Sunday, August 28, 2011

My Father's People

My Father's People

My father’s people walked here,
amidst the blue ridges and crystal waters;
slept here, loved here, long before.

Their whispers reached through the distance,
wound their way through the smog,
along the smoldering cement,
over steel and glass to wrap gently
‘round my heart.

Tone tightened, softened only when heeded—
heeded that voice of freedom, the voice of earth —
constricted and chattered when I forgot.
Call of my father’s people, my people,
guiding me home.
Home to the rivers, home to the mountains
home to my brother trees.
I sit amongst then now and can almost hear clearly.

I am here with hi-da-da-tse-li who labor
lovingly to remove the world, and flood with life.
My father’s people, my people, I walk here
amongst the blue ridges and crystal waters.


Friday, August 26, 2011

The Body Rejoices

So, I'm working on form and meter over on the writers site Writing Our Way Home.  It's really an inspirational site with a bunch of lovely people who are welcoming, warm, and supportive. Right now we're working on Heroic Couplets. For example:

True EASE in WRIting COMES from ART, not CHANCE, 
As THOSE move EASiest WHO have LEARN'D to DANCE. 


the SOUND must SEEM an ECho TO the SENSE. 

I didn't think the last one I did was very good, which is why I haven't posted it here. I 'try' to share only my good stuff-you'd thank me, really. 

So, I thought maybe if I just write and then re-arrange the piece to 'make' a heroic couplet. I struggled with that until I broke out in a cold sweat and before I stamped off and threw myself in bed, I quit. Here is the original piece, which obviously I like since I'm sharing.

The Body Rejoices

The body rejoices
Then it rebels
Sunrise meditation, deep morning mountain air breaths
Crisp, cool and damp with night’s sleepy dew.
Tai-chi stretches confident before mindful trees
Warms and caresses stagnant muscles
Breaking dead branches fallen to the earth,
Pulling overgrown horseweed
The bulk of being whispers
“Thank you”

Raking years of layered hickory nuts, shells and leaves
Closer to the compost, closer to the fire pit
Whispers becomes murmurs, turn to screams
Head reels and stomach churns
The body rejoices
Then it rebels

Hot water steams down and soothes into lullaby’s
Senses heightened, oxygen pumps robust,
Words tumble, poetry flows
The mind rejoices
The body—content.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Fairyland Haiku

Mists swirl about dancing
in the trees, through the forest
Creates a fairyland

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Sunshine On My Table

006.JPGSunshine on my table
Plucked from my wild yard of weeds
To brighten my table, my day

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Boxes to Burn

Boxes to burn
Time to remember
Slow, simple
Move      ment

Wordle #16 - White House of Hell

White House of Hell

Rusty prophets swept in last month
Foaming spittle, anticipation of the hunt
Morning rose tender with promise
And fate blew its seductive kiss
Soon the walk of talk stumbled and fell
Sun set on the white house of hell
Cement buckled and the veil shred
Torments of greed’s lusty bed
Take notes clearly dear people
Of the crawling scars in yonder steeple