Tag: Anemone

We Fall Apart to Become

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The empty shell shimmers against the dry, rustling grass of August.

I crouch low to the earth.

I gather her brittle, translucent skin, gently.

This skin of days passed.

I admire the patterns of her scales,

the texture visible, tangible,

color now faded.

I hold her cast-away sheath in the palm of my hand.

I think how I am like her.

I am part snake.

I too have outgrown my skin.

I too have shed the old, many times–

for survival,

for cleansing,

for growth,

for truth.

The shedding is agony.

The shedding is ecstasy.

It is a death and a rebirth.

I hold her old skin–

this temporary art of moments lived,

this disintegrating map of who she was.

I watch it flutter into pieces and scatter in the wind, returning.

 

 

Circle

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i enter the open circle
close my eyes
awash in longing
i descend
into the dark depths
forests within
earthen caverns below
i release my need for certainty
shed all of my armor
the bejeweled and silken
the rusted and tattered
i remove the obstacle of self-doubt
let go of attachment to thought
i trust my body,
opening my heart, my eyes
i ascend initiated
into the spectrum of light above
still awash in longing
ever becoming belonging
i depart the closed circle

Wondering

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1.
i pray for past awareness
to guide me through this life with wisdom
and prevent the replication of harmful patterns
i pray for present awareness
to embody my aliveness
and keep me focused on my multipurpose
i pray for future awareness
to temper my appetites
and inspire me to dream

2.
i am a porous creature
love flowing, burning, pouring through me
air and fire and water
cleansed and holy by the salt and musk of my body
i am a reflective creature
wondering
perhaps it has never been about the holding
or being held
nor the having
of hands
or flowers
words
lips
letters
tender touches
heartbeats
or vocal tones
perhaps it has always been about the generative transmutations
the animations that exist
upon our leaving each other
sparks
exhales
seeds
spores
expressions of contentment
waves of pleasure
bursts of laughter
a deep thirst
an afterglow of warmth
an offspring
a poem
a dream
a novel not yet nameable entity

3.
and when my death arrives
i will simultaneously rise and descend and disperse
on a kaleidoscoping exhale
of sensation and light and sound and matter
becoming the endless stream of poetry
written into my soul
by all the arrivals and departures of my loves and my loving

*please note that if you are viewing this on a phone screen, the original line-breaks may be distorted, which may impact your reading experience. to view the writing as intended, use of a tablet or desktop computer is recommended.

living into uncertainty

On By AnemoneLeave a comment

standing at the window
i watch the landscape of autumn
where growth and decay coincide
i see through imaginary borders
where moonlight shines upon you
and i feel you near
the palm of your hand
still pressing upon my heart center
firm, warm, weighted
comfort amidst turmoil
i spread this love around
letting it seep deeply within
i rub it into the hearts and backs of beloveds
as we live into this uncertainty
this gaping chasm of fear and possibility
i transmit the warmth of my being, my gaze
to you, roaming love


Seven Prayers (revisited)

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#1

May the experiences that deliver us
to the brink of breaking
be held as opportunities for evolution.

#2

May we, you and I,
come into awareness
of our powers
of intellect,
our every thought
and imagining–
may we know them as gifts, sacred.

#3

May we always seek each other,
find one another,
and see every arrival with clarity.

#4

May I be fluid
as the creek
pouring down the hill
making music out of every obstacle.

#5

May you shed the skin of your shame
as tears of praise for your persistence.
May you rise
from the shadowland fire-polished,
lion-hearted and lithe–
one hand raised to shield,
one hand open to give and to receive.

#6

May our words be medicine
for the journey
through desecration to resilience.

#7

May I liberate the wilderness
of my love
through an ancient and wordless song,
lulling tigers to sleep
and coaxing hearts to bloom.

(compiled and reposted from February – December 2018)

*if you are viewing this on a smartphone, line breaks may not be accurate and this will impact your reading experience as well as the conveyance of meaning*

My heart says rage, also love, also resist

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I do not know how to write about the horror
the words surge and explode inside my mind
they lose potency on the page
the hundred years’ war on Palestine
escalated to genocide, ecocide
land theft and body slaughter
funded by taxes extracted from my labor
from generations of labor before me
my mind says rant
my heart says rage
and grieve
sing and pray
also love
also resist
my body says breathe
and love
also
resist, resist, resist

I want to dispel the lies
to decry what I see
what I hear, what I know
how does one create poetry out of atrocity and desecration?
how does one speak to another too afraid to listen?
to those numb and distracted?
to those indoctrinated in hate?
my words are not enough

do you hear poetry in the pepper plants growing in the cracks of toxic bomb rubble?
…in the exiled poet writing his pain into poems of love for his people and homeland
as he loses more and more with every sunset?
…in the children continuing to play and dance even though tomorrow they may lose
limbs, siblings, families, friends, life?
…in the thousands of peaceful dissenters or the self-emulators?
…in the hundreds of thousands of flowers and candles and pages of names
for the hundreds of thousands of dead martyrs overflowing our altars?

this genocide evokes all genocides
all occupations
untended grief forming vast oceans of unshed tears
igniting fire in our blood
fire in the mouths of our dragon-hearts
902 entire Palestinian family lines dis-membered in this past year alone
and what of the olive trees, the wheat fields, the poppies, the animals, the birds?
what of the storms and climate chaos to come–
from unprecedented CO2 emissions released in bombs?

the darkest depravity has dragged us into a bottomless realm
where every compass has been shattered
it is time to burn the maps and the flags
time to burn the imperial lies and threats
that plague our communities like an ancient virus
separating us from our shared life-source
lies like, indigenous people resisting occupation are terrorists
lies like, this is self-defense
lies like, your freedom depends on this
threats like, eat these lies for dinner and obey
threats like, be grateful the government has not locked me up or
shot me in my sleep (yet)
for daring to string history and truth together
be grateful I have evaded police beatings or tasing or gassing or torture or rape (so far)
for daring to listen to my ancestors
for marching in the streets for justice and peace
for gathering in circles of solidarity to sing songs of liberation
for imagining and dreaming a post-colonial world
one of rematriation and restoration

U.S. politicians bathe in blood and deal weapons by the billions
while hailing gods of austerity and starvation
candidates with bones stuck in their teeth and ghosts in their eyes
spew manufactured narratives of manipulation
self-identified liberals take up fascism in a panic
fawning in the face of domination
donning old hoods and cloaks stored in the closet
wed to a status quo of monstrosity, devoid of compassion and empathy
the neighbors fly flags of colonization and Zionism
I stop answering the door when they knock
I encircle my home, my loves, in spells of protection
I am sick for days, for months
my head aches and my stomach churns
steeped in disgust and agony
I cry and I cry and I cry
my sleep interrupted by nightmares
of fleeing an abusive man
of no safe place to run to
of birthing a blue baby too weak to suckle
of having no breast-milk
of fearing a premature death
of not being able to pay rent
of fearing houselessness
of leaving my body and not being able to return
of leaving my body and not being able to return
of leaving my body
and not being able to return

*if you are viewing this on a smartphone, line breaks may not be accurate and this will impact your reading experience as well as the conveyance of meaning*

the future is a burning question

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drops of rose petal, honey, brandy,
and motherwort under my tongue
songs of liberation in my throat
sweet potato biscuits in my basket
dark-moon invitation to love
deeper in this season of grief and horror
you depart in eleven days
and the future is a burning question
yet we choose each other anyway
our bodies and hearts a-thrum
we share histories and dreams
shaping and sounding ourselves into synchrony
as if this is all we get
this luscious
collection of moments outside of time
I see myself in your future, and you in mine
a revelation kept in the dark folds of my heartscape
precious rare seed of longing
I soak in the afterglow of our dance
as traces of you pulse and echo through my being
rearranging me
awakening me into new imagining, new becoming
I am astounded at every opportunity to love in these dark times

*if you are viewing this on a smartphone, line breaks may not be accurate and this will impact your reading experience as well as the conveyance of meaning*

I lost you

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I lost you at the crossroads, love.
You chose a path I could not follow.
Outside of our embrace now,
adrift in the in-between,
I have been forsaken.
I tread holy waters, awash in my tears.
I will not forsake me.
I will be by my side.
I will grieve,
and I will love others.
When we meet again,
it will be at the foot of the mountain.
I will bring you quince fruit.
You will bring me chocolate.
We will share stories,
explore the shapes of our hearts and minds,
recall the depths of our passion,
and we will hold each other
under the light of a full harvest moon.

The words she speaks

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they reach a place in your heart
deep and timeless
where your laughter bursts into tears
where you ache and wonder and dream
the words she speaks
they make you want to shed layers
of artificial skin
assigned to you at birth
and every year since
by dominant culture
the words she speaks are poetic
they entice you to move from your belly center
to writhe and rise in a new dance
gleaming and transcendent
colors vividly reflecting those woven
by your ancestors in cold winters
the patterns of those worn on the earth by their feet
as they migrated north and west and further west
until they reached volcanic lands
edged by the Pacific
veined in rivers
colonized by white peoples
her poetry makes you want
to remember what has been buried inside
forgotten through generations of assimilation
her poetry makes you want
to reclaim the lost ways
of your great great great great grandmothers
her poetry makes you want
to return what has been stolen