Tag Archives: poetry

Into the Looking Glass

Into the Looking Glass

Just beyond the glass 

A land I have never seen

A place of fairy wings and mermaid tails

And hills of verdant green

Hand to hand I see myself

Reflected in these dreams

Step through the mirror

Creases in reality’s seams

Pop! I’ve arrived

On the other side.

What is it that I see?

A magical fairy boat ride.

I grab the rough railing

And board the steady boat.

Sitting on a tree stump stool,

I wait to cross the moat.

Suddenly, a rainbow appears,

Streaking across the emerald sky.

Along with a Leprechaun

Wearing a clover tie.

“Come with me,

My earthbound Dearie

See the fairyland sights

Which are neither dank nor dreary.”

” Lessons three you shall learn

On the way to me pot of Gold

And in the end you shall receive

Riches untold”

And then:

Three tiny fairies land

Twittering in language unknown

Verily no bigger than a hand.

“The iridescent sprites

Have not a care

They love life

And give death not a stare”

“As shall you

Love your life

Look past hardships

And not embrace strife”

The boat started moving

Down the sparkling ravine

Looking around I gazed in awe

At many magical sights unseen.

Cerulean trees

Line the banks of blue

And fragrant flowers 

Bring bees of a different hue

My ears! My ears!

What do they hear?

A melodious song

Look- mermaids draw near!

Their beauty is stunning

From iridescent scales to sapphire hair.

Holding golden mirrors

And giving quite a stare.

The Leprechaun said,

“Look close into the mirror

Beauty you will see not

But a vision of horror.”

“Just as your own beauty fades

Lean not onto it’s ethereal charm

Love your inner self

And you shall not come to harm.”

We left the sirens behind,

Approaching a sulphurous smell.

At the sight of dragon,

Of fear I had to quell.

Bright Flames, 

the color of the sun

Heated the rocks

Causing them to run.

Says the Leprechaun:

“Be not afraid of the strong.

Embrace their strength,

And you can do no wrong.”

And then the boat landed

In a mushroom dell.

As I stepped off,

I nearly fell.

Says the Leprechaun,

“There be me pot of Gold.

Look inside, look inside

If you be so bold.”

Slowly, step by tenuous step,

I climbed up the hill.

As I reached the cauldron,

My heart failed to be still.

Riches I want!

What would I find?

Gold bullions and rubies?

Leave my poor life behind.

Peer inside

What do I behold?

A shiny little rock

Surely not gold.

I grasp the rock

And my world spins

Suddenly, I’m back at the mirror

Where everything begins 

I look into the Looking Glass.

What do I see?

A beautiful golden soul

Staring back at me.

Old Man Willow

This Human Condition, a villanelle.

In this human race
Who am I to be?
My mind, lost in this space.
Heart beats apace
The rhythm: humanity
In this human race
Can you find a place
In this galactic sea?
My mind, lost in this space
Can you be erased
from the cacophony?
In this human race.
Can you be replaced
from the family tree?
My mind, lost in this space
Longing for grace,
Days stretched out to infinity.
In this human race
my mind, lost in this space

The Rise and Fall of the Fairy Queen: My Bipolar Journey

The Rise and Fall of the Faerie Queen, My Bipolar Journey

 

People have inquired about my personal journey through the extremes my illness brings.

Let me elaborate.

Right now, in this moment, I own success.  My feet are grounded upon the Earth I was born.

Yet, often I desire to be more than myself, to be better, grander– magical.

The only caveat is I must let the elixir of strength and wellness seep from my daily cup.

Only thus-seemingly so, so simple, yet profound.

This temptation to ascend to the high places, to cast away my mere humanity, eats away at my resolve, bit by bit.

Until, one day, I give in and set aside my daily pill.

At first, nothing happens.  Why would it?  Who but the sick need to take such bitter daily droughts?

More days pass- elixir forgotten, resolve long chipped away until it exits no more.

Soon, life’s toils are easier to bare, smiles easier to wear.

Feet no longer on meager ground, but standing in the clouds;

I succumb to the glorious promise the elixirless world offers.

 

And I transform into the Faerie queen,

Glittery Green and sparkling Gold.

I ascend to my lunar throne, gravity no longer pulling me down.

My magic enables feats of super fae proportions-

Novels appear, ideas and plans reproduce into grand schemes.

They go off into my land singing my praises,

“Look, see this shining soul?  Isn’t she the picture of health? She didn’t need the sooth-sayer’s cure after all.”

In a short span, these bright birthed plans have assembled a court of sentient admirers, clambering for my presence,

offering hedonistic experiences and endless resources.

I look down upon the Earthly realm and revel in this weightlessness, this ease of creation.

All is perfection.

 

But, my own admirers, my well formed schemes, start jealous whispers-

rumors of cracks and faults in my pearlescent  walls.

I attempt to banish them, but they clasp on, one by one, until I cannot see above them or around them, and I must be hypervilligent of their barbs.

Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day; no rest or succor in sight.

No escape from the schemes and plans and seemly courteous thoughts-

Now abandoned of sentience and clamped upon inch of coppery skin.

 

Until-

I fall from this gallant throne,

fall not to Earth

but past it, beat upon meteors and rocky rivers,

Until my feet crash through Jupiter’s atmosphere.

This hyper gravity strips away my wings and fairy crown.

I now must swim through leaded air as a mere mortal-

Nay, a sub mortal with empty sycophant schemes dangling from ashen skin.

My eyes only see a few meters beyond myself in this graphene muck and mire.

Gravity, who once lifted my wings and helped me soar above in the lunar land,

now adds a triple weight to every breath.

Every action, every motion forward is stolen by this massive weight.

Until, I can move no more.

 

Alive, but deadened in this Jovian Hell.

Not free to escape, but free to ponder my release.

What release is possible?

What path may lead back to Earth,

back to the human realm?

In this moment, my once grand courtiers, schemes and plans reanimate;

they scream devious paths, knives, and chemical concoctions.

“Cut us off- dare not take a breath, End this leadened rule!

Stop this existence;

You must – you must!

You abandoned all; you are alone.

Hope is lost.”

And I close my eyes.

Still…. Still… waiting for the nothing.

 

Yet, I hear a faint jingle penetrating the Jovian air.

A soft hand lifts my head and I open my eyes

to find the order of white knights, snake-crossed and succor full,

offering soft words of wisdom and capsules of elixir.

I drink and a doorway appears.

Dare I enter?  Dare I cast off this beastly burden?

Hands appear from beyond the crossing-

hands of friendships forgotten and valiant mental warriors

beckoning for me to just lift my arms and grab a hold.

Do I?  Do I trust the help unlooked for?

Do I continue to drink the elixir

and allow the hands to carry me through?

 

Yes, I grab hold.

Inch by inch, step by step,

I am pulled through the passageway.

As I cross through the portal,

these hands pluck off the misguided plans, schemes and sychophants.

Wise words guide my bleeding soles to Earthly soil

and a glint of hope kindles,

blazing away hyper Jovian gravity.

I am just me, yet again.

 

And I declare my promises to stay grounded.

To accept the Earthly realm as my only home.

Not to stray- to listen to Wisdom;

not to quit the elixir mending my heart and soul.

In this acceptance is solace.

For without, I shall surely rise to greater and greater heights complete grander and greander feats,

and fall further and further

until I disintegrate and there are not the pieces to patch together into a whole.

 

I choose hope over dazzle,

Strength over magic,

And wellness over exuberance.

 

I choose me.

I Stand

I Stand-

A Performance Piece for 2-10 voices.

  1. I stand for equal pay;

Women have the same worth as men.

 

  1. I stand for mental health parity;

My brain is just as important as my heart.

 

  1. I stand for reproductive rights;

My Body, My Choice.

 

  1. I stand on the side of Love;

No matter the race or gender.

 

  1. I stand for America the Great;

Let’s reach across the aisle and be one again.

 

  1. I stand for science;

The natural world is full of wonder.

 

  1. I stand for Teachers;

The future generation rests in their hands.

 

  1. I stand for the environment;

Protect the only Earth we have.

 

  1. I stand for affordable healthcare.

A healthy nation is a happy nation.

 

  1. I stand for Liberty

We are the Land of the Free

 

  1. I stand for Justice

May it be carried out with compassion

 

 

You Stand.

Don’t be afraid to make ripples.

 

We Stand.

Together, we make waves.

National Poetry Month Day 11

Joy, why have you fled?
Lost in the forest of humanity.
My spirit hides in the leaves,
waiting for the return of the sun
to burn away the shadows.

Water is Life

12042016dapl-12

 

Upon this rock, this land,

I pledge my heart; I pledge my hand.

Water is life; I stand-

 

Water protectors hand in hand,

1st Nations and veterans stand,

Upon this rock, this land.

 

Promises given, promises taken, and

Ripped away by a soldier’s hand;

Water is life; They stand-

 

Eye to eye across the sand,

Defenders, desecrators, take a stand,

Upon his rock, this land.

 

The fight-  the soul of the land.

Which one shall win this hand?

Water is life; You stand-

 

Upon the Earth, our only land.

Promises should be kept as planned.

Upon this rock, this land;

Water is Life; We stand.

 

NOTE: The image was captured during a Dakota Access Pipeline and Sabal Trail Pipeline Protest on the FL capitol lawn.

In Dreams

 

 

 

“In Dreams we bloom, soaring beyond Time and Space.”
dream turtle

In this moment I grieve for thee

sink

I stand as you stood many times before

laboring over dirty dishes in the sink.

As the warm water washes over my hands,

I gaze at the flowers in the window sill

and wonder if you smiled as I smile now,

smelling the sweet Calla lilies brought to you by little hands.

Did you sigh in relief as the dawn bubbles

removed the final crumbs from the pan,

the pan that you used to bake a cake for every year of my life.

Did your mind ever drift away–

as your hands continued their mindless task,

away through the window, down the driveway,

and the lane where we walked to Church together every Sunday.

As I stand in the echo of your memory,

drying the Just Flowers dinner plates

that served your cheese potatoes and other delights for countless family diners,

I wonder that if I complete this same task, touch this same plate

that you touched just a month before,

if I stand on the same tiles worn smooth by your feet,

will it reverse time, just for this moment,

and allow you to be with me once again.

Formation of a Spirit

painting writing

As a painter treasures a blank canvas for its potential, a writer treasures a blank sheet of paper for its inspiration.  A painter must listen to his canvas and make the first stroke; from which all other strokes will culminate.  So must a writer fill the first page, the nature and connotation denotes the shape and form of subsequent pages.

Color upon the brush: meet your lover, canvas.  Two worlds collide, moving both to a higher understanding. As soon as they meet, the blank and dumb canvas is neither blind nor mute.  He now speaks with the vitality of his new eyes.  Behold: a new creation, though he is only one brush stroke he will grow.  Every new brush stroke perfectly placed; there are no mistakes.  Hence, such “mistakes” give the world its flavor, and if aborted, the world looses another color.  Thus, the world is not colorless; an empty canvas beckons the painter to paint new shades.

Mighty pen: meet your lover, inspiration.  A harsh taskmistress, she is. She demands letters grouped in sensible words, then dressed into full bodies. Minutes bleed into hours and days of this love.  Until, behold, the first page has been born. These hours of labor reward its mother with a bundle of hope.  “What is this new squirming creature? How am I to nurture it, feed it, help it grow?”  The mother inevitably asks. Grow it shall. More pages of life will be added, each new word as important as the old.  All comprise this new creation and give life where none once lived.  One can only live word by word, page by page.

This truth brings the end back to the beginning.  Just as the painter writes with colors for the human eyes, a writer paints with words for the human soul.  Yet, even when an end or completion dawns, it brings new inspiration, new potential for the beholder.