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lunarfae714 · 7 years

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more poems, a few seasons past

how lucky to have breath

stop & ask why we live

question our structures

question human history & wor ship

find out we know nothing.

just be.

an open container

for Spirit.

***

twenty Worn tetherballs

off-the-chain

in the plain view of

concrete charade

people in heavy metal boxes

on wheels shrugging off

piss-stained balls

in unmarked yards

i wonder if you

saw the roads,

high ways

concrete carplays

in the colors of the mental play

of each driver

would they be

colorful, or still grey?

grateful or stray?

what strain of gasoline

fuels the minds

of mindless drivers

what excites us

while our earth decays

who makes our day

when the culture is so far away

from deep roots,

holding neighbors' hands

taboo

what can we plant

& grow too?

return to our mother

to our tribe.

together,

without divide.

possession at the rainbow gathering.

sacred fire

not so sacred afterfall

as the village dissects the chip

from the backside of her ear

she stops talking to rosemary-

who haunts her waking,

green eyes that travel

like a bouncy ball,

lost

muttering

paranoid

in a void.

***

let these hands transform

to portals to open doors

from playing the piano of dirt,

sparking fruitful dance of the earth

Gaia feeds us when we feed her

when we pour out love, it comes back in

we let another cosmic spiral begin~

to serve our creations of the now~

for our hearts, our ears, our old souls

in strange flresh want to be stirred, not shut down

conduct our hands & our throats

as intruments of Light, sailing the eternal boat

help us let go of illusions of fear,

discomfort, darkness we know

help us let Go

the light comes in nothingness

it comes in silence

our shared dream

our family

our energy

recycled & renewed

cleansed with intention

our energy reflects

infinity.

***

pictures for what

at the sevensacredpools

high rockpiles

tourists drenched in neon

not stopping to be

but to get a photograph.

as the water that freefalls

with the wind, the breath

of the Sea & i came

by foot, naked under a raincoat

to watch the sky sitcom,

color show,

highfive cows

on the silent jungle road.

the sole palm on the mountain

anal, how we can be selfish

not giving all we can like the

monkeypods give the wind,

the rain gives the stream,

we plant the seeds for our earth

or ourselves

what is really greater

its

obvious

and yet

we destroy it

but the pictures are pretty

what moment is worth capturing

when memory distracts us

from growth?

glorify the photo

the still

eternal film

identity

how can we be fre

from our memory?

***

newyearseve at the potfarm

when we broke the wood splitter

after sunsets

cum & dirty animals

on the trail

fingering a carcass

shoegaze & bodyshots

on couches that aren't ours.

& the girl on the phone

asks what i'm doing with

my poetry degere

***

when i am blind

i can really see

how the sun reflects the rocks on the shore

a million suns line the sea

& mother moon takes up half the sky

the light is grand when i can see.

***

plate lunch

found bliss in darkness

you are the white light in my dream

when our chests align

divine

runs through our body line

celestial

nightlightning strike on

these cages of flesh

these brains

of judgment &

fear, weight

evaporate

with the light

angel

when i am only

white light

charged

full-body-bliss

the game creatures of the system

fully charged

to give the white light to

next emotional vagabond

the sleeping dream is

the waking dream

and we are the fingers to turn the switch

kitttens in the palm of my hand

detachment meditation

the ever-moving train within

we become the beauty

of earths afternoon rainsong

bamboo creaks of delight

aesthetic throatsing

sweet simplicity of hot water

and ginger.

the bowl sings

when the wind moves

over our head.

remove the mask

and truly see everything.

***

12.29.16

above the monkeypods,

touched by south-blown aire,

the breath of old-man Saturn

we wait among

nebulas of cyberlit selfiesticks-

modern self-sacrifice--

wait for the moon to rise--

to wait

a lost practice

in the fast-paced

outer-space

instant-gratified

culture without gratitude.

wait

on layers & layers

of sacred stone.

present-

with the knowledge

inside these bodies

we were once the hands

that carried the stone,

the bled freely,

that knew the reflections

of the planetary drama:

the sky-show on Earth

the sacred Nature

& geometry of it all-

even the rocks wait with us

in our collective breath

in this cloud of illusion

brought by the family

of dragonflies.

1.25.15

the darkness inbetween

flashes of consciousness

like drowning air

the hidden woodpecker

or the muted tree

the distant shotgun

melody, off-key

or how the cobweb tangoes

from the liquid gold

coasulates 5pm power of afternoon sun

a never quiet forest

forever beckoning yet

i forgot the magic

down the tree talk

leave the thumbprint acrons

speared dry pine tears

the worms and the thorns

the rhythmic bubbles

of breath like the hotsprings

fairywands

synsthesia woodspell

mesmerizing & dulled

with my blank stare in the pan

my body that will tremble no more

to reel in the

brother & sister shepherd

until the bites swell

my skin once again.

i take a baby pinecone

& wait to exhale.

2.6.15

neruda aftertastes of lovepoems

i come in your nothingness

like a passing rainffall

thoughts lost before

the sun's descent

i come in your mayan silence

like a bite of garden candy

in the middle of a fast

you come to me in dreams--

even in dreams, you lift me

with wonder, divine light

two nude chests perfectly align

sorrows dissipate like dew

the other eve, you were the water

of my illusion. you sobbed

shoulders hunched & heaving

for you, for me, for

the static of our living movie.

why did i leave neverland

for another open hand?

i will be the Bliss you bring me.

a late february migration

not spending a dmie

bicycles where the cars pass

down the volcano,

in a musty trailer with bellyaches

distracted from the new colors

of flora

i still feel it-

in the folks who lift us up

in the backs of their trucks

in the washed-up tortoise

& freefalling passionfruit,

mellow music & polynesian words

like medicine of

slow-moving people

on a slow-moving island.

1.31

cream-colored fairies before noon

wave after wave, stretched & bird-like

transforming into waterfowl

flowed with breasts & freckles,

whiskey shadow gods explain

narratives of the dead kings

and holy mothers from Spain,

irrelevancies?

december sweat

underbelly portal

left open too long

can the body forget to breathe?

can the chicken be born again

to walk out of your potroast?

the belly rolls of dead madron

the rolls in the way

between a clear mind

and the state of distraction

don't linger on loves lost,

the lack of drive

december sweat

from my armpits

to the hole under the madron

to water the earth

as i burrow my bones.

***

santa cruz

twenty-two days to reach enlightenemnet

crowded redwood trails

this morning made our

separation a scene

to be by the sea

the water that mirrors the wild in me

light colors here hide the darkness

the oversized pastel homes

the white skin that reigns

worriless over white sand

when you cook close

sun reflects the glass, for grains, charcoal bark

whiteness

in the dark solitude of the mountain

i went a little mad.

winter solstice

black panther spirit in an abandoned field

when we slept in the church van

Bast, or an old Indian

reminding us of the white man torture.

with my spirit guide beside

desert trips where there used to be forest

california is dead.

christmas tamales inspired by the border

my season of depression.

my dance teacher once told me

making the bed each day just makes the whole house look nice

instructing the direction of my hips.

music is in every moment

music already abundnat

frequencies & fractals

geometry of movement

death is stealing new cycles

the animals of our bed

change with the temperature of our tears

the cycle of our mothers

we communicate here

travel through the galaxies

warm tears of sorrow & joy

faces in everything

trees remind you of the people you miss in yourself.

counterclock spirals

in the half-lit cabin

we watch fire like a television,

the sound of fallen wood tongues

we roll the dice in the manifesting mind

read wet eyes of my lover

always surprise me

candelit rest

in the pyramid home.

-fluid static-

lullyabing nightmares

the appetizers we dream in the mid-afternoon

bells of bedridden in our sacred triangle

madron, smoke & mirrors,

high-hung hiding termites and antlers,

a dome to sky pines.

spirits flash in to watch

the dark shadows of grace float ---the creatures.

what are street drugs?

laying on the bench outside the coffeshop,

run by a wealthy church.

overheard conversation

"not much to talk about=not too bad"

they hold their books from the Free Bible room

"have my bed its not weird, its not weird"

so removed in my head on narcos & weeping

in public from the way we treat each other & our pathwhere

i lost it

"it is easy not to look"

suburban sidewalk study

they look at me & look away

i needed a break from the noise

the orchestra of voices

loud women constant concerns &

biology notes & lost boots left

the churchgoers car

nice drums or jazz

monster of control & demand

well dressed church leaders

the church folk always look happier

the safety in identity,

acceptance in anonymity

Which do you prefer?

the anonymity of white privelge

smiles from passing men or children

or the constant attention of a white girl

in central america

smiles from passing men

both kind and undressing

to fade or melt in fake empires?

new mexico first

midnight coyote call & elk herds

push shower & chocolate oatmeal on a campstove

cacti spruce & mesquite

empty roads & desert

adobe & forests

dry heat, redwillow, aspen and mullen.

crescent waxing

in the Sky's midnight cloud paintings

leaving Pueblo into the Rockies

in the valley by river end

sunset moonrise

folk music & free firewood

grandfather faces in a redrock mountain

the most constellations under

the clear sky with lightning storms afar.

befriending bibcycle junkies

outside the donut shop

in the town where i dont belong

sunshine cupo'joe to calm

a long night of meth.

hidden hundreds

in a fake locked book,

jerry garcia

eases the sneeze & aches

roadhead to ease the fights

bald cop with traveling advice

sleeping & sneezing in reststops

free food and kind strangers in memphis

latenight roadsodas

stovestop cooking

cement lots with new friends

arkansas

for naked boatrides,

on a manmade lake

until the elder tells us to come back

the universe always provides to the Lovers

friends, meals to eat, where to rest,

water to bathe, towns that like a little color,

soul music, spoken word and dancing hips.

america

self-titled pais of

corporate stores of things that no one needs

restaurants with deadly ingredients

people stay in their boxes

drive in their cars

cops lurking hyjenas to cuff

those whose feet

graze, tease the edge of the boxes

the white-dotted lines

so the animals can return to boxes,

jailcells

and the president

in his great white box

declares war and shows us

to spend money we dont have

perpetual enslavement

taxes to start another

generation of animals.

train emergencies

when they can really know

the nature of themselves

in disappearing grass.

lumberjack love

rainbow

palm-planted

midnight

blue-breasted

humminbirds

of foreign lands

stinkbugs & cicadas

orbit my lobes

in red kitchens

while houseflies

frolick on treasure island

and our bubblegum mattress on wheels-

the birds of paradise

cocoooned

to the insects of now.

my lover

who moves & speaks through the sea & moonlight

has human hands again.

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