More ?

Art work credit: Bloodletting by © CanisAlbus

More …
Tis all I find above sullen skies to sate the Spirit’s climb,
In salty seas to spice the dining of craven hunger bowls,
On Earth to fodder flower, fain, or fauns away from Winter’s stole,
Saving graces by only thine, my fires consumption burns whole,
This Soul of mine was rebuked to despair’s hellish holes,
For the labour of Sin Eaters is seldom seen for its gold,
Until death and decrepit darkness announces me rendered,

As She or Her at last,
So, yes please, … bleed me until I am blind.

© 2017 cdd all rights reserved

 

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Tunnel… I’m not the only one …

A lake lies dead … sickness fills its gills at the ice’s edge … hurried clutter and cramped fur decaying abide … an open mouth surface sucking blue gill seeking the blessings of summer air … a litter moisture white flake scatter of two foot fair channel cat and their grass carp brothers in arms … they were ships in their former life … now barely magnetic worth in a pond of a sea … the eagles land when the strength of winter holds fast against the sun’s wobble spun proclamations … they fill their purposes with craven mouthed worm gills from death’s cold clay …

As for me … I exist on kindness and crackers … the coffee of other’s honest obituaries and funeral home basement sugar cube seven year old powdered cream misunderstandings … oatmeal cookies the Basset hound found forgotten or meant shared later to maddened murder, a mayhem with smiling songs … the children, they are passing as well … one by one of strange prophecies, illness or curse … poppets perhaps, directed to eat my hair while I sleep  … dreaming of lovers just beyond the shores of all my ancient oceans … spells to banish boogeymen some dare to own twice … I care not pardon those who choose to sacrifice the seeds to save fruit left un-harvested, un-hailed, and impotent to glory’s grace in exchange for a moment’s licking fire parade of id or ire, either shamed … Will I burn in some fresh hell for this confession that my love of all transcends my love of self ? … I may … Comfort sends me postcards from those who will join me and we plan our potlucks, vegetarian and cruelty-free whenever possible …

Does The Creator seek religion each time war seems endless between his unruly children ? … Did The Christ child within the man looking toward the heavenly home in prophetic hues of black betrayal ? … Is this why we have cultivate flower gardens … to pay for our inability to not break the truth that he came here to show us … that our love could save him … not the obtuse … each day he breathed the bait, yet, remained for Love is the ghost and the game, the trial, the cross, the only healing shot in the veins … driving the damaged onto a frigid tile floor of some convenient store … both have forgotten why at times … toilet water dipped in pain’s stains to thin the sap he gifted those too beautiful to remain whole … once the illusion slipped the remains of memory into the shape shifting phos-copper flames of lotus elixirs … our silver brazed brass glands gasping outside the rain … no end, nor order, never hope to hold the few remains of perishing chased scissor lace … cirrus clouds which banish the bane of dagger thrust sanity …

Meanwhile, … here I am ever weaving webs of light in the corners of Bethlehem … the Spirits of my Grand Mothers ever guiding my hands … tears spun to likened lamp oil light only the Holy may see … praying for wishing horses to ride once again … I never cease believing, though there are some things my heart desires blindness to …

© 2017 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 #12

{off prompt}

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You can’t tell by looking at her … though the signs are beginning to show … when she pauses in one place too long … there is a mechanism of self acceptance … the use to gather, grant, and capture on the face or in the eyes … a haunting never seen there before … “she had a look of thus and so” … a patch slightly to the right and down a bit from her smile … checkered promise of a wrinkle … telling ten months from now … that she didn’t eat today either … from the outside it all looks like blue jeans and suede boots … comfort from the Goodwill reject piles … a bright smile some claim is not her own … and that crazy hippy wild child abandon … if you can catch her riding red horses along the shoreline … it all seems a little less sad … for the children of light are running behind her … urging her not to leave her begging bowl behind.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved
Photo Credit: The Progressives Influence

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 2016 #6

NaPoWriMo 2016 #6

Sentient beings are starving on Earth tonight,
As the sun says, “Good night” to the moon,
The moon asks,”Good day?”, the sun turns away,
“Too many were lost in the fray…”
The moon sadly witnesses what he had said,
Brother Sun then is off to his bed,
In Brazil street dogs are begging for bread,
In Africa too children ate poisonous grains,
In America dumpsters are raided for meals,
Long before the school day has begun,
Everywhere under the bridges they shared,
What the soup kitchens lovingly brought,
In the flop house, there wasn’t a crumb,
In train stations coins in cups are sought,
To try to make it through one more cold night,
A hungry baby was left on a church step,
The money went in a needle instead,
Elderly shared a can with their dear pets,
It was all the food they could afford,
While stray cats wish for warmth and a dish,
They settle for anything they can kill instead,
Jane quit school to work the mean streets,
So little sister could go to Grade 9,
Dick drives a truck for the food pantry folks,
They were there for him when he was a boy,
Once again they came when his mother passed,
Soon Dick will have kids of his own,
Food is the one thing all of us need,
No matter where or how we’re defined,
Reach out your hand to someone in need,
You’ll be more thankful when you have to plead.

© 2016 cdd all Rights Reserved

#NaPoWriMo 26 For Whom is the Honey Made?

Why does the bee labour so?

Why do the blossoms come?

Why has the honeycomb stood?

So long in this trusted wood?

For whom is the honey made?

For man, for beast, for micro mind?

For metamorphic clocks of time?

Why have we come to drink our own?

And murder so the host that binds?

For whom is the honey made?

Ask yourself, while there is still time.

#NaPoWriMo 26
© 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved