Towhee hops
plip plip
in mown field.
Coumarin scent flagging.
If I could be that plump brown bird,
just this one morning,
I’d sigh in deep relief.
Plip plip
20 Wednesday Apr 2016
Mosaic garden
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.
Pearls
16 Saturday Apr 2016
Pearls lay before you.
Seek corn
and luminescence is not what you’ll find;
gobble your share and be satisfied.
Pearls lay before you,
touch light to see
and knowing will grow.
So it begins
03 Sunday Apr 2016
So it begins
with
but They but They
and the story pretzels and snarls
morphs into a thorny thicket
of
Yes but.
So it begins.
Reaching in with pruners and magnifying glass,
a madness of
I will get clear!
muscles work, tire,
eyes pierce, squint, wrinkle-
strength and a certain Sight grow.
One silent morning arrives
with a way through,
not simply a way through,
a path clear- as intended-
and They
are long gone.
Suddenly, dust still in suspension,
the same pain jolts its head through packed earth
and there’s no
But They
anymore.
Only you.
And so it begins…
At times
03 Sunday Apr 2016
At times, things are like
fumble
fumble
duck
slip
roll
bump
skid
drop
diiiiiive
ta-dah!
your Beauty
29 Tuesday Mar 2016
your Beauty
She’s an inner star.
Her light
dims
with attempts to purchase.
Put away the credit card.
Remember who you are.
The creation of this space~
28 Monday Mar 2016
Posted in poetry
≈ Comments Off on The creation of this space~
Because this was dangling in space and needed to be revisited, I post this a second time- with the contact info.
About:
Rooted, embodied, bound, nourished.
In.
Grace, the Infinite, artful movement, the expression of silence.
A gathering of the ephemeral and the limitless.
A medicine of word.
Welcome. Your presence, and any comments you may offer, are a gift.
Reproduction or use of any of the materials on this site are by permission only. Please send an email if interested~
feralpoetrootedingrace@gmail.com
In gratitude…
The grain mill
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.
Hey Canada
26 Saturday Mar 2016
hello to you in Canada-
yep, you, the one often viewing my page numerous times per day:
what keeps you coming back?
an email address is listed in the about section…
I’d like to hear from you.
{nope, this isn’t a poem. a good day to all you readers. thanks for hanging out ~}
Your next offering
24 Thursday Mar 2016
When things fall apart,
rest.
Pieces
litter the floor,
and probably your heart.
Let them.
A new equilibrium
finds itself
in the passing of light into dark
and back again.
Art gives time
another meaning.
The brokennesses-
curious remnants of another life-
are nothing.
Simply raw material
for the most exquisite
mosaic
and
your next offering
of soul.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 