Uncategorized

Winter’s Writing Choices

Approaching winter…

OK, maybe encroaching mid-winter
of life’s seasonal span
with resonantly compelling grace,
perhaps even transparent vulnerability,
feels controversial,
too laissez-faire

Too much courage
in declaring preliminary success
with too little curiosity
about what happens next
on planet Earth

Continuing to revolve all four seasons
dynamics
holistic lenses.

I recall the poet’s admonition
to not go quietly
into this winterish
cold night.

Life’s final reflective opportunity
does not invite quiet
so much as impassioned peace
of a windless snowfall
blanketing all I can see
and more faintly hear,
touch and awkwardly feel,
smell and bittersweetly taste
unsafe passage.

I recently moved from autumn habitat,
a creative tension between summer’s midlife climax
and this new winter habit
above Connecticut’s exquisite Salmon River.

This is a compromised writer’s winter hermitage
shared with my son who cannot speak
but can roar,
who cannot walk by himself
but can scoot
and belly laugh at his own internal sensations
and my external sensational sounds.

And, following Daquan
from my fall habitat
to winter’s eremetical search for peace,
however coldly displaced,
with social
and political
and spiritual
and natural distancing,

Behind Daquan
are daily in-home nurses
and his most avid companion,
my romantically distanced husband.

He comes bearing gifts
of clothes,
cleaning supplies,
far too much meaty food
for a proper hermitage
and not enough
for sufficient redemption
and for self-forgiveness.

He comes unaware of my ecofeminist wintering spirit,
longing for Earth’s warm womb justice
restoring peace
resilient through all four seasons
of present
past
and future Earth lives.

My ecofeminist lineage
feels too white to him,
not a journey for him
and our two brown sons
and my brown and cerebral palsied daughter
and Daquan.

So, this writer’s winter hermitage
remains newly compromised by past fall
and summer
and even spring
of extended multicultural family life.

May it always be so
or no,
I’m not sure which to pray for
or against
as I quietly write
into this warm and peaceful night,
just right,
not too dim or bright.

Standard
Uncategorized

Winged Economy

When I wash dishes
I look out at my bird feeder,
noticing which political species are best at cooperating,
easy democratic process,
remaining focused on collective nutritional energy gains,
“we’re all in this together” feathers of kin kind
And, which are more elitist,
not so good with sharing a modestly seeded pot;
blue jays predatively pecking,
crows taking over with raucous self-appointed authority,
ganging up against non-supremacists
seeking win/win democratic health.
But, this morning’s meditation
looks over at a nearby large bush,
now January cold barren brown
camouflage, more than shelter,
for local birds of all species
waiting their feeding turn,
frightened by my neighbor’s cat
or a hawk flying ominously overhead
or human noises leaking through my windows.
This small bird sanctuary,
Or is it an asylum?…
Perhaps both, depending on the bird,
harbors those waiting,
patiently, impatiently,
How would I know?
for their turn at their nutrition tower,
their seed Commons,
their energy media feeding station,
local source for economic and political exchange,
gossip,
social busyness.
Each bird flies back and forth,
some dressed in drab everyday,
others more business-ready flashy,
but all conjoining waves of flowing energy
in-between asylum bush
and open season feeding sanctuary.
Sometimes listeners and watchers,
and then short-flight toward feeders,
communicants
receiving sacred wafers,
seeds,
investments in cooperative multiculturing futures,
gifts of a generous green Earth.
Then,
suddenly,
they are gone.
The feeder Commons
abandoned.
My meditative hiding
and curiously waiting medicine bush
bereft of waving winged energy
breathing in and out,
feathered wings up and down.
Time to go back home
to more private nests
thoughts
feelings,
or, perhaps
to visit my neighbor’s cooperative feeder,
another caffeinated sanctuary
outside his own warm interior asylum.
Standard
Uncategorized

Virgin Spring

We each have that early spring
post-matriarchal
un-hibernating
emerging from EarthMother moment,

An awareness memory
of late winter’s pregnant demands
to cramp and thrust forward
patriarchally over-powering
in full summer’s fertile august strength.

We each have this great green climate moment
of silent anticipation
bringing all our ancients gathered
and returning reborn music
danced in-between winter
and spring’s wild awakening
win winning together
seamlessly

All climates marched before
with all moods augustly septumbering behind
health/wealth bicamerally reiterating after

We each share one Great Matriarchal Transition
early springing out all over memory metaphors
of EarthMother’s first heart-felt song
sung inside late winter’s last hibernating
passive moments of bipolar unconsciousness

Marching into win/lose political
and economic
and personal
and natural/spiritual dipolar climates
and metaphoric moods,
conflicted/restricted voices
heard in slow-jazzed magic soul

As Pisces twins float midway
between healthy swimming heaven
and pathological hell
bi-fractally fifth-dimension
Aquarian EarthClimate ascendent

Emerging pregnant with creative nondual tension
as a regenerating inside/outside new mom moon

Transitional integrity’s annual fullness
reborn win-win EarthPatriotic power
of a liberating Virgo’s
august appolonian/dionysian
yang/yin
east/west LeftDominant
south/north RightRecessive revolutionary prominent
march toward democratic health/wealth
EarthCentric promise
with 2020 reverse-hierarchical ReVision.

Reborn of FatherNorth
and MotherSouth soils
and ancient DNA fractal regenerations

Zero ZenZone bicameral souls
of jazz dance left springing up and out
with gospel soul sung winter force/source right

Marching reborn
Matriarchal/Patriarch restoring justice,

Non-violent communicating embodied co-passions,
Pisces twins swim-dance
with spiritual gospel win/win Virgin muses
east with west
right early spring left late winter
in grateful green anticipation.

Standard
Uncategorized

Too Long Winter

In long winters
when curious bears hibernate,

When even those few songbirds left behind
are stoically silent
at their least amorous time,

When uneven bare trees and bushes
retire into aptic
dormant
deep naked entropy,

It is sadly seasonally appropriate
to barely live outside robotic,
lethargic,
frozenly mechanistic
and yet deeply empathic,
simultaneously.

Then springs Spring!
Let synaptic mania
swell up again,

Open the windows
and darkening doors
to set this home and love
in fresh-incoming order

Resiliently resonant enough
to last through sweltering dog days
of co-empathic musky slumbering
buzzing
drowsy summer,
fat with greens
united,
and not uncuriously uniform.

Standard
Uncategorized

Silent Night through DayTime Prayers

Before presidents and attorneys got hold of it,
and back before theologians were even a glint in the Golden GodHead’s eye,

Prayer, silent or verbose,
was filled with reminders and gratitude to ourselves
and for and from others,
with pleas for urgent help
from all souls past
and still longed for,
especially those personally remembered
by having shared this home on Earth
in more balanced golden era times
of enchanting imaginations,

And petitions
to future generations
to finish what we,
and all who have passed through before us,
have healthy started,

And to forgive us for what we have neglected to rightly left unfinish,
failed to deeply hear and see resonance,
heart and mind resilience,
feel and think restoratively
this difference between healthy resilient prayerful life
and pathological resistance
to sacred multiculturing educational re-membering
theo/ecological resources of silent EarthTribe souls.

For experiential ecologists,
and for communion theologists,
those who see cooperative nature’s climate outside
reflecting organic spirit’s health v. mortal pathology inside,
Prayer often leads from suffering impatient words and warnings
toward restoring just non-violent silence.

Life as prayer provokes a transubstantiating bridge
between past and future regenerators
for growing compassionately interdependent Left/Right Brain Egos

To travel back through origins of healthy DNA time
and forward toward omega tipping points to co-arise branching wealth
securing resilient global resonance
restoring justice
regathering Earth’s ecstatic silent communion
within AllSouls before,

Breaking through theological silence, glass ceilings,
boundaries for and against solidarity of ecstatic futures,
polycultural wealth of health outcomes,
resiliently sustainable.

Such prayer changes interdependent things, systems
transubstantiate yin-cooperative and yang-competitive relationships.

Living prayer stretches ZeroSouls
experiencing ZenZone co-empathy–
easier in communal ego/eco-dynamic
empowering ecstatic silence
of a FullMoon winter solstice night.

 

 

Standard
Uncategorized

Rudolf the Ginger ReignDeer

Rudolf is mysteriously born in a manger
with a flaming red nose,
and eyes,
and ears,
and hair,
everywhere.

Gingers are rare
among his DeerTribe
as is his empathic capacity to know he is going where,
how to get there,
and about how long it could take
regardless of direction
or increasingly massive winter storms
as Earth’s dark final Solstice
ominously approaches collapse,

The opposite of Rapture
for all evangelists
and good news prophets
with politically correct monotheistic
retributive justice revenge passions
of a patriotic white nationalist
bitter wind nature.

Up until now,
Santa has relied on his GPS
especially for crossing polluted and rising oceans
and massively expanding deserts
where no people could live and prosper.

But, as the North Pole continues to melt
and winter night storms cover most of the northern hemisphere
Santa’s GPS joins the landfill,
unreliable for crossing ocean-size blizzards
and continental sand storms.

He consults his ReignDeer
in the Transportation Department.

After considerable non-violent discernment,
and a lot of back and forth with the Health and Safety Political Department
and the Communication and Marketing Correctness Department,
they recommend Rudolf to Santa
To see if he might be able to help guide his sleigh
of healthy gifts
despite Rudolf’s apparent deviant health issues
and his probable wealth of empathic internal voices
and his presumed challenges of politically incorrect humility.

Frankly, Rudolf is a bit queer,
especially when the sun lights up his nose
to the vibrant color of a red-hot coal.

So Santa asks Rudolf
if he might lead the way through growing storms of violent winds,
freezing ice and blinding sand.

Not by myself, he replies.
This is too much weight to bear
with flying sacred grace,
But if we might find
and teach
and listen to others with these same gingerish gifts,
then we might develop a leadership team
to fly far more than sufficient health resilience
for winter storm night skies
and shaking roofs.

Santa also asks Rudolf if he has any questions,
So Rudolf inquires about health and safety insurance
sufficient to cover Santa’s global transportation risks
and communion gifting opportunities.

Santa thinks this an unusual question
from young and apparently robust Rudolf,
but also a wise one
far beyond his ginger years.

Rudolf wonders if these health issues
came from his maternal grandmother
who may have been a violently violated ginger
but he had known her only after she turned silver
sparkling as a star

Twinkling warnings
of this post-millennial final Solstice,
when political aspirations for global healthy happiness
trails and travel
shrink to survival opportunities
activating more modest aging hope
to at least avoid catastrophic climate storms
of unsurpassed violence,
politically incorrect chaos,
tidal streams bereft of faith
in everyday sacred gifts.

Santa,
perhaps also of red-nosed ginger Tribe,
feels reassured by Rudolf’s hope
for health-optimizing faith,
both humanely non-sectarian
and divinely balancing ancient patriarchal mists
of wealthiest commercial night vision
with matriarchal transporting trends
toward gifting communal friendships,
strength and flow
for growing climates of political
and economic integrity.

Won’t you guide our sleigh of life tonight?

Yes, Rudolf replies with healthy glee,
especially at this messianic Solstice time
of this, my ancient ginger life.
How could we do less communal wealth
than actively hope for this night
and everyday health
of ginger polypath enlightening gifts?

Standard
Uncategorized

April Love

We began our late winter do-over
with a dirty ceramic bowl
during a too-much snowstorm.

Well, no,
obviously that’s not where this rebirth story begins
but neither is a cream-colored
and clean
bowl
where this story ends.

Anyway,
I look at Matilda’s mac and cheese bowl
from the RaggedyAnn frosty night before
while an early morning April Fool’s snow blanket
arises perfectly
peacefully
majestically
and really too wetly
outside our kitchen windows.

I wash his late night
and lunch-time dishes all the time,
with grateful precision.

Not all the time,
but frequently,
poignantly,
yet he washes his dishes
without touching Matilda’s or mine.

Why would our Cooperative WinWin Gamer
not see how inappropriately WinLose
this is?

Never mind about disrespectful
and possibly selfish.
How does this lack of awareness
betray us,
a more or less functional
resilient cooperative health service unit?

What does this mean
and what is his message
through medium
of round crusty artifact?

I do his dishes
because I”m washing dirty dishes
so I don’t have to look at them,
or smell them,
and so they don’t attract pests
when they are not well rinsed
by RaggedyAnn frosty nubian princesses.

Is this because I am a responsible adult
and a parent of hurt children?
And he is not?

And, if so,
then why would our WinWin Gamer
assume it’s OK
to not act like a responsible young adult
and Cooperative Gaming Sibling?

Facilitator,
both teacher and regenerational student
of healthy resilient life-skills.

Is this message ageist,
and/or anti-parental?
Downsides of Peter Panism,
Eastern Innocence
without strong ecocentrically mature roots,
yet.

So I asked him
about why leaving dirty bowls is OK
for him
regardless of who started it.
And we talked cooperatively WinWin
together
about why they aren’t so great for me,
and possibly us.

That helped us
both to see ourselves
and each other
in some ways
newborn clean bowl differently.

It was about then
this magical early spring snowstorm
faded toward partly sunny
and shoulder-warmer.

 

Standard
Uncategorized

Winter’s Time 2016

Winter’s time
and the livin’s not easy.
Snow plows humpin’
and my mouth is too dry.

Well, well, well, well, well
your daddy ain’t rich
and your wallet’s not cookin’.
So sleep little baby,
don’t you,
don’t you cry.

[Insert your own scat blues here. You didn’t think I was going to do all the work did you?]

One of these nightly days
We’re gonna’ rise up singin’;
We’re gonna’ spring our wings
and fly to the sky sky, sky!

And on that great gettin’ up mornin’
there ain’t nothin’ gonna’ stop us,
with Mother Earth
an Father Sun
standin’
and spinnin’ bye….

Ba-duh, ba-duh, ba-duh,
Bu-Dah…..

 

Dedicated to all the SADs, especially those working through Advent 2016, trying to keep your winterish cool about TrumpAdministration 2017.

Standard
Uncategorized

Holy Nights

Silent Nights for echoing lack of resonant laughter
are not most Holy Nights
as purgation’s self-effacing advent
opens sublime econormous therapy
of Earth Rights and Wrongs
as Our Grow Ups and Downs
and Rounds with Pounds too Wealthy Gross
to responsibly carry
as Earth’s cosmic Let’s Pretend We’re Smarter than CoPresent Plants.

Hours and days and seasons
regenerating bicamerally tipping laughter,
seeding deep-rooted co-respect
and highest co-arising Presence
for those few who actually might be smart enough
to know better.

Smiling with coherent universal rememory
of warm waves,
co-gravitating humor
smooth-sliding across our liquid skins.

Skins in love spread wild
as Full Moon light
shining CoForeGiving Eve
of EcoReGenerating Phase.

Winter evenings for warm-fired laughter
with ourselves
for all others
sitting in winter daze,
eco-hibernation.

Standard
Uncategorized

Cocktail Hour

Winter’s early evening breeze
feels and smells the same now,
as when sixteen,
except less promising
because more consoling,
contenting rather than regenerating contentious breath
of future hopes and dreams,
knowing we conspire somehow,
Earth and I,
because I feel richer to love this way,
than to breathe evening’s winter still, alone.

I am less sure this was not my last daylight
in this operatic, yet ridiculously distracted,
lifetime landscape of sensory memory.

When I was sixteen,
my understory was more of a musical-comedy landscape
that would remain forever Peter Pan young, virginal,
well…hopefully not that.

Such confidence of seeing yet another
and another, apparently endless,
pink dawn,
turning yellow,
introducing blue hemisphere,
framed by green Earth’s polycultural grasses
and monocultural asses,
which, at sixteen,
I found more amusing
than patience perdures into sixtyfour.

Winter’s now later evening silence
remembering sixteen and sixtyfour
together
over vodka-laced pomegranate.

Standard