You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘being lost’ category.

the moon is rising in the “V” of the tree
Vulnerability
where i am open and raw at the heart

soft white orb glows
fills up the chest of my thunder struck tree
houses the soft child
nested in the trunk

pearl essence dots the cells
and tiny moons multiply

the umbilical girl is tucked inside hugging her heart

the white radiance warms and lights the darks spots
the hard holes that hold
the bark of the shelled-out tree is tough and strong
the trunk, it’s vibrant roots travel down, down
intuitively finds the mother womb, the source
she welcomes and obliges
we are her children, she is our mother
this is what is meant to be.

umbilical pumps the blood to the root
keeps us alive
and the moon light
softens the gaze
eases the blow of outer life
magnifies but heals
radiates truth, magnificence

soft child curls to red heart, her comforting gift
rests in the shade of morning glory
night bird flight.

then grey fear catches at the throat
swells and blocks the flow but dams are necessary on this river ride
to measure out the flow

we get stuck and ask why, why
cry out in pain, misery, ego-self, dwarfed into material being…

the moon sings out, drink, drink
drink my moon milk

i serve moon milk to grey ball, shadow and child
this all takes time which
holds us in question, makes us do our homework

all the shame in the world won’t set you free
but love surely will if you are patient

know the moon milk is mother’s milk, it nurtures

then the eddy breaks
and the cork bobs down the river

shaman sucks through a straw and calls the grey ball home, from where it came
all the grey ones inside disburse one by one

go home, past life, go home hard memory misinterpreted stuck in my body

spew musk perfume and tap my body

sing my throat for sacred preparation
like a marriage, my throat must get ready
i tone it clear, sing it through
tap my heart, remind myself

i am tree embodied by Mother, rooted in Grand Mother
blessed by Grand Father, Given Guardians
i am shine
i am child nestled, but more than that
i am tough like tree bark
i am exposed to the elements, mortal and fallible

yet i am true
i can know who i am
i can root, take my time
know myself and own it
like the eyes of a tree i see the moon rising
and it is me.

Art by Carmen Leon

Art by Carmen Leon

Advertisements

it was a time when her plants were drying up

when the walls of home were cracking

three kings

circled the sky

motioned a signal

three stars drew her from bedlam

stripped off orbiting planets no longer calling her sun

three kings made time stop as she drove toward that airport, fireflies in the sky

orion’s belt summed it up nicely and

sat like pieces of air suspended in zeroes

saying you don’t have to be here anymore

three lights squatting like extraterrestrial talismans

said you don’t have to do this anymore.

led that queen backwards

looped her forward

past the wailing walls of

what used to be home sweet home

jetted her forward, tropics calling

flying to the popoki black night

thrice times old ways gone

thrice times, a new horizon born.

DSC_0248

Starlight, by Lisa Burns

Dorsetta Hale, Pacifica’s Poet Laureate has introduced poetry to City Transit!poetryshuttle

The Devil’s Slide Ride Shuttle will now feature poems by local poets. My poem, mendocino in an eggshell, debuted July 25th and will run for a month.

See full article here: http://www.mercurynews.com/pacifica-entertainment/ci_28518643/poetry-now-displayed-devils-slide-ride-shuttle

devilsslideshuttle

mendocino in an eggshell

the sky is a solid eggshell

no cracks
to permit sun rays to shine in
salt vapors christen my nose, drench my paper walls
dissolving the mood that was trailing me

mother sea baptizes the shore over and over
and over
until the shore also releases whatever it’s been holding onto
leaving a blank beach of sand
curving hellos beneath me

the stillness in the air stills my spirit
but then the chilly fog, vertigo cliffs and hatcheting waves
strike me so close i can embrace
the terror and loneliness
reflected in the raw, metallic water
and colorless sky

i am afraid but mesmerized
in love, yet i shrivel in the face
of this gigantic beauty and power
that pounds and cleanses

and forces me
out of the eggshell limits
of my own little world

i would sing you a song

the texture of aqua

the fierceness of barnacle

a song to hold you

hold you

sing with a mother’s voice, hair flowing

on those wrinkled nights

i would sing you a song to loose your frustration

to draw your hair from your face while you retch

you retch

the rusted anchor from your belly

drown out the volume of your despair

despair

sing you a song to billow your imagination

imagination

a song to float you beyond your waterlogged oars of no way out

no out

the song would be a flood to swallow away

how your roots never really took

roots never took

how you never quite planted, what with the sandy bottom always moving

never planted

water down how you no longer care

about taking a bat to the tv

we no longer talk, never did

hiding your claws like relief inside your shell

while he is lost in his bottle out to sea

the message inside is faded but

this song would hold you like a Mother

like a Mother

it would rock you and strum your spine

with day glow fingers

dream you into being

to being

reattach your umbilical to the flow

a siren song to make you forget everything you are not

you are not

this song would be louder than everything else and all you could think about is this song

you would bleed this song

it would breathe you

and nothing would concern you

but your yearning

to get back

to this song.

mermaid by Katrina Sesum. See more of Katrina's work at: http://katrinasesum.com/watercolour.html

Mermaid by Katrina Sesum. See more of Katrina’s work at: http://katrinasesum.com/watercolour.html

Mermaid, by Katrina Sesum, was in part inspired by the song “Pandora’s Aquarium” by Tori Amos. Click here to listen.

 

it’s all soft and slow

and my boat is barely rocking in creamy waters

i am even, quiet

and the moon is half, exactly

half dark and half light

everything has stilled

and just like i wished

time has suspended

to let me float

Harbor at Night by Susan Grisell. See more of Susan's art at http://susangrisell.com/

Harbor at Night by Susan Grisell. See more of Susan’s art at http://susangrisell.com/

the cord is thinning
frayed and lost
that life line between you and me

where i once began in you and you in me, no ending
we finished each others dreams
no line between us
one body one mind
wrapped together in a single panoply against the hurt

the fabric that stretches against
the necessary division
now runs long

and lost itself to
dropped calls, tattered edges
leaky love

all the answers you gave
now question marks
unfinished, yearning

appendage
with vessels popped
bled out

the line
is stripped to strands now

billows about
losing the pieces that once made up the whole

our vine has raveled away
dissipated to the past
and i can hardly feel you
anymore

"Nobly" by Belinda Chlouber, is now showing at The Willard Arts Center in Idaho Falls, in her show "Words & Paint, A Collaboration with Family Writings." See more of her work at http://belindachlouber.com/

“Nobly” by Belinda Chlouber, is now showing at The Willard Arts Center in Idaho Falls, in her show “Words & Paint, A Collaboration with Family Writings.” See more of her work at http://belindachlouber.com/

Visualizing a journey back to the Great Mother Protector is a great stress reliever and soothes the inner child, even the adult! You can imagine it any want you want, here is just an idea.

my scared and tired

of jaws so tight

melt me into your waterbed bosom

hold me in your pulse

wrap me away from the outside

protect me, pull me from all of “that” out there

flood me away so i see from afar

my connection, my belonging

in the safety of your embrace,

curled like a child in your palm, detach from the false

allow myself so small and you so big

with you, i can look back and see

the illusion of it all, release what i thought was real

loose jaw, suckle within your aura

and in the den of your womb

i can take a breath

plug into the very Source, the truth of what we all are

and find refuge from the world

Goddess Art, Courtesy of Janice Rocke

Goddess Art, Courtesy of Janice Rocke

i can’t see myself

no one is there

even the bay sings dead waters to me

this is not young melancholy

this is not old regret

this is minus

one life

one person, minus

existing, why

just to be called alive?

daily orbit so strong breaking

black moon siphons breath

leaves me in

disconnected and disturbed

bury me, let me disburse

disappear in this darkness

cloaked in black

hiding my blind eyes from electric white of day

collapse into dark woodness

equal nothing

shiver and wait

for some light of the new moon

to arise and bring back

lost sight

Stuck by Ginger Slonaker. See more of her work at http://www.gingerslonaker.com/

Stuck by Ginger Slonaker. See more of her work at http://www.gingerslonaker.com/

The juxtaposition of placid surroundings and inner turmoil, like the wet flu season in a dry winter or the pleasant blue Californian skies that mask the crisis of a drought, underlying.

dry winter storm

dry winter holds a storm inside

day after dead, blue skies stretch on

chaos theory gains another mile

to dismantle your season

shattering reason

like a ripped tea bag your scripted pages scatter misspent

loose shake discontent

inner storm billows to form a head and bleeds

as outside weather reaches a moderate 60 degrees

nothing can explain this inner devil, while the outside mocks with equanimity

batter of insider raining makes it no longer possible to hold secure

no railing, so you slips and you shrinks down an unruly detour

of an inner storm raging while blue skies taunt

and grey implodes into a tight fitted knot

stilts of broken furniture float, sinking

inner frame soaked, broken bowls leaking

warped floors wobble your steps tempted

self is disconcerted, disconnected

reduced to a pulsing dry tread

blowing from a flagpole by a thread…

secret cocoon is the place to be!

surrender to the tempest and incubate slowly

ride the waves and conserve

fight for life with the most gentle verve

and when your rheumy eyes can hold a gaze, and you begin to stand on waterlogged legs

storm pulses quiet, like part of your rhythm

driven by waves that carry you to sharp sand schism

where you meet a cup of tea, with the bag intact

encounter a room, peaceful like

you slog around, flood at your ankles slows your stride

sweep broken plans into the trusty dustpan tide

collect yourself into ordered embrace after your loss at sea

patter among the old growth of your living room reality

and hang in peace, your bilious weeks out to dry

in the thirsty California sky

Art Courtesy of Sarah Curtiss, see more of Sarah's art at graceartgroup.com

Art Courtesy of Sarah Curtiss, see more of Sarah’s art at graceartgroup.com

lightless interval
before the rise
salt tears awaken
drawing soft trails on drift wood
my life line
swollen against the cage
waits to be set free from fear
like a flock of birds at sunrise
soft wood floats out to sea
sinking back to mother
so far from home

Photo courtesy of Sue Munroe

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 798 other followers

Poetry Reading in Pacific Grove

Ode to Maestro Klein, Peninsula Symphony Orchestra

Performance for San Mateo County Supervisors

Poetry Reading by Maurine

Past Posts

Blog Stats

  • 12,414 hits

Blogs I Follow

Gary Direnfeld, MSW, RSW

Can you relate...

Bill's Blog

I love a statement I found attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “I wish to be known all over Europe for my humility.” Throughout my time as a writer and musician, I’ve tried to harbor a similar inclination, a sort of quiet pride in what I’ve done, but I am also well aware that, as far back as 1959, author Norman Mailer espoused, when it came to calling attention to one’s own work, what is a more efficacious attitude. He published Advertisements for Myself—and set the tone for a future we are all a part of now. So here’s Bill’s Blog.

Red Wolf Journal

A literary compass for finding your voice..."You turn toward me, your lips move, wanting to speak."--Stephen Dobyns, "Wolves In The Street"

RedXShoes

My recovery from Heroin Addiction & my journey to build a new life

Cupertino Poet Laureate

Celebrate Creativity

I Am Woman

a reminder that sensuality is a portal to the Divine

ZarasWorld

Look Within Yourself

Dimitris Melicertes

I don't write, I touch without touching.

O-My Fragile Hart-O!

Life with a heart so fragile in His hands.

smcpoetlaureate

The power of poetry and spoken word.

Marie H Curran

Writing, Poetry, Life lessons: Using words to fill the fractured voids within this world

off the margins

off the margins…into the wild terrain of women’s writing

Moon Mothers of Half Moon Bay

Embodiment of the New World Goddess

Lessons In Love

Speaking the words of my heart.

Beyond Words

Prose and Poetry by Robert S. King

Playing Your Hand Right

Showing America how to Live

Transformative Hypnotherapy

When it's time for a change!

Eunoia Review

beautiful thinking

Simple Pleasures

Visual Poetry, Photography and Quotes

ParaYourNormal

A magazine for those who love all things paranormal

luminarieswithoutboundaries

Just another WordPress.com site

Kourtney Heintz's Journal

Believing In The Unbelievables: From Aspiring Writer to Published Author

biljanazovkic

the beauty of words and colors

muags

Just words

Craving The Mat

Yoga.Music.Love

FICTIONAL MACHINES

J. E. LATTIMER

Teacher as Transformer

Education, Leadership, Life, and Transformation

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

My books: https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

Audrey Kalman - Fiction with a dark edge

stories reveal—and hide—our most essential truths

bussokuseki

fatherhood, zen, and the buddha's footprints in an everyday life

Rants.

Realizations & Revelations.

Snotting black

growing wild in the san francisco hills

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

gaymanranting

J.D. Cerna, former columnist for The Washington Blade, copes with Life by Writing

Five Reflections

Books, Stories, Songs, Poetry, Or Reminiscing

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

Life as a Writer and Artist

writer,novels,poetry,viola,painting

brianbakerwrites

Capturing the Human Experience to Change Human Existance

The Book People Chronicles: A Story Writing Contest

create dynamic stories; raise funds for valuable causes

Carmen the Chicken Killer by Sarah Curtiss

This is the story of my 2-month stay in Costa Rica a few years ago. It wasn’t my first trip. I had visited the year before with my partner, William Solis, who is from Costa Rica. But this particular year I wanted to learn Spanish. My initial plan was to take an immersion course in Mexico. However, William said that if I was going to immerse myself in a Spanish family it might as well be his. They don’t speak any English so I would be forced to speak Spanish and I could get to know them better. I told him that when I returned I would know more about him and his family than he did and so it has proven to be true. William joined me for the last 10 days. This is my journal plus emails I wrote to family and friends and a few comments from my current perspective…six years later. I drew a picture every day using pencil, pen, colored pencil, water colors, and acrylics. I wrote in my journal almost every day. I took photographs.

%d bloggers like this: