Hail and Thunder where Hope Meets the End

Hail and rain beat the red off the tin barn roof. Thunder stutters while the salted tears of angels loosed from cream raiments pour onto the ground so much as snow stacked too early for the season. Apocalyptic droplets at the end of days that have run into themselves. Greed piled holiness tramping through the beautiful “could have beens” as the doomed masterpiece of the hopefully broken trod heavily across the land.

Trampled, trampled beneath the weight of heaven collapsing. Soaked, soaked in the dreams of all of those that once knew the direction they sought to follow. We let this happen. We let the monsters in and bred them in our hearts to be beggared, then sold off to the lowest bidder. We let this happen. We set fire to the oceans of life and love until their ashes drifted haphazardly across the ruins of our world. We let this happen. We decried the openness and jubilation at our fingertips to rejoice beneath the sun or moon-clad sky as free creatures wandering the magic that their brethren the stars choose to sparkle upon us. We let this happen. And now we rejoice in the blistering misery of our own defeat.

In the gasps of our failure, we can find ourselves. We are the dust of ancient suns decayed into life. We can reveal our nuclear radiance that would bless the entirety of time with an essence of gratitude and beauty so bright that it would shine into the endless void of the universe as a testament to what grew here. What fought and bled and lost and won and cried and mourned and shared and thrived and moved and wished and laughed and cheered and hoped and dreamed here. The lost will be brought into the welcoming arms of house and home as new families are born of that most primal and powerful light, love. Smile through tears most special ones, we stand at the cusp of all and nothing, let your eyes see the mysteries beyond, glimpse our eternal everything, and all that we had inside of us.

Hold each other close, and whisper your final breaths to those dearest. Our hour of despair and our hour of most compelling beauty comes now.

Hello human.

Pandemic Inside/Pandemic Outside

Cantankerous, walloping headache from hell,
comes driven on words sweeping born from the fell.
If now is the darkness that blocks out the curs,
then drive, devil, drive to blot our their slurs.
With skull thrashing and blood pumping so loud,
it’s hard to think with the internal noise like a crowd-
mocking, bantering, shuttling words,
as feet shuffle and wisdom flies off with the birds.
Never knowing from whence it was born,
scratching echoes from those blissful days we all yearn.
Pandering blasphemous gasps for sweet air come at last,
now that the sound stops and you care for what has come,
gone, and now passed.

Learning

To show a visual representation of the learning process and what it feels like.
Thought cloud, dizzy to be acquiring so much no knowledge at times.

Play often with the boundaries inside you head
before they harden into labyrinthine walls.
Doubt the truth of what you know dear one,
for nothing is ever so simple as it may seem.
When the philosopher writes such common tongue
as “I think therefore I am,” dig deeper into
understanding what is meant. Uncoil the beauty
of knowledge shared and questions expanded.
That uncomfortable pressure inside your brain
is nothing more than the price of admission
to a world of creative and well intended information,
each and every bit, a treasure in its own way.

Mistakes

To leave through an open door or stay caged inside the beast.

Quiver in the tallow as salt begins to pour,
the taste of it is far from clean
and you yourself don’t look so pure.

The muck and monstrous improprieties
have left flavored scents about,
nothing satisfies the lust and varieties so much as going without

In this endless ocean of wanton disregard,
it’s always easier to give in,
then fight as needed and so awfully hard.

Eventually it all catches up
and time will slip from past to present,
you will find your just deserts as it plucks away at your presence.

Never is a long-term thing,
an entity like infinity,
but cast your hopes on it to happen
and likely you’ll find a hoarse voice with which to sing.

Ink Speaks & Words Share

All credit for image to Project Interfaith

Pen me a story all pelted with pain–
I’ll send you a memory quite completely insane.
Pen me a story all covered in scars–
I’ll whisper you love underneath the stars.
Pen me a story all wrapped up in joy–
I’ll rip off the paper and play with your emotional toys.
Pen me a story all soaked in ambition–
I’ll congratulate you from a distance and hope for fruition.
Pen me a story all righteously proud–
I’ll admiringly stand and clap just as loud.
Pen me a story devoid of suffering or shame–
I’ll question how long you lived and whether you played the game.
Pen me a story short on words but big on feel–
I’ll embrace your passion that fills me with zeal.

For each story you write and each tale that you tell,
connection is made as we all walk this road of life to the final farewell.
Strangers no more as the wording unfolds,
your experiences are more valuable then ever would be gold.
Friend since you vulnerably shared to cross the divide,
forever you’ll find my acceptance as I stand by your side.
We all start alone until our experiences happen,
no one need stand lonely feelings that they’re trapped in.
A world without others who have felt all the same–
if you’re missing companionship then drop any shame.
Drop any pretense or false facing thoughts–
your loveable for you, now and until time itself stops.

Spider Goddess

All credit due to REA Gallery through Fine Art America

Outside the borders
of this unquiet mind,
sit eons of wisdom
woven as invisible mesh most fine.
Alone sits Arachnae,
that fate wielding bug,
completely immersed
playing God string by string,
thud by thud.
We’d settle for reality
if only for thinner air,
know what’s happening,
get right-sized and repaired.
But truth hangs us all,
the devoted or mellow.
Chokes down in the craw,
suffocating like an ungenerous fellow.
So let’s sit side by side,
have a novel discourse.
Talk free will or destiny,
while the galactic spider calls for a hearse.

Fucking Depression

Frustrated depression man in the hood sitting on wooden bridge near the beach on sunset. Concept of unemployed sadness depressed and human problems – yeah, what they said.

There’s a damp wetness that hangs inside

like some putrid pit you cannot shake.

It consumes and expands within you

always seeking to find new areas

ones that are filtered with love or confidence,

special and precious to defining who you are.

As the viscosity of the pit expands

you become enveloped in a melancholy,

a great creeping sadness that obliterates joy.

Dreams become suffocated,

ambitions become fantasies not to be attained,

emotions roll dead and to the beat of failure,

the internal monologue becomes a tirade,

life itself becomes a chore,

and one that is hardly worth the effort.

Enveloped in that wet darkness,

it takes great strength to continue on,

Each soldier who walks that path,

fights a monster inside and well beyond

anything that you can touch or taste,

Merry be the wounded ones who chose to fight,

their battle is so often invisible,

that others aren’t aware of the war being fought,

It is though,

one screaming resistance and determined action at a time,

they battle against something never asked for,

never wanted,

always waiting,

Tactile

All credit to Zora @ Medium for the image.

Tactical with your hands
the way you smooth my skin
beneath fingers so cool.
A promise held in your palm
where it blends away pain
into pressure and pleasure.
Your touch sifts away the world,
leaves me gasping in relief
that we are not alone.

Wild Dancer

Explicitly free,

in empty shadows she dances

underneath clouds,

across ocean swathes of green

tickled with flashing bulbs of brightness,

puffs of color growing

amid the endless blades.

She will not be kept

or locked inside,

always bursting forth

enchanted by the world

the sensation of movement,

the passion of feeling deeply,

the exhilaration of newness,

as it sweeps away her pain

leaving her breathing heavy.

I too,

once touched the underbelly of clouds,

skipping with my feet,

unabashedly giddy.

I ache again for those days

knowing,

nostalgia is a wonderful weapon.

Psychedelic Challenge (Small Prize)

Credit to AfterLife Coach for the image.

So I had been attempting a 30 day challenge to write everyday and post something new to the blog. Sadly, as school crept into the mix I can say that while I’ve written everyday, nothing more made it up here after the 11th day…I’ll take it as a partial win since doing anything for more than a day straight tends to be a bit of a personal adventure of sorts.

The other interruption was going on a weeklong retreat to practice a new healing method I’ve been exploring with a shaman down on a pot farm in Oregon. I spent a week sitting with Grandmother and Grandfather along with some of the most amazing people it has ever been my pleasure to encounter. True hippies, filled with the love leftover from the movement in the 60s and still sharing what it means to be surrounded by brothers and sisters with no shared blood but all the right intent.

With that in mind, I wanted to put it out there to what audience there may be of the blog still to see what others can come up with on a topic that has become near and dear to me of late. Plant medicine, any form be it poetry, prose, short, or long, I’d like to read something from you fine folks on the topic however you see fit to blend it into your work.

I don’t have a lot of resources, but the top entry will get a $10 PayPal donation or eGiftCard of your choice. Please leave submissions in the comment section. Contest will end October 20th, 2020.

Thanks for reading, and here’s my own submission:

Full moon night,
harvest weather.
Ceremony tent glowing
from colored tapestries
dangling as flags of focus.
Stage set for the journey
to come home,
be set free from Earthly Bonds
into the Dreamtime.