Sunday, February 27, 2011

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

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

I rule this world; no headlines
of rebellion

Sunday, February 20, 2011

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

Hums over my tongue and lips 
And reverberates in my soul.
Bird-like thoughts sail quietly by
Like geese into the purple horizon.
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.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

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.

Friday, February 4, 2011

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
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