Poem: 17


One more sick

abandoned child

take Lucifer’s hand

and go Heaven up

to rain down wild

with hate no heart

Your Mother left dark

Father a hole

nothing you took

would fill your soul

The world now turns

17 lighter

Shattered and sadness

killing the gladness

Add to the countless

that suffer their fate

The spirits gather round

holy disquieting gate

for they wait

in bloodless shock

as the next enter

their flock

 

 

 

 

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Poem: Chains


Years a slave

finally walking free

mud-caked down dirty shoes

dragging home

Will the soul ever sing on key

after bent down beat work

freedom is loaded

heavy with ropes

pulling on out

but ever tying

things tight low hopes


Forty years in Penitentiary

then hitting the street

smelling the air of

humanity

Bars and walls now left behind

the etching of punish

carved carefully through time

The binding gavels

final thud to close

the pathways forward


And words and words

to wound and cut

much bloodier than what

a gun can shoot

Inside the body disappears

untilĀ  it seems to be

just hollow fears

Fly away or gather others

yet sounds still linger close

will any time

seem anew

and recapture the ghost


Slave, prisoner and abused

can liberate some day

and wanna walk hard away

from hellish past

with head up and

chains left in a rusting mass

 

Poem: Choices


Howling thoughts in my head

lying awake in my bed

my soul is filled with silent dread

Walking in the night alone

the trees can’t speak but can only moan

it seems the world is stripped to bone

Figures hide behind every door

and seeing kindness is no more

times of love have turned to lore

Where has all the beauty gone

the lovely eve and blazing dawn

humans now are all just pawns

They had the chance to save the earth

to clean their mess and show their worth

and instead of killing choose re-birth

But time slipped on and they lost their way

most figured it would happen on another day

so in the end sweet home was left to pay

***

In my mind I know this is not yet true

yet slight is the chance to make it new

bring back life to this planet blue

As time is running out for you and me

for every animal, bird and tree

It’s all our jobs to set us free

Poem: Re-Human


How to be open

when life is caving in

or to give

when so much

is taken

The fires are lit

and souls are drowning

the earth is folding in

on itself

trying to get away

Transcendence

left at the

footprints

of Gods

who have abandoned

We are now

left alone

to swirl in our own

chaos

or to beg

for them to create us

again

 

Poem: From Within


Skin

carrying scars

picked at by fretful fingers

The loss of heat

or

vacuum suck of cold

(interwoven at times)

left on integument ripples

trying desperately to hide

bone wrapped melodies

played on organs

finely tuned by fingers

fretful fingers

of the merry minutiae

on drifting cells as the float by

Song of the soul

Hum of the heart

Picking at a piece of the part

the smooth skinned shell

to hear the singing chorus

from within this finite enclosure

its voice secretly serenading:

I, too, am here

Poem: I Am Flowers


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I am Snap Dragon

with fire fingers

which have lost their click

 

I am Rose

that has learned to kneel

to hide my height

 

I am Queen Anne’s Lace

now a pauper

begging for freedom

 

I am Bird Of Paradise

wings clipped

roaming the sands

 

I am Tulip

mouth quiet

because no-one will listen

 

I am Bleeding Heart

ever battling

slowly dying

 

I am Iris

forever watching

but never seen

 

I am Freesia

saving your soul

while lost in the night

 

I am Marigold

filled with riches

only a few can see

 

And I Crocus

much as I speak

I’m heard as a toad

 

We are Pink

We are Hellebore

We are Mugwort

And Phlox

 

Touch-Me-Not

for I can never be

reached

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Rainy Days


There is beauty in a rainy day. As the water pours down, soaking the earth and providing the plants with a drink, it can feel luscious to sit indoors listening to the purifying sounds. In a place where rain and storms can be scarce, a full day of heavy showers feels like a gift. The natural cascading cadence coming from the sky easily acts as a lullaby–rocking the unsuspecting book worm to sleep. Curled up under a blanket, the white noise soothes the brain. Soon the eyes will  close and the body drifts off to another realm as the drum of the raindrops beat on.

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It is a natural cycle, the sun and rain, the play and rest. The softer mood and grayer colors paint these moments. It’s slow and inward.

Use it. Lean into it. Even indoors let the rainy days baptize and renew the soul.

The Music Of The Universe


Lately, in keeping with all the inner work I’ve been doing and with the great changes coming out of the last few years of my life, it has naturally moved me back to the more spiritual side of myself. In my past, the spiritual plane was almost equal to the plane in which I lived on a daily ‘normal’ basis. This meant I often felt very in tune with so much more around me and on a much deeper level: people, animals, the natural landscape and of course: the mystical.

Then, the course of my life got in the way, and this beautiful and magical part of my life slipped away  without me really noticing. The spiritual habits that I had practiced left me; all the ‘unexplained coincidences’ that would so often pop up joyfully in my life seemed to disappear and life just became a dull and routine existence.

Like so many of us, the tether to the unknown–to that thing beyond us–(call it what you may), isn’t always there unless you are really looking or open to it. Many just don’t believe, being simply too rooted in reality.

But we all have our own scopes of what reality may be. And I know that my reality had encompassed many things which could not be explained by scientific or simple explanations. You just had to be there to understand. To have faith in the powers and energies that flow. And I did.

So the time has gently begun to seem right, bit by bit, to reemerge within my spiritual self. To put back on my garland crown and flowing robes and step back into the circle once again. And I feel my power returning like an old friend. It was just waiting for my call.

My dreams have been full of visions, visitations and clarity. I use a dream book that I have to help interpret them and I’ve been writing them down in my journal, along with other long and inspired thoughts about my journey.

My interactions with people feel more purposeful and I am often drawn into deep conversations on a sidewalk with neighbors. Seeing people now brings me warmth rather than anxiety and I’m happy to share these moments and feel they are all meaningful.

Most things now feel part of my plan, that I am drawing all things to me. Some days I pick a tarot card to see what it might say, and often it will reflect what I have been feeling during my meditation. That nothing is random: I am creating this reality around me.

It has a been a very long walk to this place of inner peace; to be able to shrug off the demon within each time it threatens to claw its way to the surface. And now that I am dancing on my spiritual path once again, my peace is sweeter: for finally  I can hear the music of the Universe with my whole soul.

Purpose


Does one have to be a Einstein or Picasso or some other famous artist/inventor to have a great passion in life? Or is a great love that drives ones passion in life? What makes a person get up every day with fire in their belly and music in their soul? And why do some of us seem to lack this magical feeling?

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I can look back in my life and know there have certainly been times and people that lit this passion in me. Moments of great beauty and things that I did where I knew I was following my bliss. These flashes of ‘rightness’ were so calming and soothing and made my world worth living. It’s when we know the path is chosen and wherever it takes us, we will learn and grow along the way. We will become bigger, learn and hopefully give back to the Universe too. All the cogs mesh together…and things run smoothly.

But it seems more often than not, for me, much of my life has been devoid of these feelings. There has been more a sense of being lost and off the path. That finding meaning to it all is difficult and that passion is almost not possible. The older I become, the more excuses I find to feel the numbness that surrounds the world around me. There is a fuzziness that surrounds the picture of what I feel should fill that hole.

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The day to day treadmill of sunrise and sunset becomes an anxiety of loss. I will never get those days back–days lacking in color, in meaning, in passion.

So what does one do? If I’m not artistic I can’t suddenly become a musician or painter. And if I’m not brilliant, I can’t find the code to unlock the cure to cancer. How then do I awaken myself?

Life is a beautiful gift, this I do know and I don’t want it wasted (although so much of mine already has been) on much more mundane things day in and day out. While others ask for material gifts, I only want to feel more alive and have a deeper sense of purpose.

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