Sated
I walk with my eyes
eat with my ears
hear with my tongue
feel with my nose
see with my mouth.
No wonder I am so full.
us people, us us-people,
with our loose-leaf language
and graphite dripping from tongues
like new dew, like morning tar.
us us-people: straight-laced, edges frayed,
or thread-bared… our minds without corset
introducing order and chaos as needed…
us us-people, we topple towers and build anew
anachronistic or anarchist, even if allegory, we,
us us-people, are poets. heroes
of a close-knitted kink so fibrous
with our phrases, we carve marrow
into totems and turn broadband
into steles; so sonorous with our softened
slang. the griot, the bard, the fabulist:
each of us an us-people with civilization
in our trapper-keepers and stardust in the digital
tablets secluded in our pockets, like amulets
to make the sun rise and the rain to fall.
pick me up
and hold me.
hold me
close to your breast.
sing a song
with rhythm,
as the heartbeat
in your chest.
speak to me
the words you know
–all words–
large and small.
tell me that you love me,
as the rain begins to fall.
If I knew where to find
a door into unknown
tranquil spaces filled with light
to feed on the silence and wonder
the quiet green ravines
the blue sea lapping them
The trees are heavy with it
such volume of glorious sounds
rhythm and space
voices in an unknown tongue:
We are still here
You are one of us
~ Cento of lines taken from Hundreds and Thousands, The Journals of Emily Carr, p. 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 21, 36, 37, 40, 42
To summon your tea reading animal guide:
1
think of anything you want guidance on
as you sip your tea —
it may be general or specific.
2
the animal guides appearing
in the leaves
remaining in your cup
have messages
based on where they are.
3
meet your animal guides
where they are–
you may have multiple in one reading.
life is gray
and full of 5’s
on a scale from 1-10
until i grab a pen
then poetry
allows me
some ‘Roy G. Biv’
and to
dance across all the other numbers
(this is how we learned to remember the colors of the rainbow, in grade school….. Roy G. Biv….. red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet….. not sure if they still teach this? Last I heard, indigo may have gotten canned!)
After each new mistake
I can hear the faint hum
of God’s needle engraving
another tattoo. If He didn’t
keep expanding my soul
He’d have run out of room
a long time ago.
.
Her eyes trace the intricate
curves and flourishes
of his quick sketch, penned
while she languished on his bed:
mythical dragon, its volcano
mouth spews a lava of flames.
Fearsome stretch of wings,
a bellows of power. Claws ready
to rip and gut.
She slides her fingers
over the lines, wanting
to decipher
this Braille of him, this
silent roar.
He says it doesn’t mean
anything; he draws to amuse
himself. A flash of defiance,
like a struck match, warns her off.
The dragon wants its cave.
Take care of her,
or I swear to God
that I will
raze your fields,
tear down your homes,
and slaughter your innocents.
Take care of her,
or you will feel
my wrath.
She is my sister,
confidant,
and half of my soul.
I will not rest
until she can breathe easy
and smile.
I’ll have a second cup of coffee
with cream, and no place
I have to be. I can sit all day
in my pajamas, with no lesson
plans to write, and no core
content to consult. I’m living
on the other side of the mountain
now, and envied by many.
