Journal/poetry entry 12/16/17

 

The cold brings me back, as it bites my bones

To those aching hours spent alone

When the brush of my pen was the only sound

In pages that whispered on frozen ground

Immutable mountains looked down without remorse

A river cut stone in Her sinuous course

And beside her I ran, where a pathway cut clean

Sharpened  my edges, and made myself lean

Hard enough, to stand firmly with ease

Yet soft enough, for my prose to appease

 

A poet disembodied from the roots of her craft

Must make of circumstance a feasible raft

Constructed from metaphor, closer to any truth

Than all the bald faced lie of youth

 

Night winds blow through my shallow layers

A solitary moon receives my prayers

This moment is made to reflect, refract

That ambiguous line between TRUTH and fact

It has been too long, my arrival here

This seat, this home, this blessed year

 

I give you now my friendly eye

This blackened thought, this starry sky

Sit here with me as it grows far too late

Let us ramble… pontificate

It is the time when REAL is relative

To what you are willing, or unwilling to give

What do you stand for, as you stand beneath these stars

Can you sculpt something beautiful from the passage of scars

Or are you a detriment to my current of flow

Have you no mind that seeks the puzzle of prose?

 

In this moment I am shifting, evolving as it were

I make no apologies, I’m not a caged bird

A thought flies now to the roots of the matter

Where shaky insights inevitably shatter

Why always the moment unspoken, un-captured

That holds the ever present rapture?

I try in vain, to convey this wind

How it stirs the plants, the trees, my skin

How cold cuts sharply into my wit

Revolves around the chair I sit

Spinning these words, these thoughts to you

And in this moment the current is true

So I thank you dearly for tossing with me

In choppy currents as I find the sea

As every river does, in its eventual course

With gentle persistence, and awesome force

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To My Readers, With Love

I am at a point in my life where I look back upon my words with envy. Those fiercely written poems of shameless passion and fiery feline deliveries of perspective unique to the naïveté of youth.

Sigh.

I find myself consistently jaded and disillusioned with the world, and that is reflected in my lapse of attention to my blog and writing overall.

I am raising  a toddler which accounts for much of my time, but honestly, my lack of contributions to this page of late has nothing to do with Simon, that is just a lame excuse. I refuse to attribute my lack of writing to my son, because honestly, he has taught me the greatest lessons imaginable which are worthy of pages in poetry and wisdom.

No, the fault lies in myself.

Writing was always a retreat for me, a self-indulgent reprieve from black and white lines of reality, where all could be ONE with a few clever contortions of metaphor.

I find it hard to be there truly in my personal head space while shit is hitting the fan all around me, and I cannot seem to let this shit shit roll off my back like water from a duck- because damnit- this is not fucking pond water it is all the things that made me remotely proud to be an American methodically trampled upon by narrow minded sadistic ego crazed muther fuckers who are now running this country and representing me and my country to the world. Breath. Sigh. No hysterics. I’m backing off. Breath….

what I want to say to you my friends, those poets of mine who are now by this point the only readers to this pathetic artistic outlet once known as the Memory Of Trees, where wind through pages made a rustling of boughs in the wind and warm moss once went questing between bare toes, this blog, this woman, loves you dearly. Those of you who write, I love you I read you and I rely on you. Please don’t give up on me. Your poetry in my inbox keeps me loving, reminds me of those beautiful people out there being themselves with riteous beauty, holds me close when I feel too far away… please stay with me, bear with me, I know I have not given so freely with my words of late, but yours are my sustenance.

Please perservere. Thank you, Aloha, and Ayah to you my sweet peas. You are beautiful.

Coming Home

The bones ache with Autumn this time of year

I creak like two old trees rubbing together

At my feet lay the year’s growth I have casually cast aside

It rustles like pages unwritten in my memory

For I am a tree questing roots into the nameless

Sipping upon waters deep as a mountain

I taste starlight in my inhales of solace

And Terra in my whispers of song

 

I am a moment captured

Suspended in the fractal of a crystal or

Ethereal poem of epiphany

 

I am the Truth and I am the Seeker

I am one more link in the chain of millions

All breathing in this moment with me

 

And I am content

October Sky

Darkness clings as the scent of a lady’s perfume

On the breeze, softly padding by, her skirts rustling like palm fronds

The night is sultry

Sly silver smile of moon beckons from behind the shear veil of an Autumn mist

Then one by one like Salome, she sheds October cloud

Till her wicked grin flashes nakedly in the dark

 

I smile back at her

Filling my eyes as I would two cups of clean water

If I were stranded in a desert

 

The Serpent Road

 

A road wends like a snake in the grass

Without the meataphor usually associated

To reptiles given a bad reputation

This road did not lurk or menace

It lay sunning itself, contentedly

On a hillside painted in lavender hues

Of late blooming clover

 

My feet found it warm, worn smooth

Brown leaves crackle as layers of old scale

Peeling from the serpent’s hide

And they whispered as the winds came ’round

To fondly muss my hair and make the trees sing

 

Years went by in the hum of crickets

Autumn molded my breath

Callouses grew, peeled and grew again

I left pieces of them behind me, shedding my skin

 

Old ones say the Snake Road

Girdles the belly of the world

And I believe that could be true

For I have seen it shimmering in the gloaming

Stretching it’s sinuous curve beyond the horizon

I have tasted the spirit molecule and seen the fractal universe

In the petals of a wildflower

Just Over The Hill, Not Far Away

Hush, my dear one

Come nearer to my stony heart

This mountain of flesh and bone

Here the grass grows greener

Tickles your toes when they are naked

The stream of consciousness is clean, pure of hatred

Please, drink till your thirst for Truth has been sated

Fill your mouth with fruits of knowledge

No apples are forbidden here

The dawn chorus still sings to your blood

In this cathedral of trees and azure sky

The earth is black and pregnant with decay

In Her womb rest the seeds of our future gardens

Where our beans will climb the corn stalks

And our children will climb the chestnuts

 

 

Sea Of lies

Where

In all this turbulent

Turbid

Current

Pulling violently hither and yon

Is the pool of thought still enough

For me to SEE myself?

 

Also

As these waters so agitated

Assault my jagged edges

Am I worn smooth

Or merely

Worn down?

 

Prowling in the deep

I have seen sharks

Silver flashing like a blade

Menacing

And I wonder

For who are those knives intended?

 

 

 

This post is in reaction to the political shit show currently hitting the fan. I refuse to elaborate enough has been said already.

I apologize for being absent on my blog lately it has been hard for me to find that space.