Week Eight Poem: Bad News - string of haiku

coffee in a cup
with cream and sugar, too. think
I’ll read the paper

headlines boldly state
bloody message black and white
turn to the crossword

empty boxes wait
for my wise and studied answers
to elusive clues

crosswords are easy
better than headline troubles
no solutions there

pour another cup
solve the problems that fit my
vocabulary

sigh and put away
the news, I’m profoundly sad
time for the dishes

wash, dry, put away
there’s solace in excelling
at these daily chores

domesticity
I rule this world; no headlines
of rebellion

Week Seven Poem: Communion

I am lured away from your Lotus feet

By a great disturbance.

Turbulent thoughts descend

Like a flock of birds startled by a barking dog 

Flying into a window pane, shattering it.

Brightly feathered flocks of thoughts whiz by

I reach to catch some in my net

And forget our date for holy communion.

Shards of glass cut my skin

Crimson blood runs wetly

My net is full of noisy birds

Peace has flown.

I need to call the glazier.

What say you, God?

When your daughter bleeds

Upon your feet in sorrow? 

When she’s forgotten who she is and

What she really knows?

What say you, God?

I’m not the body, I’m not the mind

Immortal Self I am!

I’ve sung it over and over again

And sometimes believe it.

Yet, these cacophonous birds

Fly wildly, demanding my attention.

It’s easy to identify with them

Take on their beaks and feathers,

And rise into the sky to soar

Amongst their winged brethren.

What say you, God?

If your daughter flies into the night

On whispering wings like an owl

forgetting who she is?

Is she not still part of your great plan

Cosmic design and purpose?

Or would you give her  a good talking to?

What say you, God?

I am not these thoughts that flit and fly

I know this to be true.

Exhausted, I lay down my net. 

Sit under the peach tree and

Lift my face to the golden rays of dawn.

The sun dries my tears into salt-tracks on my cheeks

Breath deeply, daughter of god. Inhale Life.

Exhale the Sacred Mantra

Aaaaauuuummmmmmm

Hums over my tongue and lips 

And reverberates in my soul.

Aaaaauuuummmmmmm

Aaaaauuuummmmmmm

Aaaaauuuummmmmmm

Bird-like thoughts sail quietly by

Like geese into the purple horizon.

Aaaaauuuummmmmmm

They are distant and beautiful, mine no more.

Flying away seeking other takers.

What say you, God

When you daughter sits

And sings a holy mantra? 

Once again at your Lotus feet

And has kept our date for communion?

Will you fill her cup and bind her wounds?

Remove the arrows shot by her own mistakes?

It’s all for good, It’s all for God

It’s all for Her Glory,

Mine is the path of Faith

To be kind and pray

To love and cry

And maybe fly-

All in a state of Grace.

Week Six Poem: Tea with Demons

Tea  with Demons

Ambushed by

Ghostly demons thought long beaten

A warrior Goddess

Licks the wounds of ancient battles,

Forgetting they are healed-over

No longer bleeding.

Unable to muster the strength

to push aside these

Legions she herself has armed with careful cultivation;

The products of love denied—

She is broken.

An ally comes to aid, holds her hand, dries her tears,

And lifts her chin so she may see the stars,

And gently suggests Surrender

 As a path to Peace.

“No reason to fear.” She says.

“Have faith.

Pin Hope to a white flag and wave it high!

What do you have to lose?”

Have tea with the demons? Give up the fight?

These abandoned children of an aching heart are hungry

They will swallow her whole.

But she is already consumed.

What does she have to lose?

And whom does she suppose is losing?

The Warrior Goddess bravely sets the table

And feeds them on the good china

Discuss the details of surrender…

Love without condition.

Faith – not fear.

Live in Truth.

Brew up Compassion Tea,

Pour into a cup and pass it round;

Drink deeply.

Forgive. Forgive. Forgive.

Compassion Tea to toast the terms  

The demons are undone by love

Their teeth pulled out and harmless

Embattled yet victorious

A warrioress emerges

Whole again, marching on,

Sentinels now alerted

To the demons who would come raiding

“Fear not!” the Goddess cries. “I have what you want.”

Compassion Tea in a painted cup,

A potion to quell their thirsting.

Week Five Poem: Underage

The beat of that song,
You know the one...

Transports me; a time machine

Eighteen and sneaking into clubs

To hear the band

And dance with abandon

Throw myself up to the beat of hot and sweaty drummer

And electric guitar player who is kinda cute.

The doormen knowingly wink as I show them

A false ID

A pretty girl who will dance all night long

In their club is a good thing

Worth the risk of the enforcers

A young lithe body gyrating makes men thirsty and

Helps everyone ignore the peeling paint and stale beer smell

A pretty girl

Dancing

Laughing

Teasing…

Twenty-seven years later

Is she still there inside me?

I hear the opening beat of that song

And know

Part of me will be eighteen forever

A rock-n-roll heart is hungry and

Calls over and over

It never grows old.

I think I’ll get a new tattoo.

Something for fun, folks. I've been a tad too serious of late. ~Cass