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They are speaking
Tornadic bursts of clarity that light the path so long hidden
Lightning flashes of dervish danced love now bidden
The dialect is moving my feet forward, but
the roots had to reach ancestral proportions
to stretch closer to the stars without distortion.
Outreached hands grip, grasp, climb the galaxies
as Terraria celebrates the gateway rendered of fallacies
Although precarious in balance, it’s to advantage giv’n
that tornadic bursts of clarity pursue the debris forgiven
Pass it onward!
Shadow Bones
I see you there in the shadows pretending you don’t see me.
I’m not there to hurt you, but to love you without question.
To you that may seem an impossible task because “Who’d love you?”
I’ll take out my soul light, holding it high in the air dissipating
The aura of unworthiness, the wall of hostile protection
The child that feels as lost as I have felt
I hear your cries in the dark as the nightmares scream
I’m not there to harm you, but to comfort your fears tenderly
That may feel unlikely considering the state you’re in
I’ll hold up my soul light, filled with love so the dark can’t have
Your rebirth into fruitfulness, your abundance like pomegranate
The child that screams with a voice now heard, like mine.
I feel your heart fighting as fiercely as a cornered animal
I’m not here to defeat you, but to support your victory
You believe you are broken, but I see the power of your will
I’ll offer my soul light as your shield as you fight for you
For your dreams, happiness, love, peace, your very spirit
That child that is frantic to stay safe knows me
I can’t offer redemption. I can’t even offer you a path.
What I can give you is my deepest support as you traverse
Acceptance of your divinity, your understanding of love
Your worthiness of compassion, your gift of kindness
I offer my soul light so you can find your own.
That child knows I am free, release the regrets
Bloom into the garden of unique flora and fauna.
Here, have some of my seeds.
Pass it onward!
Binge reader
I gush distracted through my days
but when I choke with disgust, starve for poetry,
I dig out their works and cover my ears to the world
The common world where words are disposable,
no longer present pleasure
but tedious imaginings
of short-handed, short-sighted vulgarities.
The world where “u r ok” is acceptable bastardization.
Ready for a binge
I burrow into my favorite comfort foods
like a fork bringing sustenance to my body
I allow them to enter my veins with lusty anticipation.
When I ingest Joel, E.I. Wong, Roads, or Cardiff
I’m blissfully transported, transposed into a new trajectory,
rescued by the unsuspecting, unaware, shiny knights
The breathless depths of my immersion
puddle into my lap, spill onto my blouse
leaving me with short-lived shielding against ignorance
besotting my sensibilities with undulating vocabulary
I lift one last feather towards the wings of Queen Bird.
The final dollop of delectable dessert.
Deep sighs topped with a satisfied burp from my binge-filled indulgence;
Gratefully sated by the authors of still-life slices.
Pass it onward!
A-Cross Borne
As I released her hand, my heart bled tears of peace
She once was my holiest of Saviors
begging my life of me as a personal favor
when that night sailed away with the moon.
If not for the promise I gave her
from my ugliest desperate behavior
I’d have deserted the weeping stars too soon.
Now the full moon rises stark
bringing forth what won from dark
as the stars witness my release
I emancipate her hand, relinquish her heart
Another path taken on this journey I embark
To her I offer a blessing of light, love and peace
Pass it onward!
Wealthy Street
I was a beggar on Wealthy Street
where I was accused of being vibrant
arrested in my quest for murdered time
charged with being an artist
convicted of faith in more than I do
as an accessory after the top hat
In my sidewalk cell,
I became an advocate as a willing-faced pauper
begging for change on Wealthy Street
Pass it onward!
Burst forth
The Goddess Within
Pass it onward!
Serenade of the trees
Wedgewood Park Afternoon
Through all my youth I didn’t learn the language of the trees
I couldn’t hear the words to the poetic songs they would sing for me
When I became still enough to listen to the music of the earth
I learned of transformation, regeneration, and rebirth.
What I didn’t know, while true to my childish indiscretions,
were the many truths I’d learned from them, the many rough hewn lessons.
My roots ran deeply through rocky soil, building bridges of emotional gaps
My branches raised up high with deep green leaves fed by spirit’s sap
I was taught the ancient tongues of the oak, elm, maple, birch,
embraced in laughing drumming beats the circumference of my worth
I am a child of the forests, although youth I can no longer claim
I will honor my tree kin’s body; their face; until the earth embraces me again.
Pass it onward!
Peaceful Depths
Be at PEACE with your DEPTHS
Acrylic on Board
(Guess-timated) 8″X22″ FOR SALE!
I was asked to explain “Be at peace with your depths.” My interpretation of it may differ from how you take it, but I explained it as this:
“Your depths are your darkest parts. They’re there under all the fluff and brightness. If you’re at peace with them, it doesn’t matter if they bubble to the surface because you can flow through them.”
I received an enthusiastic response followed by: “They are abubbling and I be a troublin over them. I do understand that I must contend with the dark and negitive BUT me no like it one bit.”
“Nobody LIKES negative thoughts, but if you deny them, then you deny a part of who you are. It’s okay to have them. It’s okay to feel them. It’s not okay to dwell there. I’ve suffered from PTSD. I understand the anger, the frustrations, the mood swings. To maintain what I have right now, I use a lot of meditation, breathing, grounding, shielding, and visual aids to relieve the symptoms.”
Feel free to share your interpretations of this in the comments. Be Love
Pass it onward!
The young man and “The Pensive Woman”
The Pensive Woman, 1932 by a German Artist (I can’t find the name of the artist)
I rounded the corner from bronze dipped metal spoons that didn’t stir my soul
to observe a lost lamb separated by his emotions from the flock of chittering as a whole.
He stood slouched, small dreads pointing to the sky, bandana tied artfully at his temple
staring at the sculpture trying to understand something I couldn’t see; Sentimental?
I greeted him with gentle voice, encouraging interaction. I explained without pause
“I was in the other room observing several that didn’t move me because
The spirit requires recognition of matching vibrancy to vibrate frequently
Why this one? What drew you to her?” I asked the young man evenly.
He thought quick, deeply, spoke with certainty, “She’s so sad.”
“When art speaks to me, it speaks in bright colors because I’m, as a rule, glad.
Do you understand her sadness, too? She was created by a German in 1932.”
He wavered momentarily as his emotions washed his face quickly, efficiently.
For a moment, I thought I’d lost him as I waited patiently.
“She reminds me of how I felt when I learned my father had passed away.
I locked myself in my room, curled in a ball and cried to myself all day.
That he was gone was hard enough, it went against my every plan,
but I remember wondering, “Who’s going to teach me to be a man?”
His eyes looked at me just like hers. I gave him “Always Beautiful” as I abided
“You are not alone.” I comforted in synonymous tone as he’d confided.
He smiled while hefting the weight of a million gallons of un-cried tears
that will ebb and flow
wax and wane
light and darken his years.
I loved him deeply, truly
in all his pensive human beauty
as much as I admired that German artist of 1932
accidentally gifting me that one on one in bronzed blues.
Mare Martell 