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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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

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Holy Vapors

4102464783_9d1fc299a0_oMary in a Roman Catholic Church in Chicago

I had forgotten what it feels like to breathe … taking in lungfuls I could claim as my own … for the moments we had held them … the utter thoughtless exchange, otherwise now a dwelling stay … I’ve been giving it away so long … to anyone who will take it … or was it to anyone who would let me have a dram … does it matter what caused the stain when a cancer is the day’s remains ? … he said he saw all my pain in the betrayal of my soul’s window panes … suffocated lambs behind them lain in poultry rows for counting games … shims and shacks, shake and shame … the balance of the blade became soft once I realized … air left volume to perception’s choice … to the dreaming city sinking sea bound at the break of a new eon … terrible in the white blaze it wrought before us …   we held cirrus clouds in our cheeks just then, inverted O~ring memories … praying to undertake the glorified transfiguration and not become their Holy wafer … but the vapor, each breathe seeks to pass across in death.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved June 11, 2015

A Prophecy

 

The peacock’s latch and key feather frames of the boundless Benoit Mandelbrot refraction within the eyes of our most ancient antecedents … splay meringue spread fully fan … an altar ripe reason to carry him vestibule varied to the temple … upon thrones of Rose of Jericho come from foreign deserts to blossom in privileged honor … their fern frond palms out stretched and moist with the duty of their birth … the children are gone now who had come plant blessings …  frond to tiny button finger tipped palm and prayer pressed as messengers of The Light … it is with this blessed assurance the footmen arrive to carriage the Lord home again , “Light as a feather and stiff as a board ” … they move the sand thrones of deserted time … his tail of a thousand eyes following behind to ward and wary a protective parade … against all spiritual poisons of those who desire to merely fest on the flesh and deem pot block the sins of others … boiling their intestinal fortitude into cloyed purple confections pate for their supper … hearts can beat without bowels and skin as well … suck the marrow of our roasted bones, cheese the brains as you care, to our sorrows swim in the blood of pools you gathered when slain the strutting Self you dared … the colors you scent all in your sighted worlds, your pox blankets and whiskey, your lands and treaties … we are like the peafowl we carry our colors within … do as you will, you can, you may, and you choose … the farther you tear at us the more light you shall find … shrouded in Crone and Warrior, Wisdom and Hag, Father and Mother, Grandmother and Elder … pink and wanting, brought and borrowed, Mother moon spun spelled … All Goddess granted, bright or shelled … your ultimate gift must always be, the part of you She entails.

July 11, 2016 2:30 am
© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

NaPoWriMo 2016 #30

Freedom

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Sweat wand hair triggers press the oil stain of guilt upon life’s innocent … in the scope’s glass the assassin’s eye synced to God’s pupil dilation … reacting only to the dark side of the moon these days … the remainder of the time seeking the light of the angel’s looms … weaving man’s additional moments based on when Leonard Peltier dreams of making love …

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #22

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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 #17

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To be fair as Flora, she … rose, orchid, or lady’s slipper … branching arms embrace with delicate stem … mottled leaf greens, reach for a niche … to raise my bundled bind … slight tendril roots wrap … and his entwine … the flower one with the wooded mind … to companion your sturdy tree … moonlight madd love we shall devise … sweet nectar kissing barked lips … … if my fragrance reaches thee with favour …

© 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

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“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