mountain dreaming

I have an idea.
a certain set of thoughts that gets stuck, looping, around in my head that I am not able to shake clear without consideration.
I love the idea.

I am in strawberry.
making it work.
it is hard work and i need some hard work.
i need to fix problems that arise and make things beautiful.
i need to draw a crowd of people and learn from them - hear their stories - and create my own.,

the opportunity of summer is looming and I feel like I must go there from day 1 through as long as possible.

although my favorite time would be summer turning into the new year, i will take what i can get.

how to again push away what i long for?
again to crumple up a dream?

it isn't like we are living a dream for any other - my spouse does not seem to have a dream except not working and that is just preposterous.

so, what to do?
go to pilates.
that is something that strawberry wont have.
without me making it.
go and be here and love it while you are here.
who knows how long there is amongst this beauty?

sounds and feeling

guitar
loudly
and echoing
and taking up all the space that the dream was inside my head,
that lucid space
the swiss cheese holes they filled with music
and then became
all consumed
by it

and then i cried
inside
for a moment
deciding.
and then i spoke.
taking me as more important
for i would die
by my own hand
if i didn't get this bit down.

December 2014

The leafless trees
pointed
spiked and sway

the trickle
a stream
flows down around
and away

my breath
finding rhythm
I hum within.

The chill
here and there
around bends and corners
and I do not expect it to be heard
or understood

I am
I am here
to hear and hum
breathe and run
and so I do.

In the mist

Disappear
I can
one day
when it rains
and I have the right boots
fit for long walks

Disappear
one day
I will

Beards and Sands

Sometimes all it takes is a glimpse of the something else
and off the mind goes
on tangents.

In this case,
while reading about explorers
before maps were a household item
far before even a thought of the digital world

I escaped from my hovel of wonderment
into another place.
And considered my fascination
with the 1800's and the life of the explorers who left comfort and sanity
for distant un-American/English/Western lands
and
if it was adequate enough to carry one away.

A man
and his Hungarian wife
caused quite the interest
amongst Africa back then
when they
and mostly her golden tresses
arrived.

I too
follow each person as if they have these
golden tresses
as if they walk
in harmony
with their lover from a distant land.

A watcher am I
to experience
filling in with my breath
what can not be known.
And care not
do I
of details
when all that is left
is faded parchment
turned to dust,
footsteps on the Sahara.

Having Wings

I am at the rope.
Unable to see and content in this.
So, I listen.  I think.  I remain on tangents.

Then, a voice.
It says "What are you waiting for?" and I laugh.
Exactly this, I figure.
Then I go and it is wonderful.

Here, now, so long after that fact, I still wait for the voice.
I can be my own voice yet have fear.
In order to let go of my perceived security, all this stuff that seems real must be embraced
as the make-believe
which it is.
Only then will I be able to use these wings
which have been
so ever
at the ready.

The Corridor.

Was so totally depleted the last few days.  Un-enchantment growing.

Turned a corner after some quiet reflection thanks to music, writing, and talking with others. Seeing that corner now behind me helped recognize something which might be important.  For some people, when help is most needed, they might be completely unable to reach out.  Just slowing down for a few minutes to notice the way the leaves turn in the wind, the way the sun rises, the whole entirety of people on this planet that start out beautiful and free, living fully in the ability to hear, feel, see and communicate... If I did this more often, this slowing down, I might catch the eye of another person down a corridor.  I might see more and differently.

Hear. Feel. See. Communicate.  <3

Beacons

Grown men
Running
To the waters
And i
Amongst them
Accepted
Accepting
Watching
The glowing sky
Go to darkness.

The Princess Bride

I died the day I said

'i do'

The little me I had imagined

blossoming into a great big me

dissolved

behind

duty and responsibility

and

then

I

found

love.

In ten little fingers

and

ten little toes.

And a new me

bloomed

and bloomed

and 

bloomed.

getting back in the business mindset

getting back in the business mindset

I am doing a new thing here.

Monday Funday

All I do
is cook and clean
when is there
time to act on dreams?

When lost amongst the dish suds
My other self gathers flowers in heaps
jete leaps
sails in waters blue
singing
dancing
wearing glittering jewels

Women are such beautiful things
they are darkness
they are light
I am beckoned from the horizon line
to gather up and join the procession
those no longer baking the bread
washing the sheets
birthing the babies
...the cooking the cleaning the hiding the weaning
the whining
the judgements
the looks
the confinements

Asking elders what they did?
Oh, doll, you just wake them up
fix them up
prop them up
push them on
make the lines'
drive the cars
build the houses
rape the lawns

kiss the children
love them well
send them off
...to hell?

I stand by and wave
and smile
and lie
yes, life is difficult
suck it up, little one.
My little ones too?

GDR

the motherland

tells her a story

with each step she takes

through mountains of glory

and wooded road ends

meeting her fate.

THE OLDER

THE OLDER

feeling dejected.

Neglected

by my own skin

my shins

black and blue

climbing fences over you.

Turning them against me

yet 

minds for themselves

if the faith persists

they have been on their own side

all along

and that which you have given up for them

has no bearing

aside from the deep welts

the feelings 

depthless

from that vast empty 

echo down in.

And one more makes four.

The Daughter's voice
calls in the night.
Through the stillness
it lingers.

trouble.

So I know that I should be sleeping

and that the morning is sure and soon to come

and I know that there is no reason

however here I sit

thinking of the energy/connection/connectivity between people

whether I like it or not

and I think of a man purely from the standpoint of what I see reflected back at me

or what I feel when he is looking -or thinking -of me.

Am I right? I don't care.

It doesn't matter.

So, in this situation, I get up and text. He is nearby and I know it will be wrong by morning

yet I am compelled.

And so I set in motion a rolling that gets us within connection distance of each other.

Connection distance.

And, there I was

floating

in the pond

in a boat

high and mighty

and gazing at the stars

food for the living night

in whatever shape or form it came in

and what I saw is unexplainable

and unable to be recreated

and mine

somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain

whether or not I came home with damp feet

and breathless

grinning.

Gardens of Dreams.

Don't know what I am here for
living like wasted space
many avenues
of people slinging the blues
masks to shed
trading spaces, trading beds

If following the heart
is the way to go
who pays for the ads?

The head
leading in another direction
marches in line, in tune
sublime

yet, the soul
the something other
knocking
clocking
follows its own path

brambles
streams
rainbows
dreams
there are no dishes, no laundry, no meetings, no outfits
just feeling
and doing
and
the grin is wide.

Little Dress Black

There is a dress with my name on it
a something
a little something
that has a neckline
causing

a dream
of flashing silver
of a smile and a spark
and a shy gaze towards a magical moment

and fade to black.

Hays Field

the mornings

which could have been early or late

dew on the grasses at the bottom

just drying up on top

running fingers over the tips 

feet following the path

up Hays field

looking for the milkweed

blossoms still tucked into their tidy and perfect felt pockets

the flight path of the monarch leading my way

eyes closed

I can smell the earth

smell the sounds of the day

and I am one with this all

my universe

finding my place

not knowing I needed to be found.

Only later,

later,

having to call what I had been given a name

thinking on the experience

of being wild in the wild

connections to trees and grass and sun and rain

it was a life

and it was mine.

((getting it))

Not knowing about how it will feel
but knowing the focus
the effect
the heat
the touch,

to clear my head to find the space within
sit with it
and breathe.
Listen.

You will want it too.


((And I can get it for you.))

the woman with the long pearls.

the woman with the long pearls.
She was,
and I wasn't.
No matter
nothing
floating
gorgeous
light
glowing (((glow)))
injest it
sequest it
you burn
so slow


***

Strength
through his eyes
green
and into mine
I dream

of her
breathing.


***