.
But you can’t hire someone to keep you cool or keep your food from rotting.
And a fireplace can keep you warm in winter and sorta cook your food.

Oh dang. That’s not the question though is it?

Don’t we, all of us take appliances for granted?

No, we all don’t.
I don’t.

I’ve roughed it for years with no appliances and I know just what it feels like.

I got stuck “pioneering” for about seven years on a ranch in the middle of the Sonora desert in Mexico when I was kinda young and child labour was a thing.

You get used to being hot as hell, all day and all night. You get used to cooking over a fire or on a makeshift stove. You get used to washing your own and everyone else’s dishes in a split oil barrel. Even cooking over another shape of the ubiquitous 50 gallon drum, wasn’t so bad.

Using your own hand or your parter, that’s an adventure a small hand held appliance doesn’t do justice to. I didn’t know about that then though. But scrubbing embedded mud off of piles of greasy jeans, that feel like leather in your hands.

You lean over the wash tub or a taller cement version, called a lavadero if you are super lucky, and move up and down rubbing the garment over across the washboard.  You are all bent over, till your back burns and aches.

So, you just started on this fluffy queen size quilt that you need several people to help to wring out. You are just stretching your back  into shape again, I used to imagine Plastic Man going back to his human shape, and letting the burning subside for a seconds. That little break is great, but that’s when the acrid smell of the weeks worth of soaking baby diapers reminds you of that feeling you are going to get when you put your hands into the slimy freezing water to grab a slimy diaper and wiggle that last bit of poop off it. That is when desperation overwhelmed you even before you snatch the slimy thing out and start wringing the nasty water out, before you even start rubbing it with the big pink bar of Zote, then scrub the hell out of it for as long as it takes.

Once you are scrubbing, its mind numbing endless repetition, diaper after diaper, but getting in there is the hardest part. I’d take them all out at once so I didn’t have to reach back into the pail. That was the part that still gives me the yucky-shivers.
That is a red-knuckled, chapped handed, broken blistered palms nightmare that goes on and on and you get all wet. It takes all day.

Your week is ruined just from thinking about it.

You never do learn the way the local woman scrub mud covered dirty stained rags into bright clean shirts, and emerge with softly calloused fine hands that don’t bleed.
When I got back from my expat adventure, I went back to school in Texas. To save money since I lived on a grim student budget, I opened windows and turned on a fan not the AC.
I didn’t even once consider washing clothes by hand, though. I would have skimped on our meager food first.

Instead, I collected scarce quarters for the laundromat, and washed three enormous one whites one coloreds one darks, every two ore three weeks, in the commercial washers, till I got an old used washer.

Okay, okay, I saved money again, for several more years after that and spared the environment, too by hanging laundry on a clothesline in summer months. I still do it. Sun brightens whites and bleaches out organic stains, plus there’s the fresh breezy smell garden smell, that lingers on the clothes and feels like home, not perfume. But no, I freaken never ever ever washed or scrubbed clothes by hand again.
I love washers!
I heard there is a new one that doesn’t ever break down. That you can buy when you get married and leave to your kids in your will, and it will do the same for them. I want that one!
I think it’s a new type of Speed Queen. Anyone know if this is true?
If it is, is there also a legendary refrigerator and AC system with that kind of reputation that anyone knows of?

The two next in line:
Real badass AC and refrigerator I can get that’s not just marketing hyped.
On a lighter cosmopolitan note, the bread machine and crock-pot are two of my three best little friends.

What home appliance has helps me most?

I know the truth about this. It’s the washer.

Anthony de Melo is Real

Amanda Palmer at TED

Letter To An Artist

LeClown,

Now I see why you are so devoted to creating a place in the world for misfits and artists. Artists, so often known for being mentally unstable weirdos, still need the safe space to create and mostly don’t find one. Now you are creating a safe place, a narrative to live in, a dream for us. So we can continue to keep our world beautiful and full of meaning.

Why though? Why are you doing it?

Your life depends on it, too. That’s why.

Now I get how each artists’ live depends on it. My life depends on it. The good life as we know it does, too. Without knowing it, the whole world depends on it, since art is our collective soul.

It’s that, or something else vital, and indescribable, to our collective being that cannot be replaced. Artists’ can’t be replaced with not artist or with AI.  Our highly sensitive people can’t be replaced. The world can’t do without them either. We artists are different. That’s as it should be. How else would we make a difference?

You show a warrior’s strength and a poet’s vulnerability when you share your heartbreaking story. Now, I understand the terrible impact your artist father’s ways had on you, and the pain his choices caused you. I get how hard such stories are to revisit, redefine and retell like you are doing in a way that recreates the world for you. A world safer for artists.

I personally appreciate your coming through for me like this, because just knowing that you, Sarah, Black Box Warnings, and company exist makes me stronger and my artist stock soar. It’s giving me the greatest imaginable value – a sense of community.

I feel safer in the world than I did before hearing your story of seeing your father through new eyes. Your story allowed me see the world through my own broken artist father’s eyes.

Even if we are not in the same community, you sorta replaced the American dream with a dream that includes artists like Martin Luther King included all free black people in his dream. Your dream includes me, and dreams create our world.

That irreplaceable precious sense of having a place in the world where your work matters that your father and my father did not get to feel, come into being when your story changed my heart.  Just like millions of the children of ex-slaves and slave holders never experienced a balanced world, yet caught MLK’s dream and held it, I caught your dream. It holds me.
You are changing the world for all of us. You, and the community around you are building artists a better world by speaking out.
You are doing priceless work. The emotional support you offer as a gift and invite the community to offer with you is irreplaceable and magnificent. Air force helicopters would never see that.
I figure, you and Sarah would enjoy, TED’s The Eight Foot Bride or Amanda Fucking Palmer. She is like you, in the way she redefines the world for artists in a surprising, hilarious, whimsical, irresistible way. Enjoy.

There.
Truce is over.

Your Magnificence will soon be mine!
Waywardspirit

Join !

 

 

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Newspaper

Whom is The Paper

What is such News?

If it were you

Read over coffee

Dunking the world

What kind of maniac would you be too?

4k-wallpaper-abstract-abstract-expressionism-12668081

Newspaper

Drink

The elixir of fortune
The coffee of fate
Whiskey of accident
Territory of your story
Drink it now or wait

Symbiosis

The simple symbiosis
Of the body and the soul
Pierces purple meaningless
From now to long ago

Ordinary

Ordinary breath
Ordinary tears
Ordinary almost everything
Where extraordinary veers

Each Story

The long road
To acceptance
The symptoms
On the way
It’s what
A life is
Made of
The stuff
Of every day

A Person

Use up your luck
Engaging no stress
Surrounded by controversy
Conquer the labels
Be a thing

Cell in a Body

I immerse myself
In the massive instinct
The record of the massive
Instinct of human change

Self Organizing Systems

You watch murmuration of starlings
Turn dusk into a kaleidoscope
Who watches the murmuration of humans
Organize and dance to a word you spoke

art dying heart Waywardspirit

Pattern

That hidden pattern
In every part
Of game of life
Of soul of art

Choices

When Evolution
Worries
Gets nervous
What calms
Fears and
Her nerves?

 

Ruminate

The bigger I
May ruminate
On me
The one
The incarnate

Inner Sweet

Crystalline honey bees
Swarm in me
Buzzing vivid desires
Fierce yellow flies away
In green bright light
To parlay with yellow flowers

Tools

Sometimes Doubt
A useful tool
Like pliars
A hammer
To use

Ask the Invisible You

Animal quicken
Aware of being
The more complex
The more fun to
The invisible you

Mystery

Arid center
Spark of life
Intelligence
From what?
Conscious why?

Jiggle

It happens to me
It jiggles my soul
In six ways I’m free
But mostly it’s stole

Context

When I slur
Your name
Baby
It could mean
Anything
Baby

Rhythmic

These pulses charm
My body like a snake
The music’s in control
Dancing is my fate

Hideout

Hide out
Look around
Feel the earth move
Inner sound

Glitter

Map my whole world in glitter
It’s days of bright eyes seeing
The rising heat of every heart
Those crashing waves of brains atwitter

Blur

Translate this juicy blur
Of pristine seconds
Minutes that somehow were
Gone and here forever

Entitled

I’m here
So do I squat
In this body?
Or what?

Alive

The sound of expectation
Purring in my chest
Thrill beaming out my face
Swish of secret breath
My body feasts on being
Laughter in my step

Bubbles

Entering the current
Slipping into being
Surrendering to darkness
Fin instead of wing
Liquid silver flying
Seriousness washed in dream

Content

Lush and lukewarm
A cheap hotel room
Hours shuffle along
A familiar radio song

Glimpse

When the first chill
Of fall cool air
Drys my sweat
I am aware
I am the sky
I am the world
I am everywhere

Comedy

I’m greedy for intimacy
To see with story eyes
My folly set in funny scenes
I laugh not criticize

 

Heard

Cool silent wind blowing
Swishing through my mind
Stirring neuron branches
Letting them entwine

Big Change

Tremble in the chill
For a kiss
At a birth or
Overcome with fear

Hand Crafted Moment

Hands recognize
Eyes forbid
Feelings consent
Crafting your sighs

Lovingly

The knife of life
Lovingly carves
My hart
Into art

Out of Sync

Clean

I’m editing my life
For twists
For readability
For clarity
All clean
Without removing
Character and
The dirt I mean

Belonging

Play with me
In this belonging dream
Were no one’s actually free
Weather you flow or resist
The sweetest meaning ripens
In the plot twist

Scent

Howling
I follow the scent
My dream
Hunting killing sharing
Becoming a complex being

Game

Filter out each being
Select wee dabs of each
Set strict limits
Adjust needs
See how far you reach

Ten

To be a friend
To write my own way
Have meaningful conversations
Frequent deep play
To publish
To skate
To tell a new story
Get to sashay
Spend time alone
Worship today

Simple

Simple
Complex
Ravenous
Satisfied
Berated
Unfathomable
Gotten
Glorified

To Lose

Worlds get built
Off devastation
Sweet lives get spun
From loss
I find the best
Part of a story
To win when
It’s a toss

Plans

When I planned
My life adventure
Did I do it right?
Was all this heck
Weaved in on purpose
Or was this
An oversight?

Successful

Ride a lifetime
You designed
Twisted terrifying
Till redefined

A Place

The privacy
Of my heart
A blissful place
For me apart

Exposure

Exposure to this thing
The sun the air
We breath
The feeling of baking cookies
Wiff of rotting flesh
Touches this eternity

That Thing

Is the thing
That thing
That manages
The paths of stars
Every baby being made
The weather currents
Each flower blooming
Ever overworked?

Life’s Aesthetic

Seeing beauty
Feeling beauty
May be a skill
To any and all
Circumstances
Assign beauty
At will

Daily

When’s your
Invitation
To adventure
Every day?

Marathon

It’s long
It’s short
You won’t get
Hit by a bus
It’s more
It’s less
Than we
Ever discuss

Relationship

Exquisite moment
Tender deceit
Open hearted
Trust
Surrender
Not defeat

Unseen

The wandering unseen
Felt and lived so keen
The thing
Shining in eyes
The moment
You realize

The Same

Where do
Life’s capable
And my
Capable
Converge?

Today

Someday is a dream
A place
A living thing

Cacoon

The past clings
To my bones
Like wings

Never Boring

Uneven emotions
Crookedly cut
Uneven days
My life has whipped up

Shine

The richest
Luster and shine
Down through
The years
Eyeballs polished
With all kinds of
Tears

Infinite

This infinite story
You choose to dive in
To become a role
And play it again

Tossed

My specific
Will to be
To feel alive
With dignity
In this ocean
Storm and calm
Afraid to die
Or live to long

Float

The Way
The Tao
The way
To float
With the current
To devote
Peace’ attention
To allow
Trouble and currents
To pass somehow

Tempted

Tempted
To go too fast
Or not go on
Might go astray
And not get done
Tempted to be
Perhaps to not
I used to care
I used to care
A lot

Crossing

Crossing this
State to state
State of ego
State of grace
State of confusion
Saving face

Interior

My interior land
A place
A feeling
A band

A Year

The blooming year
We will inhabit
Full of joys
Of games
And moments

Crisis

Where did hopeful
Go?
Somewhere I lost
My way
The future I don’t
See
I can not feel
Today

Celebrate

To mope
Around
The holidays
Hot cup of
Tea and warm
PJs

Renewal

Simple ritual
For renewal
Bake some soup
Play the fool

Pillage

I pillage
My inner world
For gifts to
Give the
The outer
I pillage
My outside world
For gifts to give
My inner
Maybe someday
I’ll get
Commerce

Self Care

Giving myself
An ovation
Yes yes yes
For deeply
Enjoying these
Holidays in the
Middle of this
Mess

Small Things

Quiet
Treat
Sweet
Retreat

Way of Life

Every moment tender
Every breath
A bounty

Stillness

The calm in the middle
The storm all around
I listen and hear
the voice with no sound

Where?

Enthusiasm up
Enthusiasm where?
Sometimes it’s all
Beautiful
Sometimes I don’t
care

Fortune

For the tune or
Fortune
Being alive
Is music

Moody

Moody Sometimes
Days can be
Is it Life in the mood
Or is it we?

Folly

Folly to one
Sweetness to another
Beauty
The eye
Of the beholder

Bespoke

This time
Bespoke
For inner silence
Feeling the deeper
River of peace

Nowhere

I flee the world
Into your silence
A place
A home
Inside somewhere
Outside everywhere
Total reliance

A Way of Life

Mystica forces
Gently engaged
Mystical waves
Lived unexplained
Mystical Moments
Secretly known
Mystical days
May always unfold

Abide

In the knowing
That life
Though it’s flowing
Moves for everything
Flows for you
In you

Treasure

When I don’t remember
How life is a treasure
What do I do?
What’s my way back
To Awe and to wonder?

The Life that is my life

I protest this life
I asked for
In my longing dreams
Life knows more
About my life
Than me
It seems

Yes

Once a martyr
Once for a long long time
Before
No more
No more
No more

Vanish

When youth and dreams
All vanish
What is the substance
Of joyfulness
That takes their place?

The Line

Is there a
Squishy
Difference
Between
Sacred
And
Prophane?

Construct

I construct a reality
Mine
Perhaps it fits with
Yours
If they don’t
Fit
How do we
Connect?

Now

Echo
Of an unborn
Future
Singing of a living
Past
All stewed in
This moment

Why

Faded
Half grown up whisper
Remember

Vigor

Where does vigor
Go when it is gone
And takes rigor with it?

Fullness of Life

The flavor
In my mind
Pungent sweet
Divine

Expect

The invisible places
In between
The liminal moments
Felt
Rarely seen
Where magic
Lurks

Waiting

Hunger satisfied
Lust for an instant sated
Fleeting moments
I didn’t live between
Instead I’d waited

Anticipation

The
Expectation of good
Trusting Life to deliver
More than just food
Joy in a shiver

The Egg

What elicits what
Where is the pull
Soul reaches for body
Or body emerges from soul?

Aromatic

A whiff
Of old leather
Takes me there
Free travel by
smell

Scorched

Heart burned black
Mind scorched
To ash
It sometimes happens
While spirit
And soul relax

Eye of the Beholder

Taste?
Or?
Ostentatious?

 

Magic Foot Forward

The whimsical
The mystical
The exceptional
Me
Take turns living
Life with the other
Three

Filthy

Filthy rich
Filthy poor
Filthy mind
Filthy floor
Filthy wonderful
Filthy muddy shoes
Every filthy little heart
Full of filthy good
Too

From Coffee to Wine

The heat of time
Ingredients of experience
Percolates
The water of a soul
Into something
Flavorful

A Place

Tart
Salty
Sweet
Soft sunshine
Cool water
Sand on your feet

To Fish

Fishing through days
For ideas to breed
That open my eyes
To my own lies
Letting Life grow
So I come to know
To live different ways
A new creed

Manic Depression

My lofty aims
Fall through the sky
I collect them burned
Should I retry?

 

Phoenix

Flames of inner
Life burns up
The first stories
Given us
Then
Santa Clause
Gets reborn
We become him
Christmas morn

Inner Workings

Or what?
The body asks
The soul
What then?
A story
Gets told
We believe it
To go on

Is Life Alive

Is Life alive?
Does she smile
Is Life in the air
Coming to life
In breath
Primping
In sunshine
While being
The sun

Purpose

In irksome hours
As time drips
Sometimes sometimes
Your frowning
flips

Relish

Relish
Twirl
Stand up
Rule
The minute
This moment
Embellish

 

Hyperbole

The world
A Little
hyperbole
All fitted up
Strung
Unfathomable

Sincere

Can
Great purpose
Deep sincerity
Be
Mistaken
Misguided
Adding up
To evil be?

People

 

A little child
Copycat
Believes
What
Mom believes
Regardless
Of fact

Halloween

It must be fun
To play
Eerie and wretched
Villinas pains
Cuz someone has
Got to
To work
For the game

Worlds Without End

Bridge your heart
And mind
Playing to unwind
Then make the art
That brakes apart
The Universe defined

Stories

Unstitch the
Universe’
Broken
Sighs and
Hallelujas
Cut
Rearrange
Sew into
Beautiful

Like the Sky

Wink
Smoke
Out of
Your eyes
Or clouds
Sudden shudder
Deep sighs

Together

Banned
From a boredom
Of perfection
Human
Figuring it out
Being
An exception

Transformation

Minute transformations
Windswept moments
By and by
Chisel the look
Out of
Your eye

Yet It Fits

The
Joy
Beauty
Story
Frailty
Strength
More immense
Than
A tiny human

Virtual or Reality

 

Artificial hollow
Life-giving
Mechanical heart
Online roll-play
Gaming
Part death
Part life
Part art

Playing Here

Did I volunteer
To be this frail
And full of fear

One

Amid millions
To matter

Under the Pale Sun

Ancient
Winds
Blowing
Storms
Back
Then
The same
Breeze
On my face
Again

Dark Days

Exploring
Underground
Dark
Unquestioned
Mysterious
Profound

Waiting

For
This funk
To pass
For life
to spring
For worlds
To mass

*

Waves

Sudden
Urgent
Unfurl
Wrapped
Twisted
Round
My mind
Pole

Trust

Trusting first
Calms the sea
Every time
The storm in me

madness

Subdued
Elusive
Unintentional
State

Scratch out
The eyes
Of the universe
Or wait?

An Instant

Flickering
Fragile
Warm
Magical
My being
Her
Burning
Candle

What are Angels?

Clumsy grace
First toddler steps
Humans
Trundling along
So sweet
The angels wept

Promises

Life
Promises
Life

Why does
Life
Promise?

New Under the Sun

Original
Art
Original
Thought
Original
Original?
Is it?
Or
What?

What Is?

The substance
Of the difference
Between
Flattery
And
Complements

What’s Right

Careful
Doing
What’s right
Till
Right melts
Into
Wrong

Argument

My argument
Shifts
Unsettles
Bursts into growth
Disintegrates
Into
What everyone
Knows

To Realize

Oh
Oh!
Where it’s
Invisible
Grows
My very
Soul

A Moment

Daring
Wonder
Notice
Careing

Breakthrough

If I were me
If I were you
I am both
Who are you?

Personhood

The value
Of me?
Wait
Let me see
Is it steady
Or based
On
Meritocracy?

Graceful

Graceful
Death dances
Me
Twirling
Tripping
Laughing
Tears flying
Toward living
Toward

The World

A lab
A test
Of what’s
Ineffable
Test results
For courage
A blood test
For serenity

My Unmasking

Unclasping
This facade
I shake it off

Unfamiliar breezes
Tickle my
Face

Love to Disagree

Mix it up
Us who
Disagree
To care dilutes
The care
About
Beliefs

A Quest

Left behind
Unfinished
When I die
What if
I’m reborn?
I’ll give it
Another try

Game Dilemma

Between
A quest
A grind
Or afk
What to gain
This decade?
What enjoy today?

A Time

If I
Didn’t pretend
And
just show up
My life
would be
so
Less much
*

Feeling Ways

Slow panic
may congeal
Warm trust
Fires up
To become
What’s fluid real

Playing

Run jump
Splash
Into joy
Life
The game
Life a
Toy

Stylish

Stylish words
Or
Stylish clothes?
Both!

Silence

Wide silence
Breeze fills
My being
Happy

Waywardspirit, sidewalk

Hike

I took a
Hike into
My mind
A trailhead
Into Nature
Human unkind
Kind

A Feeling Place

Grinning face
Passionate
Writing
Coffee and Grace

The Meaning

Together
Feeling good
Feeling better
Together
Than you
Otherwise
Would

Pushing Through

Heroic slog
Slog slog slogs
These times
Sometimes

 

Change

Perplexed
hexed
Being reinvented
Fully digested
What’s next?
Next

Manic

Radical practical
As-a-matterfactical

Banter

A good zing!
Of wit
Brings out
The tart of the sweet
Side of it

Not What I Thought

Be the truth
Stump evil

Soul Charger

Is spirit
In me
Battery
Opperated?
Beep beep
Battery low

How do I plug in
To recharge
Whatever spirit thingy is?
I figure you
May
Know

Sandwich

A
Soul sandwich
Body bread
Mayo spirit
Want cheese?
Get
Mind instead

You Then, You Now

Elegant destruction
Magnificent while mad
Stillness in it’s offerings
To re-create
was had

Twinkle

Catch a twinkle
Anything’s an eye
As you adore and speak
Your heart
Inanimate things
Reply

Acceptance

Plop
I forgot
Sometimes
My feelings
Drop

Live

Take
The
Cake of life
And
Eat
It
Too

Slip

Oops
And eclipse
All I know
Up and flips

Waywardspirit, sidewalk

Morning Pages Out

I sat on it
The sidewalk
Doodling a bit
Of ink talk
Waiting on the
Wind

Sorcery

Is a melody
Alive

When it makes
You come
Alive
Is it
Magic?

Reproduction

Shiver a soul
Asunder
mitosis
Violence or blunder?

Fierce

A fierce affection
Is it
Cause and effect
Or elusive unknowable
Like soul things
That grow

Vice

I need this Wind
To make me
Happy
I need the smell
Of rain
I need
The sun’s glow
On my skin
I need my vice
Again

Tripping

 Life plays
In expert chance
Willing to live
Being the dance

Cheating Life

Cheat life
Cheat it
Choose
Suck up to death
Point my attention
Outwit
Lose

Curve

Confusing need
My mistake
With want
With love
With
Take
Take
Take

Practice

A soul is called
“The Witness”
Confused with
“The Creator”
What if each an
Artist?

Mini Game

 

What to me is obvious
All true
Isn’t even real
To you

World of Humancraft

Miniature gods
Not dolls
Gaming gods
Involved

Book Learning

I’m learning
Living by living
Life is
The book
The yearning

Infinity

In city skies
All wounds and scars
The infinite
Is fifty stars

Thankful

Breath
Move grin
Grow a glee
Joepordize insanity

Feast

When youth is spent
Like currency gone
Enjoy the feast
You spent it on

Artifice

Smiles and eyes
Tell
These stories
Our souls
Devise

Process

Moon eyed
Exhale
Tune tried
So Frail
Brain fried
Prevail

Ever

Haunted by
A host of nothing
Silent chains of
nowhere never

Carry

Ether gels up
Like whipping cream
Making real
The fluid dream

Not

Love
Whatever it is
Confused
With dumb-struck
Heat
Need
Desire
A dream
Those sinister words
Reality used

It

I complicated it
with
A thin cut slice
of juicy wit
For
A simple bite of it

Knowlege of Good

Reach up into
A story tree
Pluck and bite
A story
See

Me Me Me

Another word
I so caressed
“I love! I love!”
I was
Obsessed

Connection

What’s above
The surface of
Below
What I know

Who’s truth?

Maybe
Can be
Twisty
When it
Comes to
My own
History

Laugh

If life
Is a joke
Who has got
The giggles?

Luxury

The greatest luxury
Purpose’s grip
Like love’s

Paint

My heart
Could use
A coat of paint
Cuz what is
Cuz what ain’t

Good

Stubborn poem
Won’t rub out
Stains your fingers
Wets your mouth

Praise

Praise glows
Like trust
Full of fairies
A magic dust

Cravings

Soft frayed reality
Mended with yellow thread
Craving some supernatural
To live outside my head

Rules

I wish I knew
The presence of
The muse
Deeper than I feel
The firmness of
What rules

Profound

Desire for sublime
This need for some profound
The tartness of serenity
Could make the world
Go round

Good Life

Life without apology
Condemns my physiology
Till I die happy

Political

In a dramatic world
Of pennies and lies
Each pebble of truth
Bricks compromise

A Feeling

The Wind
Has got
My back

Being Held

Life of my life
Flows unstoppable
I flow gently with it
Relaxing allowing
Sweet new beginnings

 

Queen Crisis

All the finest
Story jewels
Only adorn
Crisis

Invisibles

The you and you and you
Elusive different
Yet the same
You
The invisible you you you
Sometimes argue?

You

Your friendship
To me
Sanctuary

Clockwork

Draft the clock
To work for you
Tickle it a bit
Treat it with compassion
Or you will
Work for it

Storyline?

Punishment
Turbulent
“When you are betrayed You go to hell”
A feeling place where
What I accuse can breed
So I may live what I judge
Next life
This way
To then succeed

What If

You slowly sink into Life
The Life that is your Life
Whatever it is you are
You are alive
In it
It may be
Aliveness
Wellness
In you
In me

A Habit

A way of being
I belive
The drastic
Practice
Utmost challenge
Feeling
Carefree

Fill the Room with Your Joy

The color of joy
Joy’s depth
May be pigmented
Joy’s spaciousness
Carved out
Filled first
Created expanded
By corrosive sorrows

Feasting

Ripple rhythms
Taste the breeze
Smell this moment
Read beauty
Hear your name
Unclench Desire
Feast your attention
Satisfy

Human

I am
frail
here
I am
powerful beyond
frail
here

Invisible Game Peramiters

My drive to find
Shared augmented reality
To see what we want to see
Might already be
Programmed
Gamed maybe

Apology

 

 

We are going. I’m tramping back and forth squealing through the hall and kitchen I’m so happy. It smells bad in here. Something about beans burning. I don’t know what that bad smell is.  Yuck beans. So I don’t care, but it feels all upset in here too. I don’t like it.  I race away through the open door into the front yard. The station wagon we are going in is open. I clamber in. We are going!

The big people are carrying things from the house to the car. I sit in the car waiting for it to start moving. It’s supposed to move. I’m ready to go. I didn’t even need to be carried in here. I wait. No one is sitting in the car with me. I hop out and tramp the long way across the yard to the house then back inside, then because I can’t wait to be going, I walk all the way back to the car and get back in. I want the car to start going. I shout bye bye!

No one answers. I sit there wondering why the car is not moving. Its supposed to move. Looking out the windows is not interesting this way.

I’m bored. People bring more stuff to the car, but no one gets in with me or and we don’t start going.

So I wander back into the house into mom’s room to watch her getting ready.

Then,  I wake up.

It’s quiet.

I have woken up on the road in a car before. This is not that. Maybe we are already there. I look around. I’m in the same boring place.

I’m alone.

I shout mommy.

No one comes.

I cry. No answer.

I wait and wait. No one is going or coming.

I know what to do. I can reach up to one of those things. The door will open and everyone will be at the other side when I open it. I try. Raising my arms my highest I jump crying with frustration, but can’t reach the door opener thing.

That crying gets me what I want stands till I realize it’s not working. After that I cry for comfort. After that I cry because I can’t help it.

I wake up again. This time everything aches, no one is here, my eyes and head pound. I’m wet cold and I can’t climb up onto the bed. It’s too far up. The floor is cold.

The best thing to do is cry. So I cry. The harder I cry the more my head pounds. I notice this. I cry because my head pounds but crying makes it pound more. So, I stop. Stopping makes me want to scream. I try it. I feel like my had will split. Hiccups hurt. I’m too tired to whimper.

I stop and wonder. Why is no one here? I realize it. No one will ever come again. No one cares.

I wake up. It’s dark. Whimpering hurts my head. I will never trust anyone again.

I wake up. Mom is snuggling me. Something is different. I have never had all her attention before. But I don’t trust her.
She sings Sweet Hour of Prayer to God looking right at me. She sings to me looking right at God. God mom and me. I’ve never felt this. I snuggle closer. Maybe I can trust her.

I  get closer by climbing right on top of her belly.

Not up here love. Don’t sit up here. Sit right over here or you might hurt the baby.

I look intently at mom. I won’t get hurt. I won’t fall.

Not you. The baby in here.

The baby is in here. I look at myself. Then look at her pointing.

This baby. In here.

I don’t see any other baby.

You can’t see it yet. It has to come out first.

What baby? Where?

It’s in here. Right here.

I stare and feel confused.

In here there is a baby. You don’t want to sit on it and hurt it do you?

I shake my head then look closer at my mother’s belly and still don’t see any baby.

Get it out.

You can’t get it out. It comes out when it’s ready.

Why not?

It’s not ready yet.

It’s inside you? How does it get out?

A door opens in my stomach and it comes out.

I look all over under her blouse for that door.

What door?

She lifts her blouse. Here. It only opens for babies to come out.

I look for the opener thing. There is no opener.

Does it hurt?

Yeah.

I stare at the smooth skin on my mothers belly. A door. A door here.

How does it open?

I cannot imagine an opening. When my skin cuts open it hurts.

It opens by itself then closes by itself.

How?

I don’t know. It just happens.

The mystery of this completely overwhelms my imagination. I stare at my mothers mysterious belly till she pulls me to her and snuggles me closer next to where the invisible baby is. She glows with delight, and something else I don’t understand but I feel she feels  about me and the baby. That’s when wonder sparks.

I’m a baby. I’m the baby.

Mommy how did the baby get in your tummy? And why are you worshipful about an invisible baby when you already have a baby?

I didn’t know how to ask my mom these questions. I didn’t have the words. The asking grew and grew till it filled my being like mixing baking soda and vinegar. It asked itself. My entire body entwined in wonder. I could feel my mother’s ecstasy, that she loved me and was not replacing me with another baby. What then made her so happy about the baby started to fill my being. I feel what she feels. A whole in the sky with a triangle of light shining out of it between her and a man. They created this big hole in something and drew this baby through it.

wp-1468436286617.jpg

She glows with the memory, the knowing. I feel her memories her certainty fills me up. Her memories fill me up with angel song. I’m totally content with my clear and wonderful answer.

So that’s why mom is so happy. I feel her delight and triumph. I can feel the wonderful beaming off of her. We are enraptured.

Mystery solved for baby me.

Mystery still for grown up me .

 

 

 

Blindfolded or Bored

Surprise
Cooks in hot
Huge Vats of
Unpredictable
Surprise!

Monster Under My Bed

Razor chains dragging horror
Swirled in toxic fumes
Gas ball oozing regret and hate
Chased me out of my room
Nightmares Devoure my dreams
How do I know
I wasn’t caught?

Stormwalker

Pet the storm
kiss the wild sky
Play the wind
You fall inside the rain
Rolling with that thunder
Dance into the hurricane

Worth Seeing

Higher stakes
Restacked odds
Character testing
Twisted plot
In real life
enthrall your soul
At the edge
Bitten nails
From your adventure
Journey movie

Un-Invite

This fear driving
Is the guest
I invited

High Joker

My own usual
Thinking story habits
Ways of cowardice
Till I name them
Beat me

Alive

Interest and attention
Keep me alive
Meaning caring
Build my home
Animals like me
Create this world
I water the desert
With my heart

My Souly Thingy?

What if it’s
A movie making team
Plot twist stirrer
Setting up and recording
Making sure I don’t get boreing
Eventfull dramma
Meaning designer
Not keeping me
Under Glass

Fly

Liquid brain
A caterpillar
Staring new
It used to be false
Now it’s true

*

Dark Chocolate

Sips of twisty darkness
The taste of cool wind
From contrast to art
In each Frail
Vested heart
Broken open

*

Gospel

Forbidden urgent
Questions
Straight and narrow
Answers

Soul Food

Layers of lifetimes
butter
Ways of living
Syrup
Stacks of life
Nuts
Choose your flavor
Bacon
Multi-friuted lives
Whipped cream

*

 

Autonomy Really?

Sawing my invisible backbone
With a dull serrated knife
The heart of heart stuff
Lungs made of lung
Doing their own autonomy
Unaffected

Island

Self-made?
Self made man
Nursed himself
A person island

*

Magic Ingrediant

Gratitude is a substance
A thing not made of
Only expressed
In thank you
Chemical reactions
Feelings burned from meaning
A secret recipie
A drug

*

Pleasure

The spectrum of pleasure and pain
Each one side of the other
Horror to ecstasy
You can’t hold one
Without cuddling both
Honor to shame
Like all good stories
Evil’s designed into this game

*

 

The World

Us tourists gaze
At People Art
Horrrible beautiful
Living puzzled constructs
Dissasembled minds
Wabi sabi hearts

Paganism

Tiny water spirits
Conceived in every cloud
Born in falling drops
Liquid bodies rush
Through the air
Alive in this bottle
Shower lake and pool
Granting every flush

*

Water Spirit

A river animal
Yearnings in her waves
Dancing the bends
Falling down for days
Becoming the ocean
Manning the clouds
Can she wait
To be poured into a glass
Perhaps the ninety-eight

*

*

Then What?

Deprive my soul thingy
Of stories to collect
Of desperate choices
Dangerous encounters
Clashing wills
Dark nights
Triumph of wills
Irreplaceable loss
Implacable spirit
Brocken open hearts
Catalysts story arcs
Unexpected twists

*

See

My beautiful fences
My belifs
The gates are
Were I’m told
And where
I’m not


*

Soul Function

Prophecy
Quest Guide
Mystery
Feeding that
Story collecting
Soul thingy
Meanings
For spinning into
Golden understanding

*

Voyage

Teleport
From the start of
A lifetime
To it’s end
Done
Woot!
*Quest Complete*

**

*

Awe

Nudge
Reminded
This is real
Glory
Beautiful
Oh love
Enveloped
In magnificent
What
I am part of

*
*

Full

Empty reason
Empty thoughts
Empty bottle
Empty pots
Empty eyes
Empty threat
Empty lot
Empty net

Companionship

I am Life’s
Companion
Life is always mine
Sometimes I’ve forgotten
So I feel alone

*

*

Growing Up

 Culture tangos
Through yellow summer
Trips on growth spurts
Regression pranks her

She may not drown
Dying brain cells
Spill liquid light
Into nowhere

*

Compass

I lit my heart
To to light your heart
Then aimlessly again I
Drift to
Art

*

*

Perfection

An instrument
Desire
This scale
Twinkles
Measuring stick
Suddenly
To dare
Lightning breath
A tool
Application
Moments hung in air

*

*

City

I am magnified
Unnoticable small
One of millions
One of one

 

*

*

An Open Eye

People are asses
So diverse
Stunning breathtaking deadly
Acts of God
Just like our mother
Earth

Natural If

Walk a mile
In a aggressive snapping shoe
Fill in a human gap

Taste the bile
Catch a you
In your own natural trap

**
*

My Origin Story-“Hate”

“I don’t understand hate.”
“I will never understand hate.”
“Yeah me either.”
“Just don’t get how people can hurt other people”.

I found this deadly conversation on Facebook by artists authors thought leaders the ones who are entrusted to know better. Sadly our short collective memory blanks out how very close to yesterday back in our church days if you were one of many of the popular American religions you were taught to believe homosexuality led to Sodom and Gomorrah being destroyed. A whole two cities devoured by holy flalmes for tolerating that abomination.

It’s all interpreted right there in both Christian and Muslim religion’s holy writings. So, it’s something way different from the catch-all phrase “hate” that is causing so much pain and death discrimination and hurt.

For a minister at least one in this case the one in California to stand up and celebrate someone finally doing God’s will is pretty natural. It’s part of being “right”.
I’m reminding myself that my ancestors and my culture up till now have been violent. We wage justified wars that are still going on. We lynched black folks and have disrespected and rejected “sodomites” for centuries now.

Not long ago it was legit to kill Catholics then in turn Protestants for being Catholic or being Protestant then both killing Muslims. I’m pretty sure my ancestors being faithful and devout men and woman participated in all the holy killings back then because they continued right up to very close to the present being devout and holy killers. Being faithful and devout myself, I thought the “right” half of that crap was all good.

Holy killings. Fighting for whats right. Soldiers for freedom. We still do it. The least we can do is admit we do not understand “hate”. That we are it. Whatever that word has come to mean. We do it. We have been doing it together.

I have. I understand “hate”. I have lived and continue to live hate.

Now I just wonder what I can do about it.

Wonder with me.

 

*
*

 

 

Snuggle the Struggle

“I don’t understand hate”
Hate the euphemism for
All the crap
I didn’t get before
My sugary apathy
Hates back

*
*

Rebuild People

Hate is a part
Of the human
Spectrum
Like the rectum

*

*

Understanding

Once I do
Value value
Value
You

*

*

Simplicity

Overrate simplicity
Again
Then
Look around

*
*

Design

Mountains jet up
By design
Bored with Kansas
Explode red-hot paint
Lose the cool Colorado
Slash the canvas
On land and on psyche
Welcome to Oz

*

Dangerous Beauty

Life sculps
Transformation
Canyon drops
Sink holes
Towering cliffs
Sixteen foot waves
Deadly venom fangs
Killer deserts that flower
Heroes and psychopaths
Transformation

 

 

StoryTelling

Embarrassing whipped into fascinating
Chemistry fermenting magic
Trasforms the fundamental
Value of matter

*

Connected

Acceptance
Support
Appreciation
Approval
Attention Comfort
Encouragement
Respect
Affection

*

Playful Acts

Waterfalls, playful

Rapids let’s go

Tsunami to survive

Placid expanses make you want

Hurricanes to come alive

*

Surrender Igotchu Waywardspirit Art

It’s Got You

Smooth into it

It’s mine

For me

Flowing

The Thing

To fall back through

A childhood

Bumping blocks sliding beads

Holographic place like now

Intact overlaid with mes

*

 

 

 

Adventure

 

It stings so I tug at it to get it off. Wailing and whimpering I reach down grab hold of it. It feels like a cat clinging to my butt so I’m trying to shove it down and off, but something feels ominous about doing this. When I do this, meanness happens.

I look up and No is open. I wonder through distracted from the ouch.

It feels good out here. I get to shake the heavy naughty thing off here since no one will stop me or be mad at me anymore. Sucking in and taking small wiggle steps works. It falls to my feet and trips me. The ground comes at me. Wiggling it off my ankles feels better than crying. I get back up. My hands and knees don’t hurt. I don’t cry. No one will come stop me and the ground feels good.

Softness tickles my feet. To wiggle my toes here feels good. I’m feeling relief all over. Then I look around. I’ve never been here before. I don’t know the word for freedom. It just tastes good.

I look far away over the soft and see the hard place. Then across it to a place where nice people will be. The place over there where they will be nice to me. They will be nice to me. I’m going there and never coming back.

When I come to the hard knee hurting place my hands and knees tingle recalling the last time I tried to get away and fell on hard bumpy rocks tripped by holes. This one is smooth dark and shiny.

It won’t trip me. I stand there stareing at it wondering. I won’t fall on the rocks and step in holes burned into my body’s mind from last time I tryed this. I decide. This time I’ll run quick careful without getting hurt.  Like when I fell just now and it didn’t hurt. This won’t hurt again. Just cross to over there and and never come back.

I wait for a big noise thing that’s coming to go away.  I’m waiting for it. This big noise thing is a light for some reason. It’s taking longer than these take to come and go. It’s not going. The light is here.

It stops. It’s not supposed to stop. This is confusing but I’m going ahead.

Now people are here. But I’m still on my way to the nice people. They talk to me but I tell them I know where I’m going. Then a lady holds out a yummy sounding bag to me. I take some of wht’s in it. It’s good. I try to get more. She moves back so I follow her.

She seems like a nice one. So, I don’t have to go over that hard thing after all. The nice people are here.

I try to tell them they are nice people so I’m coming with them. I know they are nice because they have food they don’t make me do stuff and they are not cross.

Just as I start eating, the mean ones come. They snatch the bag away and give it back to the nice ones.

I protest with all my might. Screams struggles kicks don’t help. I grab for the bag, then when  it’s out of reach make a  break for the real nice people.

The mean people catch me and hold me against my will. Then they carry me off back to the mean place.

I’m doomed.

Then, suddenly the mean ones talk nice to me and snuggle me.

So I fall asleep hungry, and content.

 

Rip

scratch and sniff sky

finally cracks

fragile brittle ripped

blue brown paper sack

*

 

Star Crossed

Twirl a dash of purpose

Feel if full of dreams

Tuck it in the sky to sleep

Grow translucent screams

 

 

Understanding

Soap of time undid the smell

Aired out anger

Liquid distance

Shakes it loose

Splashed disappointment

All over this shirt

Washed in

The blood gone by

*

 

receipe

A spoonful of circus

A dash

Some leaps

A laugh

Six joys

Pour out pink

Mix with noise

 

Blank

Memory, this strange invisible time travel organ transports me back to forbidden moments, times I shouldn’t even have access to. For good reason too since who wants to remember how your diaper feels and smells when it needs changing. Since I do remember my annoying itchy stinging clinging sticky diaper I figure when I remember where I came from before the diaper days it may have some merit.

A blank slated innocent new perfect baby might be the case sometimes, but not mine. I didn’t enter the world a blank slate. Well maybe a bit blank in some necessary spots but mostly I came stained with karma or whatever, you know stuff I wanted to do stuff I wanted to learn and stuff I wanted to fix plus I wanted some new tree rings and bragging rights. I remember. Not the place, I don’t remember a place. It’s the urgency that fades back in. The vast sence sometimes of how far back this goes, this desire to understand to care, how deeply I wanted this and for how long. Lots of stinky diapers are a small price to pay to play. Remembering one though sucks. I remember two.

*

**

this theater

Magnificent

Orderly

Discord

Playing

Death out

*

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*

World of Personcraft

An epitome

Individual curiosity

Lotteried kill sets

Oaths fall-downs

warped twisted intact

Personality chosen

Sides

Level ups death

Playing me

Like you

Into some being

New

 

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Chance Encounter

I entered the world at the butthole end of a saga conceived in Ensenada Jail despised and feared before I was born, while not being a boy was a letdown to my parents. I remember coming home from the hospital though for some reason. I wasn’t all bad even being a girl and my father in jail. Being a girl when good men were so desperately needed in our world was unblessed. Men were needed like my father for what in my mother’s mind was the future, survival the greater good her purpose. But Fluffy didn’t care.

Fluffy, he must have been waiting for me cuz I don’t actually remember coming home from the hospital I just remember being welcomed home. A sudden fast excited warm wet smoochy welcome. Someone was ecstatic to see me. Happy. Happy. Happy. With every lick You’re here! You’re here! You’re here! Lick lick lick. I couldn’t breath so I cried and couldn’t cry with no air, but the warm breath and wet wet warm sticky licks all over my face in my face filled my chest with joy. I was filled with the feeling of welcome welcome! Woof woof! while not being able to breath and lots of bounciness.
That’s all I remember vividly and nothing else till I’m two or so with a saggy diaper.

My sister Tosh remembers though. She remembers. We used to have a dog. Then you came along and ruined everything.

*

May Come

Split destinies

Forked by choice

Creating worlds

Of story blocks

Apple pie

Of course and

Worse

*

Face the Page

My wondering face

Faceing life

*

Grain

Lifetimes in rings

Ancient wisdom

Under canopy

Saplings on flexible wings

Becoming wonder

Beings

*

Shadow

Countless
Watch the shadows
While they are not seen
Patterns of the mysteries
Lives and In-between
*

Living

Every lifetime’s a Phase

Leaping

From phase to phase

Lost and finding

Wonder

*

 

 

Communion

 

Feast on dreams and verbs

 Round glows festivus

Burn your dreams for firewood

Plucked by minds to smell

A dream to bite and chew

Washed the etherial dirt off

shucked

Peeled

Cut into  bite size chunks

Chopped

sauteed

The flesh of juicy dreams

 Invite your friends to eat

Harvest more from your fertile souls

Surrender bits

 For composting

*

Life

Saga of One Life
One life
Woven saga
Lashed to sagas
Twisted together strung
Frothing blue
Waves crashing
Together apart
Together

*

 

 

Jubilant Wonder

Basic Needs

 

Why

 the Jubilant faces?

What was the Misery?

 

 

Lifeblocks

Brick by brick

Before building I make

brick by brick

Every solid symmetrical

Brick by brick

Each un-squared crumble-prone

Brick by brick

My precious bricks

No

 

To wake out of pensive 

The syrup of life

not to eat pancakes

not even to write

Flourish

Flourish through a crack

Smile at the wind and rain

When Life has got your back

 

*

South X South

 

Inward South

Go

Outward South

Come

Upward South

Fall

Forward South

Be

 

*

Arts

 

We were such sweet fascist buddies

A world all black and white

Now skies are yellow

Now cats are blue 

The artists got to you

*

Healthy Soul of the City

Soul blood runs in art

Beats in playing dazzled

Painted sculpted city heart

*

 

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Artist

Sometimes I didn’t die

Destiny breathed sighed

Wiggled the underestimate

Got comfortable inside

*

 

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Limits to the Five Senses?

A sense of time, what sense is this?

A sense of vision, no?

Vision Touch Hearing Smelling Taste

A sense of smell, now mean it like visionary vision

A sense of vision. What?

If vision can be expanded to the imagination

If vision has a passport to the future, but

A sense of hearing… Them voices you mean?

Why hold back the other senses from expanding?

What’s the expanded form of sense of touch?

Good taste may be yummy to all the senses

Our senses our sense of self or sense of selves

Why is only visionary rewarded esteemed healthy?

Hear into the future or imagination, smell feel

Taste these  results

Feel how it will feel

Hear it’s voices

Fall in love

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Out of Sync
Out of Sync

Some Inner Outer Beings Artfully Synced-Waywardspirt Art
Inner Beings Outer Beings Artfully Sync

 

 

 

*

Cheap Imitations

Survival of the Artist

Art

Or not

Or not

*

 

 

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Immunity

Infected my a monster’s bite

Vampires suck your soul

Your psyche lost to a quiet lie

What’s a doctors roll?

Immunity to social virus

Invisible TB

Do generations pass it down

Or do we need vaccines?

*

 

 

Beholder

Holding chaos by it’s tail

Admiring the cuteness

In the palm of my hand

Or in the eye

Stillness

*

Pulling Ideas

 Sometimes I

Take a stroll

Take the hoe

Or carry a basket

Through my idea

Garden

*

 

Value

Sacrifice

Giveing up

what I want less

For

what

I want more

Sacrifice

*

Patchwork Soul

Shadow thread weaves

Webs of stands of real

Stubbed yellow tears

Brocken hearted glory

Stitched into a soul

By how I feel

*

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Writing on the Beach

 

Open window trailing words

Blue chemistry falling views 

Gleaming explosions gusts of worlds

Wisps of stillness

 Enchantment twirls

Life blows in

Inspirations waves

Smashes hurricane

To the page

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Writing Into Dust Devils

 

“I feel ungrounded. No poems to read. No pictures to ruminate over.” One of my good reader friends complained on May 2 after National Poetry Writing Month NaPoWriMo was over. When I stopped posting.

Hay, NaPoWriMo is over. No more poems for you.

But then, his unease started sinking in and reflecting how I was feeling. I realized. I feel ungrounded too. No picture to create, no poem to wonder into being. My life is off.

Only half of why I write is enough to keep me writing for the rest of my life. To stop writing wondering painting the reasons the wonders is to die. The other half of the reason I write is unrest or energy swirling, mind dust devils curiosity and ravenous hunger to ride to learn to grow to tell stories to inhabit stories.

Postaday on WordPress is still here though NaPoWriMo is over. So even though I can’t get the Postaday badge to stick on here and it seems a little contrived, I need the stucture to write and hope now. A game to ride the beautiful bucking swirling dust devils into ink seahorses to frolic on the page for you. Because I need to.

Weekly Photo Challenge and Weekly Discover Challenge also keep me wondering and going there admiring the world. Admiring the world keeps me close to the wind and tight woven with the magic of gratitude so they enchant this mysterious rodeo.

I hope you have as much fun reading as I do writing. I love the ride. I love you guys.

Wide Open Space

Abandoned

 

Painting that Sound

That color

Of music

That sound

Feel drums in your blood

Pound

 

The sound

Puppet of notes

Guitar strums you round

That sound

 

That sound

Moves you with it

Dances your feelings feet

Round

 

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Paradox

 

Scars

Make me human

Scars

Tell my story

Scars

Give me character

Scars

Don’t define me

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Sunshine

Admiration

Sprinkled abroad

with glee

 To regard each

 Person20160426_160959.jpg

Just as fine as me

*

 

Stairway

Stairway

To heaven

Or

Stairway

From hell

Depends

Where you start

And how far

You fell

*

 

 

Curves

 

We

The lovliest

Curves

In the

Galaxy!

 

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Painted Days

Some mornings

Need More color red

Afternoons more Bright blue swirls

Yellow stars of expectation

The color palette’s yours

Abstract

*

Soul Tan

 

 

 

Solitude

The sun

 Sweet twisty power

I

I

I

The

Sunflower

*

 

Obstacles

Don’t feel it

Not today

Too much to do

 Look away

Sleeping doesn’t satisfy

Watching isn’t bliss

I need to be a part of things

There’s no way out of this

*

It Just Does

He makes you

Belive the sun

It shines for you

All night

The crossroads is

It’s true

It is

Just not here from him

To you

Net Intellectual Develompent

A place

To risk a whisper

An ear

As big as light

  Connected minds

What substance matters

Woven stars

All Night

Return It

Borrowed to be

This to do list

Of what

  Why

 A story of me

Ways

Unquestioned reasons

A copy

Place

Dissapointment compost

 Dirt after it rains

The smells it grows

Feeds you from pains

Life Cycle

Somehow knows

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You

Twirling

Around the sun

with you

What fun

What fun

What fun!

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Earth

us

Bound age

Story’s bound feet

Untied to quest

Shape-locked

Like you

Into

 A pretty shoe

wp-1461273834088.jpeg

If the

Soul fits

Wear it

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The Mysteries

Cross-section fog

Reel in the rain

Fill life with a bucket

Twelve of joy none

None of pain

Currencies

 

Value in what

Priceless for sale

Art currents

Fake fate

Discounted souls

Surrender

art dying heart Waywardspirit

Out!

Closeted beings

Asleep in your bed

Body’s un-life

Crouched starved smothered head

 shriveled 

Dying – undead

 

Posted hung secret

Collectively held

Bodies melt to skeletons

The smell the smell

The smell!

Basic

Breath of life

Breath of art

How do you

Tell the two

Apart?

Fill your mouth

With yummy life

Breathe your soul

With what?

Delight

Dinnertime

To consume the beauty of the moon
Like cheese of light
On bread of quiet
Every night

Dinnertime

Out-caster

Of smiles and time
Simmer disaster
Lock up the circles
Social out-caster
Armed the langth
unfurl uproot book
Show it defeat
with a look

Do People In Memory Realms Have Feelings?

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Is kicking people’s ass in my realm of Memory  still human abuse?

I have assigned roles noted characters picked the bad guys in the plot in my mind realm. Since a hero in any story is only as amazing as the anti-hero of a story is vicious, does my inner dialogue need villans? Cuz these stories I play in here feel horribly wonderful.

I control this realm and I wanna do something about horrible people and be fabulous.  You know, deal out just what-fors to all the asses living in my mind’s holograph.  To rescue myself and put things right.

Is it wrong to beat up evil people, living or dead, in my mind?

Yeah, it’s unhealthy to beat myself up. I get that now. Gotta love yourself. What about everyone else though?  The bad guys for example. I don’t gotta love them. Ha!

Are these meanies victims now if I trash them in my mind blame them judge em? Can dead people be victims too? And if not everyone who do I get to beat up on?

I got a story to weave then to replay so I know I’m a decent person. To sence who I am relative to them others. How do I acquire one of these wonderful vicious evil guys so I can be truly great without committing acts of violence and being violent myself, I wonder. How else do I make life interesting.

Is it still wrong to judge and blame historical figures in the privacy of my own personal mind?

Are the really bad people I blame for all the bad stuff happening, you know, so bad I get carte blanch to eww them?

Is blaming and judging them mean or unhealthy? What if they deserve it?

What if I stop?

Then what?

 

 

Giggle

Giggle

Giggles creep
From Neverland
Echo melts
Cream skies
Willowing divinity
The very same
As cries

Bedtime

 

Bedtime

Sleep
Come to earth
Dream tears
Wonder mirth
Mare life
Play this game
Giggle
From till birth
*

Green Superstition

Superstition

Archaic

Modern device

Keeps a world

Coherent

Till green wonder 

More than

Twice

 

Newspaper

Who is paper

What is news

Morning and mornings

Like coffee persued

The same

Reincarnated

Daily

or manic

Newspaper

You?