The precipice of summer lingers …

The precipice of summer lingers lying quietly to the definitions we cling to … ritual eggs brighten rows freshly tilled by plow shears we forged from the last glance our eyes held with the starving peregrines on the ledges of the city towers … their children are dried to hollow dusty holograms … the tapping of a heart’s chain slung carelessly to trip the rainbow’s remains for their want of nurturing spittle … rain too far a distant dust bowl dagger slit in lamb’s wool absorption to quench  … we are vain, almost vulgar, in calling for a holy preservation of the child Self … the yoked sack membrane damp as the due we all crawl through eventually in suckling dread hours … the remainder of stains on duckling cliffs ruby~ing palms and knees … my toes turn in, Leo knows how it hurts, how the martin’s purple came to be … why  can’t we take our hands off the joy stick of illusion long enough to know … giving up creation to create with each other … for whatever time we are afforded by the roadside ditches or in marble mansions … ambling, rambling, or scrambling for its living breath … is by design a worthy purpose …

4-23-2017
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NaPoWriMo 2017 #2

Glory and Goodbyes

The singing of glory songs is common in the tent camp of mutation … come follow the tracks of Snake Oil doctors … their wagons heavy laden with the sins of scam and dereliction toward the eldest, those suffering … learn a trade you can fall back on when your day job is misguided by the prairie fires and dust bowl prayer pamphlets … they will be printed on the backs of recycled WWII Sugar Ration coupons … The day we buried the most beloved elder of our nation he met her at the white man’s roadside … his clothes no more than rags now, the buckskins of his youth shredded beneath the towers of steel and copper indigenous compression, now thought to be his Sunday best black wool teasel brushed … he wore his moccasins in protest … only those with their hearts still aligned with Great Spirit could see them …He had walked to the hard road from somewhere in the shadow of the pines where few ever cared to wander anymore or any less … his thin skinned face telling stories to the rocks and upwards warmth seeking blossoms … as the path of his eyes was only the few steps ahead of where the dust rose in constant presence … cradled in his hand was a hat, not fitting the suit or moccasins yet, trembling for was his heart … as she passed in the gas piston carriage for the final time … he bowed his head with a depth of slightness which even the trees ceased their sway to catch in their branches … centuries rose from the aura about him and his countenance rode on the four winds once again with her … their sacrifices palpable even to the rain who quenched Spirits’ thirsts metamorphosed into the sweetness we each cotton … blessed and forbidden … bringing none the less our choice of flower fair or vain, glory or disdain, is that which meets us each on the final journey home … to love perhaps, as he did secretly … for you have a fairer face to guard and gain … a road to travel in a way for remembrance from which we all came … may all your noble lives remain joyfully arranged.

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

Happy Valentine’s Day, Darling …

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Morning breaks in the red ruddy flames of Dawn’s plumb and blush … sleepless bedlam born have I been with wine stung eyes masked in anticipation … anxious tears wear the dancing crone’s stem in ritual cascades beneath a mighty thundering gather … my skirts are yellow as Rudbeckiah’s petals with cornflower ruffles, polka dotted and gingham in the manner the Phoebe sings … its own joyful soul liquid in trills and moss maiden purposes … It is in his love’s bower my heart keeps spry, wise, and sunrise surprised at what news the blue skink shall bring to window pane … poem and uttered palette knife collage travels through ions on spider web silk succor and chalk painted prayers … beetle dung orb anchored celestial illuminations affixed to his canvas slipping wormhole wobbles with the ancient excrement of all peoples in One skin … this is his Spirit’s time clock and rip cord flying squirrel sun dial, where it’s always the moment of Now … of his most precious choosing … My gladness buds from the rust of city rail and rain gutter drain remains from lord less fools who disdain such beautiful veins … cat whisker chin tickling garden gains thrive where color cast Babbit grains and the granite Adam roams the maze … ever a seeker of a finer faire cause rosy sway … tis noble I say … a cause I sink satin and sword alike in to stay a course worthy of Inanna’s grace … for I love him as soul’s first felt lace in the darkness when reaching towards Light … auric circumference of Luna’s bright shadow … I, ever bitten, brave, and bare throated in happy bondage to love’s priceless surrender.
2/14/2017

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

Button clad agaric caution …

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Button clad agaric caution hosts the greenest compliments the mosses know to braille brush the aspen’s whispers … with surest harmony found beneath the courageous first ice to die in Spring’s frail hands … the steam of your tea pot, bath, and clinging window vapors … The forest path urged me to gain all I could from the shadows and stem of tree tailored light … I nodded not wanting to break your silence.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

PhotoCredit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanita_muscaria#/media/File:2006-10-25_Amanita_muscaria_crop.jpg

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Art Credit: Tomasz Alen Kopera

Now is the briefest passage of the gloaming light … mustard flecked goblin suspensions of Spirit’s absinthe carpet between worlds … mosaic cedar peridot shadows cast craving capillaries to crest upon ethereal shores … we wait … our nakedness hidden behind the frail coats of the illuminated unkindness of Winter … it is not yet ready to trade our smiles for the warmth Pangea may measure with both sunlight and the breath of the stars in their ecstatic chants to Baba … the forest is brief in its mating … all above and below tis sacred glow revealed as it once was … not as we made it so … bark and branch as kindred kings carrying lark, lichen, moss, and lamp likened skies of pure pervading glory …  in the turning cast, the evening’s shadow, fauns a delicate blanket of faery tales yet unwritten … lovers await the deepening safety, the negral of night … to taste the darkness of surrender’s kiss …

© 2016 Cdd All Rights Reserved

Please visit this link for more of Tomasz’s astounding art work. Support the Arts They are the foundation of our freedoms. Blessings, Carla Dawn

http://www.tuttartpitturasculturapoesiamusica.com/2013/01/Tomasz-Alen-Kopera.html

© Tutt’Art@ | Pittura * Scultura * Poesia * Musica |

NaPoWriMo 2016 #26

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 the world did it’s level best …

to drive a wedge between us …

it was all in vain …

for my favorite pastime has always been …

listening to your heart beating in my ear …

this is where all my dreams originate …

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #24

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Love is All I Know

Love is all I know in this dear and frail heart of mine … it seems I spat and fight the flow … in truth tis’ those who styptic blood’s freedom … which see me as cumbersome or bold … in truth I want to like the fan unfold in morning sun and bitter cold … to wrap my leather likeness shield absorbing … your skin into mine as if to dine upon the salt I’d find … protest is festering wounds of old thorn tangled midnight bolts … from capture, creature, torture told … beneath pink blankets when the moon is bold … and our nakedness was nothing but warmth to heal childhood  … my nostrils spun flower baths and poppy seed cakes drown with butter … let it grease where it may for it knows the way … and lips lag not but  follow … I loved you such as this when the moon chose any phase … my soul carved out draped on the maze … the light lilies lean then follow …  I gave you all my seeds and spawn from darkness to the gallows … yet, you remained a God in presence prayed … now, I shall drink the shallows … I love you … Ever I shall from a star you dare not see.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved