NaPoWriMo 2016 #22

flowers 016

Mother Earth, we come to you in the only way a child knows … with water and spoon … imagination and rain boots … incense and honey, as our offering … It has always been child’s desire to plant a new tree … in place of every stump we see … wishing for the all seeds to grow … we save and store those we see dwindle … to gather and learn signatures … with our crayons and colored cloth … We sing the songs of creature care … chanting through the moon as she phases … serve the season well and dwell beneath your reasons … spring must wait as it is, dealt and due … forgive us for those who trespass so … who dig your flesh, who mine your soul … we are but your children of Father Sky … left behind when time ran dry … Someday all shall dance, hand in hand … upon your sweet shell shores … in the meadow green lands … on mountain tops and valleys low … Remembering, One peace, One love, One cause for all … that our purpose as your children … contains no dross.

© 2016  cdd All Rights Reserved
Photo Credit © 2016  cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #14

{off prompt}

1454625_634342436609043_570995081_nOpen and Close of Day

The sunrise is the hue of pink champagne this morning … the blessed first light most favoured breaths taken of the day … it’s blush, chasing a thin ribbon of periwinkle towards the evacuating night … the shyest whispers of The Phoenix’s burnt orange and cinnabar tail feathers … peak out into the ocean of space patiently awaiting for it’s moment to eclipse the bladed grass’ shadow dance … a brief lived reign in which an eleventh atmospheric parallel remains …  stolen from pain … Now, as I sit resting at days near end … the West has swallowed up the day’s lantern … lichen wash water of the subtlest green shadows … hold court behind the paper cut wall off  trees and time … the sky has chosen aquamarine for his duster … and marble cake of violets kissing  coral  remains as his waking tea … ’tis ever the fewest moments of hushing as the night’s shield approaches … he hides behind this ancient armor watching Venus awaken … yawning in her sea spun gown of illusion to meet again  the suitors of evening tide … spoken of as Everafter, this is a peace all may know … closed eyes and a deep inhale … the music of souls becomes unmistakable.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

The prompt tonight was to use a fortune cookie saying in some way in our poem. I keep all my fortunes in my purse. Odd little quirk of mine. This is one of my favorites, Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere.

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

2015 - 1 (2)

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere. “, said Miss Ling, as she opened the door for her guest.

“Then I must be a king tonight.” chortled Dishi, ” Quite happy I wore my silk that is best!”

“Please,” she motioned, “come inside. The dumplings are steaming and the rice is already fried.”

“I am hungry !! ” he exclaimed, then felt a little ashamed. “I miss dumplings since Mother died.”

“You are our honored guest tonight, Dishi. I made your Mother’s dumplings special for you.” Miss Ling took his arm as he deftly offered.

In they strolled, friends rose in welcome, amidst candle light, aromas, and a table full of delicious coffers.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

Photo Credit: https://www.papermasters.com/zen-buddhism.html

NaPoWriMo 2016 #8

Let There Be Love

 

May the children in the morning rays,

Remember love will always stay,

In their hearts if they are gay,

As they grow not forgetting to play,

Let There Be Love.

 

May our brothers come together fast,

Building bonds of strength to last,

A creed defined across all caste,

Molded from the ghosts of visions past,

Let There Be Love.

 

Will sisters struggle arm in arm,

Heal at last and do no harm,

Beat the drum fighting back the swarm,

Grow hearts at home and fruit upon the farms,

Let There Be Love.

 

And when at end of day we rest,

Bring kindness, joy, and peace to test,

Care for Mother Earth’s children best,

For We are seen and We are blessed,

Let There Be Love.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

This is my wish for you all today and every day. May we all be as One and May there be Love.

 

 

NaPoWriMo #4

The Cruelest Month of All
Mankind, in all his glory, found it fit to define time … to harness the blessed abandon grace, happening holds not the witness’ wine … with this his attempt to break the spirit of flow, as to bind it to reasonable heights … declaring triumph over vast mountain peaks, some feat above ordinary minds … he swallowed sound, clabbered chaos, indoctrinated the blind … appointed gears, false hands, gold plate, and instrumental chimes … to replace the cycle and rhythm of Mother Nature’s mind … 13 months he set forth to enslave, those he deemed to be lower class … to serve, to rape, to plunder, to gash, the freedom of universal design … in shackles and chains live man, woman, and child, their intellectual seasons now 4 by 3 … to cause cellular holidays to be bred out of the beast … forming worker hives and thought numb disease … man is the cruelest to man you see, no matter what month it be … a fabricated semblance, a mere slight, of all we were meant to be.

May we awaken once more … moment by moment.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

 

NaPoWriMo #3

Dearest Mr. Cohen,

I came to your music quite late in my life,

Pardon me, but this couldn’t be helped,

I was born a little too late for my soul in nineteen sixty-four,

By this time in your life you had already seen,

The stitch, purpose, and the cosmic inseams,

What about life and why we use words,

Having been placed so strategically.

Yes, I am American born, wishing more understood,

The depth and compassion, you’ve given the world,

I guess it is true, as I’ve always been told,

I just have a flower girl’s soul,

For my inner child knew, when first I heard you,

As a poet, as one of the wilde,

You spoke from my heart, so true.

I’ve listened, I’ve learned,

I’ve read and reviewed,

Studies your portrait a million times through,

Held the words you have offered,

The naked soul you shared often,

And, yes, I argue with God too.

You kept it simple so much of the time,

No need to make burdens or bruise,

You made it so hard, you tore it apart,

Just for a reason to use up the glue,

You planted weeds and harvested flowers,

Boquets of glass, caskets for those who choose,

How we live at times, to merely taste the hues.

You’ve taught us of love’s emaculate embrace,

Kissing war of the foot though with distaste,

To sing for our sister’s freedom and grace,

Even though our counting beads are worn,

On hands stealing bread, feeding mouths of babes,

Your strong laughter lives in our pink hallways,

We shant ever forget your face.

You examined all our heros, and the heroins relaced,

Immortalizing these fragile poets promise with your praise,

Others dared not walk that space for lack of courage spent,

You, Leonard, took the dark wood’s path with lampless gallows,

For there is the greatest danger in lighting a smoke,

When your clothes are soaked in your truth and gasoline,

Opening all of the closets at once with no conical of refrain.

With Sharon you’ve breathed life into woman, Glorifying She in the fullness of the Self,

In Her truest beauty, Her sins, Her nakedness, or your word gowns,

Tis how we find our compass all so often, music being all we have,

In the temple, in the bedroom, in the grass or flowing fountain,

The melody seeks the melody hands dancing passion’s play to love,

This seeking ever draws us home in the end if we listen long enough.

To thank you overly, Mr. Cohen, for the songs and poetry,

I know that’s not your particular style, So, I’d like to say I am grateful, friend.

For your journey being such as it has been,

For your sharing, for your great smile, your diligence, and the quest,

The risk you took in searching so deeply, inside your wounded Self,

For Suzanne, Boogie Street, and Master Song, (to barely name a few)

for every drop of yourself you gifted.

Sincerely,

Carla Dawn

© cdd All Rights Reserved

Wuxia Honourably Armed

The edge of the bamboo grove is still the eye of the storm spinning roulette in my crown caravan wheels … I sit on Tara’s throne in the cup of a lotus blossom and wait … it has been two thousand years since my oath was taken … it has been only six days since the last battle was waged … my wounds are healing … the rainbow comes each morning to nurture me in the colors given by the master of creation … at times there are seven shades … at others seventy hues of the heavens … yet, more warriors than not can only perceive The Absence or The Light … I soak in the Rain of the Father who brought these children … his Bride nurses my wounds with her herbs and spittle … All is silent in this glimpse beyond witnessing … my construct of sheltered shamelessness … where the voices of the atmosphere are all one hears … until it is time again to listen for the whimpering of battle … to engage … until slightness perceives a wrestling along the lines of demarcation … between peace and those who cannot surrender their slit soaked war … I am honorably armed and thus, I rise to bear the sword of my soul once again … blood thirst emotion not yet mastered … my humans unable to lie down the spear and saber even when the helpless slaughtered can be seen … I seek them beyound the gates of illusion … their Nirvana hidden in the storm clouds the bamboo grove swirls beneath … I face the Void wuxia as was the Buddha.

© C.D.D.AllRightsReserved