why write?

To bring darkness to light

and put to rest the night

to focus youth's might

to make beauty bright

to bring form to sight


to set a wrong right

to charge a fight



to propel flight

to seek a height

to burn a blight

to open insight

(Missing my Muse, I had to turn off the angry tapes running in my head.  One way I do this is to explore the wilderness.  How do you find your muse?)

Anger is only...

a momentum you feel

on the last straight spoke

of a broken wheel.

a tool to dispel

the rain hitting level

under the umbrella.



a pill to make you ill

when hard feelings

can’t get their fill.

an interim storm

of desert grit

to keep words warm.

an instant switch

to start a charge

with a hurl of spit.

a shocking drug

you shouldn’t share

off the chopping block.

How do you deal with anger?  What makes you incessantly angry?  hmmmmm.........I could go on and on and on, why don't you?

peel me an onion Friday 55

I’m static, frantic,
magnetic, shielding
shards of heart
with recycled refuse
            (just onion tears)
We’re refusing reclusion
collecting letters
upon utterances
unpeeling splices
           (over onion tears)
Our juices rise
like pungent repellant
solely with olfaction
flavors are favored
          (taste onion tears)
He’s spreading splines
ribs of mine
are tearing free
revealing me
          (in onion tears)




sometimes communication is hard.  sometimes assumptions are easier. sometimes solitude is safer.  but always, always, open honest communication is really living.

This is a poem in exactly 55 words.  To visit the host with the most, Mr. Knowitall, look HERE . Post a Flash Fiction in 55 words exactly on Friday and let him know it all!

Schmallentines

I think that I shall never see

a love as true as we now need.

What truth be known
is perceived by each own.

What I may need now
will change the morrow.

Actions speak louder true,
than words silenced, though due.

If I see eye, touch hand, hear breath,
I’ll love truly until death.

jabberwoky-meditation

Breal

startep

infull

expanourish

holdergy

exhaleans

releasflow

intendknow

livenow

Ibow

This is a poem of made up words. Two actual words combined if you look closely, addressing breath used in healing meditation, to calm and energize. (for those of you who don't get it, ask and I will translate.)

Somertimes you have to remake yourself, from something familiar but undesired, into something you didn't know of or have before.  I am not talking about a trite New Year's resolution.  But by letting go, accepting change, chosing a new path, seeking peace, healing from loss, we may have to envision unfamiliar territory. 

Breath/heal.

Take Me

Take me to

the ocean's side,

into
primeval rain,

beside the surf
above cove's curving

rocky shelter of
egret and seal,

below the source
of vapor's veil,

to life upon
the misty trail,

past rivermouth,
to the source

of springs,

climb among the creeks,

beneath the peaks

of wind and rain,

where clouds still
covet the ravines,

past dessicated-white
coyote scat,

over slashed
shale shard and quartz,

pine and redwood
form paths and beds,

with yellow bay leaves
and banana slugs, 

upon which sycamore's
phosphorous furnace

illuminates the sun's

chlorophill catalysts.

Take me to

the mountainside

to face life's struggles

with sweat and pride.

Quiet

In the quiet
I listen for you

I reach for the filament
Through the firmament



Of course you are not there
Not really



But when I can touch It
Something moves



A vibration of
Our oscillations


Your scintillation
my conflagration



And then
in the quiet



all the unrest
has burned away.

by any other name, she still smells sweet

 Here is a poem for my breast cancer survivors:

such a bloom to caress, a velvet mew.
stems uphold, even cut through.

thorns exposed, outside of you.
nectar infused, elixer to renew.

water to quench, in droplets of dew.
rosebuds to kiss, one
or two....!

(for some reason, our photo upload for Tuesday Toes doesn't work tonight)

So Tired

Shut down.
Slip into
a shallow slide
under your sternum.
hide in a corner.
unseen, and
unheard,
if you breathe slowly
enough
so that
no one will know.
sigh under the stars.
those heavenly
embers attracting
and soothing
as they die their radiant death
before the swirling
tendrils of smoke
snuff out.

-just one of those days, surrounded by people, work, and noise.  Too tired to feel in the end.  Tomorrow is another day!

Go to the mountain. Friday 55 non-fiction

Breathless, each stair,


the vision’s so clear.



Painful ascent wracks ribcage,

setting pace, atmosphere engaged.



Alpine carpets off-trail:

buckwheat, sage inhaled.



Waterfalls’ silver-orb strands

streaming through hands.



Ripple-mirrored lakes'

moonlit fish-wakes.

River’s rush

conjures sleeper’s hush.



Reawaken with a gusting slap

against the tent-fly flap.



Come to the mountain for air,

to breathe, to care.

Amores Armor

-

Wait

alone look

for stars.

Back

to the earth,

orchestrate orbs in apogee.

Beat

a track to distraction

with biped rhythms.

Openly gorge

on the world

each day embryonic and adored.

Laugh quickly

as one freshly weaned,

but hum songs with sages.

Jump into colder currents.

Strain to inhale.

Count every kick.

Bard stallion flanks with thighs

to rock, and climb,

wind down, and be steady.

Roll skin and sweat

into dusty

aboriginal balm.

Drink from a bard’s elixir

and nod
under star companions.

Sunday 160 ode to ee cummings

-
-
I saw a wind


in your eyes

evanescent thermal

on my cheeks

tossing air

in each hair

slap-stung

hissing grains

yield transient blows,

unrelenting,

waves’

sussurant wishes

In a breath of time

In a fog out of a fire


Circular myopic un-centeredness

Repeating recycling reminiscing rehearsing

Gazing blocked by a gauze veil.



Blurred vision in a smoky haze,

Only seeing my navel and toes.

How beautiful life is

Safely in myself with hindsight.



What if, what about, when again, who will know?

Nowhere, nobody, no-how, nothing.

Tangible life goes on in spite

Answering nothing, answering all.



In my wandering spiral web

Clarity comes when a veil is lifted,

Unannounced, unbidden, unaware until

Instantaneous awareness, and vision’s rippped open.



All is detail, all is color, all is texture, all is thine

None is here, none is permanent, none is mine, all is divine.

Variation and contrast, translucence and iridescence

Outside, over there, otherness, horizonless,



Seeing the soul in a breath of time.


photo: HG Giese

Chimera lost, adventure won

-
A finite line:

finding time.

Timeless climbs

where lessons chime.

Chimera met

as merely a fret.

Fires lit

as youths sit.

Skits read,

once hunger fed.

Freed stars,

asleep in snores,

To swim with snakes

in ice cold lakes.

Like it or not:

rashes? bites? hot?

Not lost, what a find,
on a finite line.

Photo: Santa Lucia Trail, Ca.  Backpacking with young boyscouts last weekend, an adventure!

Meander

I was told that the river Meander in Greece turns and doubles it's path in a convoluted s-shape and was considered a symbol of life's path turning and twisting and circling again, (nothing like the straight line of western society's path of choice. James Cameron (Avatar/Titanic director) quoted native tribal leaders by saying, "tread carefully upon your path, for the faces of your grandchildren gaze up at you" -...or something like that......-
-
I was only meandering until I turned the corner and I found you


In a dreamlike godlike ownership of my life
Following a path
Purposefully Meandering
With you.


Explosions of birth , the highest high
All hopes and dreams and
Power of creativity
Surging
Frightening
Empowering
Bone chilling
We meander
In a dreamlike godlike ownership of life.


How like falling in love is giving birth.
Never so in love
As with this little one,
United
Bonded
Needed
Owned
We meander
In a dreamlike godlike ownership of lives.


Growing and flowing and blown by the winds,
Where does the love go?
A creative but destructive force:
The fire
The pyre
The pit
The abyss


We meander

In a dreamlike godlike ownership of death.
I was only meandering until
I turned the corner and found you
In a dreamlike godlike ownership of my life
Following a path
Purposefully
Meandering
With you
-
-
Dedicated to my husband, 50 today, and to those bloggers who meander onto my words....

time out of mind

-

Slam the car door, leave the house behind.

Leave the job full of injured limbs.

Double and triple check

the odometer gauge and the second hands.

Push a safe pace through the fog,
to breach the clear coastal sky,
to bona fide, heart-pounding evidence:
I breathe, I have arrived.

I’ll hike a new trail, void of ravens,

under heavens, immensely blue.

Time out, silent with herons:

my sanctified time with the truth.

The glorious green and the changing wind

brought anew, the smell of the sea.

But I’ll give them away, to you this time,

today, it’s too much for me.

For when angels ride the skies

to uplift and give you peace,

they’ll show you heaven on earth,

and pull you out of your shoes in pieces.

I’m falling down, just looking around.

I must be out of my mind.

Every step feels like I’m rushing in,

and I do fear what I’ll find.

I need a time-out, just for the day,

but it’s never out of my mind:

time’s too short for all I want,
and I don’t know what I’ll find.

Kite Raptor

To my query whether to:
capture a rapture?,
Mark of the blog
Walking Man said:

“Feel it then let it go
and find a new one”. 
This is a step:

-

Kite Raptor

He works with the fierce winds

the ones we curse on our course

like an arrow overhead

bisecting the highway

attacking a tack against the wind

he crosses the byway.

Stop shivering and sheltering

from the wind whipping through.

Stand in the rage.

Face the fracturing force.

With grounded legs

staked, arms spread

eagle for the ride

grapple and belay

the massive cumulus

passing over us.

-

Sunday 160

How many ways

is fire kindled

a smile spoken

do hands hold

can time expand

might space shrink

in between ordinary

before fatigue succumbs

should a rapture be captured?
-
-


Let Monkey man know if you write a sunday post in 160 characters, spaces included.
Photo by JT Giese, 2010, Shaver Lake, Ca

Space

-
Space

Sets a pace,
To stop the pacing and racing.
It’s a gift
Of time,
Honored entirely as mine.
Intervals
Are for pausing,
Not effecting and causing.
Pattern
in rhythm,
is music, and not random.
Space
Defines the place
Where time becomes a line.
Listening
To the now,
Not the when, or the how.
Silence
Miles apart,
Calms and slows the heart.
Nothingness
Isn’t loss,
For it has no cost.
Encompass
The Celestial All,
Matter is finitely small.
Alone
Without the other,
Rarefies our time together.

Not a 55 Flash Fiction

-

I held her lightly

-
I brushed off the cobwebs
Aired out the closets
Opened the windows and doors.

I hugged my child
Put out his fires
And recounted his Nana’s love.

I held her lightly
listening for her 2nd voice
In the heart of my thoughts.

Although last in the line, I lead
an ‘Orleans-style procession
slowly strumming the Unbroken Circle.

In a blue glazed pot
Hand-Spun and stroked with love
Under a deeply etched sign

I set her down lightly.