The Truth Will Find Its Own Way Out

October 24, 2015 - One Response

And I was Naked
before your Culture
Like a white girl
flimsy
and running by quickly
so my frailty may not be penetrated
by your gaze
a Richness that Shines
through all of its disguises and styles
of warfare
I’m not complaining
Anymore
I will take my Medicine along with Everybody Else

I’m on Fire,
come back and talk to me
Later
after everything I used to know is Burned up

The only thing left will be my Heart
Alive
and beating out the rhythms of my Life
The sleep Cycles of the Universe
Have you listened to every
Verse
Rehearsed
the lies fall out
like Rocks out of the bottom of your Shoes

you don’t get wishes for pennies
you Open
your Heart
& Pour
Your whole life into
Life
Committed
wet & dripping red rich
dropping
your nectar all around

Standing in Waterfalls
and their pools
it is very
Alive
And obvious

Blood Rock
Moon Cycle
the Simple giving back of many mothers
to The mother

Grandmother Water
With Grandfather Rock,
They whispered
laughed
and said,

“You have been Quiet for way.. too.. long”

Erase
my name
I don’t exist anymore
as a singular
identity
This ego needs a vacation
My self worth is in question
And I know the answer to This one
I AM god
I am a Goddess
I am You
And the worth that flows through Our veins and out into the ocean of time transcends
the limited box it has previously been
Living in
On the street corner
Trading my dreams for quarters
I am no longer an island
Those walls are illusions
Used to Lock up my power
They tower
In all those twisted lies they told us since
We were infants
Tongue tied
And
Victims
To our own dillusuions of smallness
Since the first Sun rise

Yet the sun has risen
Again
On This day
and I am Taking back
what is rightfully, Ours
With Oscillations
And a standing Ovation
I will Dance inside your Ceremonial Fire
&
Sing

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so many wounds, so much light

August 21, 2012 - One Response

“The wound is the place where the light enters you” ~Rumi

Nature speaks all its mysteries
if you listen

Fall into this moment

See near the edge
the cattail grasses moving
the soft green
living
pond skin across
the top of the water

with their graces
the wind flows

They are saying
I’ve got you– Let go

Beauty speaks its own truth
and if you get in deep enough
to hear
the sunlight sparkles spinning their rhymes
the times
water reaches to hold
each particle
thinner than air
more righteous than all your theories
more poignant that civilizations rising and falling
more steady that your fear
is gripping
Beauty
will not even waste time scoffing at monstrosities
but
instead
pulls out all the riches of your soul
and holds them in its light
for you to see

paradise
is not effected by what surrounds it
but in itself is pure
of heart and full
of perfection

the intention
being
us seeing
our true selves

All the little flowers of the grasses
are not afraid of anything
they just shine

and when you catch one out of the corner of your eye
and it stops you dead in your tracks
while its beauty
breathes
life into the midst of the deafening doldrums of your voluntary monotony
you will know what I mean
You will want to live

The truth is
you are bigger than all this
my friend

a little poem about pollution

August 20, 2012 - Leave a Response

Father Water

you are so calm in all your pain

algae sprayed

and thick as jello

taking on the mistakes

of generations

No one would even know it

just looking at the view

lakeside

transfixed in all your mirid sways

You are so many colors at once

my eyes burst

on the surface

and yet

you require me to look deeper

understand cause and effect

that actions have reactions even if

we don’t see them

They are swimming

like algae

under the surface

touching everything

that moves

and you may not know it

but that means you too

Sing with me

January 23, 2012 - One Response

I don’t really understand the sadnesses
we walk away from
stolen and silent
we are afraid
of even ourselves
and when the lights change and we start
going again
where can we go
without our whole hearts?

The world is a sullen
river
and the worst parts
are
all the pieces we won’t admit
to ourselves
levees and their tidal waves
whirlpools
fissures

I lost my voice
one time
for years
and the silence held me locked
in my own damp dungeon
darkened

the whispers were like birds
flying
in circles

and the shadows were voices
that mocked me
coldly
with their tantalizing dreams
of light

I don’t remember what it was
that finally broke me
open

except that I remember
the taste
of long forgotten springtime wetness
and freedom

and a thing that never left my bones
started speaking to me
fiercely

its insolence tore apart
all those skillfully built boats
of excuses
for inertia
and the walls and dams of recluse
crumbed
under the weight of my desire

it only took one second
of admitting
for the river to break free
with finality
and a voice
that came back to me
over those long waters
started to sing
the most haunting and familiar song
-my voice
and it sang- I shall never more be silent

“like a tree planted by the waters, I shall not be moved”

easy

December 27, 2011 - 2 Responses

Everything is a constant

motionless moving,

this life, its bizzar

brigade of star lights and time, this night

is fine with its last light lines, and

I am ready to be open, even

in the unknown and broken, lies,

are only the untold pains of our forefathers,

and mothers, and lovers,

and we are only here for each other, to breathe,

we only need one thing,

a space,

a freedom from judgement,

a Peace,

See

the trees and i

October 2, 2011 - One Response

Gentle creatures, the trees
With their long delicate branches
And paper thin
Leaves
They wave their fingertips in
The breeze
And when it rains
They feel
The crying right down to their roots.
Who else can hold
All the wildest winds in their arms?
Strong creatures, the trees.
I saw

A plane fly overhead once
Its steely grin came through the dancing
Branches
To where I was laying
Underneath

And the tree winced.
I winced
As the knowledge of pollution
And world corruption
And war zones
Shot through by body
And I felt it in my roots-
The trees tears,
Its sorrows

At the earth’s demise.
We both lay watching.

Once
I felt the strength of my own heart
Standing open
Like a tall tree

Held up by the earth
Of another soul who saw
Me

[for alex]

brairded hare

September 4, 2011 - Leave a Response

You are beauty and you

remind me that I am

Love i adore

your story

your emphasises an Emptyness I hear

there calling

your perfect picture composure standing stillness

and

the groping energetic epiphanies a recognition and a wholeness

emerged

in the syncropic start of an assuring steadyness

a likeness

similarly engaged inside your face is

the perfect peaceful place i’d like

to rest

against your heart

is not broken like mine

alluring yet disengaged

restless

but this time there is a slight chance

exposed

Bicyclist Exposed

May 25, 2011 - Leave a Response

I am the sunlight
Playing
With the wind upon the water
Reaching from lake shore
To shoreline
And touching every surface

I am still going

I am scarred landscape
The mile stretches of city
Strewn over forest and prairie
And I am rejuvination pushing
Up between the cracks
Of brokenness
And growing

And
If you could still see me
I am glowing

Turn

May 25, 2011 - Leave a Response

Beauty
turned her head
and looked at me
today.
With those perfect eyes

the Red-tailed Hawk
can catch squirrels from the sky
and stare into my soul.

It did.

And reminded me of my passion
which is the hawk’s passion
and the tree’s passion
and yours
perhaps

if you are alive.

What does any living being want                                                                                I think?
Simplicity,
and the ability to live
beautifully
their one priceless life
of their own simple accord.
And freedom

to Love,
and to be Loved.
Men lust

for power and money and vanity
but this whole game is void                                                                                             of that one truth
their hearts beat for:
Beauty-
and to Love and be Loved.

But the hawk knows                                                                                                                                                                                                            as it feeds its vulnerable                                                                                                    treasured young the                                                                                                                                                                                               substance
of its labor-
the reincarnation of death.

And so do I

as I watch                                                                                                                               the cycles of my life
turn

pain into beauty.

The Spring

April 4, 2011 - One Response

There is a deep hurt
And my inner canyons are reeked with blood
And loss
And sorrow

And crying
Is the only way I can release
Such deep theivery
Pay back such a big
Dept

The only way to be
unbreakable
Is to bend
Like any tree in a storm
Who wants to survive

And so this crying is not weakness
But wisdom
And a deepest strength

And all the old broken places
Will be healed
With water
Like springtime

The hidden river
In me
Will bring life to the valleys

And when they bloom
You will not forget the sight