29 Friday Apr 2016
A watermelon, round.
A sword,
heavy-hilted, ornate, decisive.
Raise the blade,
two-handed,
and drop sharp steel through rind,
flesh,
rind;
Sacrifice the god of nice.
Free her from the bondage
of acceptable mediocrity.
Spill seed,
honor sweet juice.
Initiate of destruction-
break open the tidy container
or
she will rot,
denied of her original gift.
This inborn generosity
invites feast.
Fill your belly.
19 Tuesday Apr 2016
The most dangerous words
she spoke-
“…but he has a really good heart”-
a knife
cutting her own heart out
in sacrifice to his.
A ritual, repeated,
a trance-beat of the drum
thrum pum,
only not for something holy, as imagined,
but for destruction.
The cold knife now shattered-
dropped gleefully from great height-
is planted in pieces in the mosaic garden.
Among lush green and fiery blooms,
metal glints in sun’s eye
as earthly reminder.
27 Sunday Mar 2016
Stretches
(or pockets,
or loop-de-loops)
of time
(meaningless time)
in transition
with sensations of being ground
in the grain mill,
where would we be without them?
In a blistering wind
anger rises and hands us the energy
to do away
with a trail of uselessness hitching
to our backsides.
(Why were we dragging that marriage/house/walrus again?)
Without halting in mad winds
who jostle our brains and
send hairs flying
we’d not have noticed the 872 pounds
of shit
attached to our spines
which
we can now let go of.
Hallelujah for stopping
to strike the match of compassionate flame
and throwing it on
a tinderbox of ancient nonsense.
15 Tuesday Mar 2016
Being a canvas
life- God- paints upon,
wouldn’t you say it’s only right,
natural,
to celebrate
each bit
from soft eye, scar,
scratch divot curve and curl,
shorter leg and smaller foot
to brisk brilliant sneeze?
Divine art doesn’t exactly
deserve
a critic like you-
or that guy from the coffee shop-
in the end,
does it?
28 Sunday Feb 2016
We played with our shadows on the far riverbank,
and danced to droning rhythms under redwoods,
my sister and I that night.
Nothing we couldn’t touch, that didn’t touch us,
with laughter, stars and river song
mixing our blood
and pleasing our bones.
Out of mud and desire,
family creates itself.
11 Thursday Feb 2016
I want the peace of the dark
and first mad blushings of light,
silent cloud bellies bursting orange
and a sky gone turquoise.
I want the bare of my feet,
upside-downness of skin,
pressing moist, giving earth
and birds to flit past in dim cool.
There’s not too much to sing,
only just enough
to recreate forever.
09 Tuesday Feb 2016
Possum climbs,
turkey flies,
mountain lion scales
the world tree.
Let not the abstraction keep you
from seeking roots and canopy
joining here and now
to everything.
Rainbow’s colors extend beyond the range
of simple sight.
Ready your claws, flutter the brush tips of your wings,
and remember dangling from a curled tail
is familiar as waking with morning light.
Bark against fingertips,
each with their tiny circle of identity,
will become a welcomed roughness
softening into skill.
20 Friday Nov 2015
I monkey with words,
try on hats, new songs, clashing cloth,
break the rules, knowingly and not.
Sometimes, roller skates and wings work
with a red feather boa-
unless it’s too long
when snagging it under a wheel
becomes potentially lethal.
Swinging from trees, throwing vowels like bananas,
and whooping it up in the jungle
means
I’m not likely to be invited in for caviar.
No problem,
I’m having too good of a time out here
singing beneath the stars.
06 Friday Nov 2015
following the first rains,
earth perfumes the head
as damp and bay laurel and redwood rise skyward.
ferns unpin their curls at the feet of oaks.
kite and crow skirmish loudly
high above the crown of yellowing sycamore.
the river’s voice returns-
live music is never the same twice.
21 Wednesday Oct 2015
Normal
is a right angle.
One squares with a norm.
So what,
what are you doing
breaking your spine
to fit the shape
robbing you of seductive curves?
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 