Category Archives: Poetry

Let Them Run

Posted on by Standard 4
Re-posted from Enchanted Nature's Facebook page

Image re-posted from Enchanted Nature’s Facebook page

I want freedom. Freedom from a tongue bound by convention. Freedom of thought that need not be harnessed back like horses wild. Let them run, I say. I want freedom of time that has no tick. No deadline. It belongs only to me. I am the boss who’s burning that midnight oil for inventions that build a life. My life. I want freedom of style as I slip on skinny jeans, GoGo boots and too much eyeliner. I want freedom of money, mullah, bank, green dogs braying with a jingling, jangling pick me up off my sad ass, hard times, hard luck self. I want freedom of space. Open plaines and wind swept deserts. Where I can walk a mile or ten in my crusty, beat up hikers and no one holds my line to any destination I desire. I want freedom of heart. Open it up wide as a storm gray clam glistening with sea water and pearls, while it still holds the grit I earned honestly. I want the freedom to love you. Love you as I take you into my skin, bury you deep in my belly and warm you up like mama’s stew. I want the freedom to open myself to possibilities and disaster. Good times and crazy adventure. I want freedom that only a bird knows. Alone, in a winter wood, with nothing but silence and every branch I own.

Work in progress from The Writing Church Writer’s group hosted by Marj Hahne, Boulder, CO. Inspired by the poem “What Do Women Want” by Kim Addonizio

Communion

Posted on by Standard Reply
Re-posted from the Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Image re-posted from the Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Long lines winding up an aisle in incense fog to papery offerings. A feeding of our soul so sterile I am drifting out the door before my mouth opens to receive. Receive what, exactly? Paper, bread, body, blood of Christ. A distorted figure that makes no sense, as I furtively glance at red dripped cross hanging, hanging, hanging for centuries that is an eternal damnation to a heart stuck on butt-worn bench. Sinner ever waiting to be clean. Sit, stand, kneel, sit stand, kneel. Tongues curling round words spoken in mindless cadence that eyes glaze from the loss of meaning. Cold seeps from stone floors into my shoes and all the wiggling toes will not warm my feet. I cough hard to shake the religious congestion loose, purulent and thick with dust.

Doors swing wide. Light pours in. Air fills my lungs.

Communion is the hunger flowing from my spirit alive and green. Running in open fields and winding up forest trails; exploding like Niagara out of the great northern territories. Communion that permeates my skin with loving rain and grounds my feet in Spring mud, a crocus rising at the equinox. Communion that fills me with such wholeness I can no longer tell where I end and dandelion seed begins its journey on the wind of my billow’s breath. Communion flooding the senses with peach juice down a child’s chin and autumn’s smoke of leaf fed fires the incense that opens the nostrils. Communion so sweet my mouth is filled with its mystical wonder and I sing out, an early morning robin alerting all to a day’s break. Communion that is an opening of the heart into a river that floods the delta with endless meandering trails that follow no crafted, structured pattern or timely release. Communion with the unknown, unrehearsed, unpredictable wonder of spirit. Now, on every breath, bookless hands raised to a midnight moon. For that I am famished, parched and deliciously ready to devour.

Working piece from Front Range Writer’s Group on reclamation of words. Marj Hahne facilitator.

Torn Asunder

Posted on by Standard 2
River bank collage in gold and purple: Photo by Noelle

River bank collage in gold and purple: Photo by Noelle

I did not understand the loss
Not the switchbacks in direction
Nor the unfulfilled need

I did not see the change
Or the push of the envelope
The strain to see

I hated the destruction
Crushed and laid barer
Than the hull without its seed

Down to bone you left me
Naked and exposed
Winds of confusion whipping me clean

Standing in dirt
Vines sprung up, wrapping
My naked bones with leafy tweed

Vines bore flowers that brought the bees
That pollinated my blossoms
With your divine beads

Which grew ripe and colorful fruit
That attracted the birds that took up
Nests in my mind to feed

Laying eggs of inspiration
All babies learning to fly
And then I knew I did see

Such a deep appreciation
For having been torn asunder
Destroyed and sanded to a reed

I was never the hull
Always the seed
And in muddied dirt You and I grew me

Little Gem: Joy and Sorrow

Posted on by Standard Reply
From flood to drought: Photo by Noelle

From flood to drought: Photo by Noelle

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Hunger

Posted on by Standard 7
Image pulled from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Image extracted from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

A great hunger in the heart
Deep in cavernous chest
Pounding drums I hear
Binding me to lover’s quest

No fear of the longing
No weakness in the bones
Courage like a bow
Strung tight, arrow honed

All cells line up
Along a magnetic field
I am the compass pointing north
My love I wield

Awakening a memory
Forgotten in all but a dream
Leaving an illusion
Nothing is as it seems

Passion is the blood water
That traverses the river vessels true
Flooding the body hot
A mind awash with your hues

Pulse racing, sweat pooling
Canyon lands laid bare
A tempo to be sated
In dark hours, boundless to share

The scent lingers on the skin
Hand rests lazy on the breast
Warm are the muscles, mingled
Ah my love I now must rest

Balance of Off: Photo poem 13

Posted on by Standard Reply
Run Off: Photo montage by Noelle

Run Off: Photo montage by Noelle

This is a composite piece from a photo I took of sprinkler run off, layered with spliced sections of two poster paintings. One from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page and the other from Hippie Peace Freaks Facebook page completing the collage.

It is clear I long for balance, as each piece has a composition that embraces balance and harmony. Balance, proportion and color bring a sense of forward motion and ignite a creative hunger.

Yet, there is also a need for bits of asymmetry. Pieces that are slightly off center that bring the piece into a different kind of harmony and nurture creative innovation. An expansion that moves beyond yourself into larger views. I call it the balance of “off”. A tension that comes from being at a harmonious odd with the world around you. It is the threads in the tapestry intentionally mis-woven. The grace that comes with imperfection and the uniqueness that can only be found in what is slightly off the beaten trail.

Each person needs to find their way and I will merely pose here that the “Balance of Off” is a potent and surprisingly harmonious path to take. The Chinese understood this as yin-yang and sought it out in the balancing of their homes and lives. Apparently, I seek this too, both without and within.

Rain

Posted on by Standard Reply
Image re-posted from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Image re-posted from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Rain falls hard drains tick and rattle
Branches whip the window so bold
A frenetic heart beat, steady
In the closeness of the house
The sound is a chaotic symphony
That does not grace within
Tick and rattle, pitter patter

Cracking thunder
Light washes a dark field
Water rushes the stones
My chest fires back an adrenaline shot
Deep into my vessels it flows
Who is a storm now
My belly creaks
My breath shutters
Tick and rattle, pitter patter

Shadows dance
Trees sway, not lovers
More women thrashing wheat
In fields of silver rivers and
Matted grass
Leaves stick to the pane
While rivulets swing around them
Wild Celtic women
Dancing around a leaf alter
Tick and rattle, pitter patter

I am the rolling thunder
I am the relentless rain
I am the mad lightening that strikes the heart
And jolts my spirit awake in the
Wildness of an eternal dark
A mighty storm
Tick and rattle, pitter patter

Explosion of Life

Posted on by Standard Reply
Image re-posted from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

Image re-posted from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page

I am an explosion of life
A quasar in a inky, black Universe
Demanding my light ignite the night
I give forth the cool spring fed spot in a warm summer lake
As the trout leaps to the dancing of the gnat
I am pregnant with the pregnant pause
Spinning wildly the eye of the storm turning as a dreidel
The gush of air on the inhalation before the soprano’s note
And the loud guffaw of the homeless man careening on the curb
I am a butterfly clawing out of the chrysalis
And the caterpillar spinning my cocoon
Dew drips from my leaves
Sparkling diamonds on spider’s web
As headlights flood the interstate
Sucking out silence, an undertow with no bottom
I am a hungry belly starving for sustenance
Through the eyes of the desperate man who sees the oasis
While the tigress drinks unafraid at the edge of the silent pool
The hand before it plucks the cord
The vibration of the piano key struck
Rose petals fall
As coffin lid clicks
Lifting up my eagle’s wings as I dash into the air current of love
Cracking like thunder with nothing but silence in my wake
I stretch beyond the hairs on the skin
My force felt as a blast from the great furnaces
Roaring into now
I am an explosion of life

Boys of Summer: Photo Poem: Episode II

Posted on by Standard 2
Minstrel at the Lake: Photo by Noelle

Minstrel at the Lake: Photo by Noelle

I had no idea there was a plane in the distance which looks a perfect shooting star. You’ll find it on the right hand side, just passing over the mountains. This photo was actual magic for me when I later pulled it up, than I realized when taking it.