reception

I was called upon
to light the candles
I arose first
to a voice
in the dark

and listened

Over my right shoulder
and above
whispers
as a breeze
would hum

and falls across my skin
like daybreak

It was not necessary
to know
more than could be heard
and I do not ask
for repetition
as in prayer

for a sign

a flicker as sure as
aglow,
I kept
quiet, in order
to Here myself
saying 'Yes'

while carrying the flame.


Painting by Godfried Schalcken, c. 1670-1675 in [Public domain].

Homo-stasis

Let me be beautiful-
but not so much so that it makes me
ugly to others.

Let me know more
than everyone else,
but not so much
that I am to blame
(for everything).

Let me be plugged in
but not all the time,
because it weakens the
battery.

Let me love water
but not so much
I drown myself
for want of it.

Let me take in all
the air,
more than enough
to hold inside.

Let me read every word
that means something
to someone,
let me hear
all the wisdom
that may be
profound.

Let me love.
Let me live.
Let me love life
but not so much
I fear death
for the love of
wanting it.


Painting by Matthias Stom [CC0], 'Old Woman Praying' c. 1630's-40's in Public Domain.

Stuffed Turkeys

Our tradition, silly, yummy and lame-

we perform annually just the same.

Our ears and bellies full,

our cups all overflowing,

spilling out as it were,

endless, lest we forget-

we will eat again.

Forgive us for our acceptance 

of more, when we need less.

We will answer the temptations

with cranberry jubilee, 

high on sparkly, 

giddy in our gluttony.

For ours is a land of adopted fables

and on this one we fill our dining tables. 

With dopey peopled sated smiles,

a quiet table with mouths stuffed,

 corked and gorging, all thankfully mute

knowing nothing more need be said

except perhaps, Please pass the bread.

Image By Steffano Francis Webb [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, circa 1915.

The voice of Carmen Saliare

Plant the words as seeds in me
or show where they go,
plot me, my empty well,
pour into me
I know how to grow.
I am listening with my body,
stretching my energy out
heat seeking rain driving clouds
another way, the unexpected conditions
are idyllic...
The thousands of times I've dug deep
soiled and toe knuckles white
barely holding on to your vortex-
pinned, I lay limp, naked and fruitful
before you
go, awaiting your thunderous appeal
to higher senses, save the lightening
for those needing epiphanies.

Plant me the identity 

too vacuous and strange
to encourage, to make, to plan
words with acumen and divergence-
Yours, Condemned.


Image By Dlls publicdomaindedication.com (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Stone Cold Sky

There's so much pressure on the

                                          baby's breathe blue sky.

To have all the answers-Everybody always looking up

                                           asking you Why?

How should You know, as if a cloud should care-

                                            wisps a front your steely blue glare.

Expecting a sign to calm our moody blues.

There are no strings attached, no installed lines,

                                              cables, or speaker phone...

Do we even know anyone is Home?

Hope floats, and bubbles burst like wish filled balloons;

In your hospitality, you incinerate for fun.

This weightless reasoning; a burden undone

Looking up sounds good-one cannot deny,

                                              and if I were to take a shot, I'd try.

How you'd answer I can fathom not-yet this one immense thing

                                              burning aglow inside-I'd like to know

if you could just throw me a line or show-

how long do I keep holding on

                                              to your alabaster air?

Image of painting by John Martin [Public domain], "Eve of the Deluge", 1840 via Wikimedia Commons.