NaPoWriMo 2016 #7

(off prompt today)

Loosing Neo’s Compass

Is loosing the belief in our own ability to transcend …  the darkness in which we may force love to abide … the greater lose felt as we witness … our Self begin to pass through our own palms … sands so parched for care and kisses now … the oceans fear their request to be quenched … lest the salts should harden as do hearts … the grains never reaching landfall … from between pressed and parted fingertips … the breeze kidnapping their crystal core magnetic North … carrying them home again … we shall all return to Zion in the end … or, accordingly, to the Hell of our own making … would we choose a higher love having known this ? … bound ourselves in the vows of watery devotion alone ? … leaving trust behind in the armoury ? … sacrificial lovers lips are the only truth we can sell … to keep the condensation of lies from drowning us … Are you dodging bullets yet, my darling, in your playtime black leather coat? … Me? … I am dancing to the endless silent beats of Zion’s sleepless drums.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

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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

#NaPoWriMo 28

I am going to choose to stay in love … it is what makes me happy … not for the reasons you might see … or the way in which you would think I should … I wish to stay in love with life … with the way the moon rises each and every night … to look forward to each Spring after the long weary Winter … knowing their is a week in which the iris will bloom … and I will be able to experience their blessed scent … to empower others and keep myself uplifted, learning, growing, sharing … even when the struggle of life is uphill … I’m in love with art and music and dancing alone at times … stargazing, wishing, and asking for a child’s second chance … I dream of planting a new rain forest of trees, writing a million poems, and remembering everything I can that is good about believing … saying each three times … I am choosing to stay in love … because love’s power heals me with every brilliant new sunrise … more than I could have ever known.

#NaPoWriMo 28
© 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right 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

#NaPoWriMo 25

The virgining leaves tremble in the morning’s essential breeze … Dawn awakens to chase the chill of Night and warm the liquid light bodies of snail and tree frog … the slip and candid fasten frail tendrils of all blossoming vines open their awareness … unfurling the paper white fragility of their dance petal symphony … nodding head mosses stretch through the drench of dew bonnets upon their  sleepy heads … as the iridescence of their quartz footings kiss the Master good morning … “It is in your light, I find my freedom” they whisper softly … bluebells opening their life giving sweet songs written in the law of true unconditional love … this mystery turns in the gathering morn … we human have long forgotten … soon, the morel stands witness …

 #NaPoWriMo 25

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

#NaPoWriMo 23

I am the needle … said Soul and you my magnet … Let me thread you with the silk of my aching desires … I will dead pan plumb the gravity line of your afflictions … Roll the lacing thusly thrice, the Knot of Wisdom catching in blessed assurance the tatter edge of mend~less muscle … Between the stippled patterns inquire, where the cog line binds … Bathe me in myrrh, wine, and Balms of Gilead … that I shall be suchered into your heart … We becoming as One burning engorged vessel …polarized by the spiritual compass of the Holy Ghost and the fire of mechanistic mystics …

 #NaPoWriMo 23

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

Un~Forgiven #NaPoWriMo 17

It was you, dark glint of Love’s light, who asked to see my palm … who read it , sight unseen, through the fiddle back fronds of forever after … the razor edge of your finger nail slicing my fate line in two … it bled like a fermented pomegranate eager to burst from it’s rind … becoming shell in the eons it had waited for you to sky blind seek and find me … to love even at the risk of one’s own life is to coin change purse the soul, my love … Baba will only laugh as my coins tumble glinting in the noonday’s sun … gold, silver, and copper chiming the song of the universe on their dancing down the stairs … “Truth, Love, and Simplicity ” alone … how could I have forgotten myself so easily ? … to relinquish my vogel of protection and hand my wings to you tied with pretty ribbons … the grey spade you gave me and requested I start digging … I knew it was a grave even then, yet for whom? … My Self or My Sister … she has eyes who hold a hundred hollow horrors … oh, the displeasure of being my sister’s keeper … either way we are un~forgiven by you … for not handing over the keys to some Verita’s phantom maze … I fall short of a feather gaining passage on your barge tonight … Thus, I shall run with the dog men at the river come dusk … and bleeding blue from the canker and the bramble dust … sham shackle home to beat the dawn, to greet the dead in soul, in heart, and in dread.

#NaPoWriMo 17
  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved