Monthly Archives: June 2011

SOLSTICE…


Solstice > 1:16EST

How will you celebrate your light?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light finds me in my shadow’s discomfort
Covered, hidden, breaking the
forbidden avoidance of endings

Bending reality’s grip on the short night
All comfortable in the dark of it, the
fathomable lie of it shows my fear.

I’m calling in the Light to my dark night
It is not caught in my throat, it screams
in the most unbearable stab of light.

Impaled on the spear of it pointed at my heart
the longest day of my light leaves the
shadows to bring resistance a new beginning

REminded that the shadows have gifts
and that
The long day needs her short night for rest

 


21 june 2011 > 13/4/0

What joyful, foolish thing will you give yourself to today?
What good boundaries do you need to make?
What will you let go of to give space for the next best thing?

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GOODBYE TO SPRING


St. Ignace. MI. The BAyview motel sits right on the water about 4 miles north of the Mackinaw Bridge. I made coffee for the first time in a week and a half. No guarantees what that little pocket of coffee will taste like. I’ll drink it anyway, and give a stare out into this gungrey, rainy day. This day that the Summer Solstice says goodbye to Spring. A long day. A short night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I said goodbye to my Spring decades ago
Summer came and went
Fall has been around awhile
My colour and spice have not been spent

My leaves haven’t all hit the earth yet
They still give of their reds and gold
The pines hold their green so proud
be deciduous and not look old

Usually a big wind comes hard
it tears at the golds and reds
whips and swirls them to the earth
bare is the tree as if dead

You don’t know when the big wind will come
and whip your Fall apart
Send you to the Winter place
A wait till life does part

Each season holds you to your life
From first breath to the last
Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter
Let your season have her best

You enter through a portal
Screaming for your first breath
You exit through a portal
Where the last breath gives you rest

Whether it is Heaven that will hold you
Or the return to this Earth a babe again
What matters is your kindness now
How you give love till breath’s end

20 june 2011 > 12/3/21 > hanged one/empress/world

What new perspective can you give to how you love?
How can you be more inclusive?
Can you step into the season of your life and be your best?

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IT’S IN YOUR HANDS


19 june 2011 > 11/2/20 > lust/ judgement/aeon/priestess

What do you hunger for?
What waits to be awakened in you; what aren’t you noticing?
Can you seek the counsel that you need?

An Escanaba morning. A shell of grey. A threat of rain. Making my way south. Thinking of staying near the big lake tonight. Listen to the waves, smell the air. Write.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s in your hands
right at the fingertips
You almost have it
not quite
Lost to the just about
Right there…
Teasing

It’s in your hands
held between them
Clutched a little too tight
could mean loss
could mean release
it could mean strangled
hope

It’s in your hands
the prayer, the sheltered
want, the almost have it,
creativity’s notion, loves
tremble, despicable force.
Clenched, held too lose
sifting out, grasped,
caressed,hammered.

It’s in your hands
A mystic ball of answers
held to the right questions
Textured soft, hard, rough
slippery, moist, dry,
razors, needles, kittens,
babies, hot sex.

Right there… in your hands
Dare you to hold on to what you want
Dare you to hold loves quickening
Dare you to caress the best of yourself
I dare you to have your hands empty
so that there is more for you to hold.

 

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THE CLEARING


18 june 2011 > 10/19/1 > wheel of fortune/Sun/Magician

How do you stand within the center of yourself?
How bright do you shine? What ‘tool’ needs your honing?

I leave the Clearing today. The time here flew as did words on the pages. I have become more clear in my journey as a writer. There in lies the essence of spending a few days
in a place called “The Clearing”, a place to find clarity.

THE CLEARING

sun’s quiet rising
shadow leaves on curtain face
a new day is clear

Inhale of morning
moist green summers rising want
clear is the whisper

gulls cry insistence
white rocks tumble at waters edge
blue sky clearing ahead

path of shredded wood
lays soft the steps to learning
clearing the way home

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LIVING FOR THE LAUGHTER


17 june 2011 > 9/18 > hermit/moon

What can you bring to completion?
Is this a time to come out from the shadows?
What needs your careful consideration?

The moon gives of her fullness, lights the night sky with immense radiance. My week here at the Clearing draws to a close. Where did the time go? I live in respect and wonder of the people I share this week with: the writings, the shared meals, the silliness of evenings spent talking and discovering. Deepening old friendship, spilling into new ones. A week doesn’t feel like quite enough.

We laid laughter across the table
right over the salad, the pasta
the wine, the sambucca
right over the heads of all the people
The meal was drenched with
humor’s sauce, we licked our fingers
and set our inhibition off

There was no stopping the
drip of that brew
the flow of it through the room
all rich and buttery
full of flavored giggles
spiced chuckles and
creamy belly rolls
Damn we were good
forsure did we know

We spread laughter on to the
floor. wall papered the walls
let lose our guffaw
Steam rollered our roar
rarin’ for more
right over shoes and dresses.
shorts, and shirts,
rings, and things
faces and hair
we laid our laughter everywhere

There was no stopping her
And who wanted to anyway?
She was released, freed up
Laughing her guts out
full of tease and play
She was out for the party
She was out for the hit
loving the good meal,
saucy and ready to give all of herself

We ate her up and gave her back
Laughing across the table
into the room, on to the walls
over the floor, into your space
we pulled smiles from all over the place
we laughed our guts out
We laughed pure and free
My god did we laugh
Livin was real.

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THE PURSE…. A HAIBUN


16 june 2011 > 8 > lust/star

What on the outside side needs balance on the inside?
How will you shine your light upon this world?
Can you be the peace?

I share with you one of my writing that has evolved over the last few days. Still writing small moments. I ended this with a haiku related to the story. I believe this makes this story what is called a Haibun.

THE PURSE

I drink, I gamble, I follow most signs that say; Garage
Sales, Moving Sale, Barn Sale, Sale Here, Sale Today,
Neighbor-hood Sale, Rummage Sale, these are fevers I
give into. Occasionally, like this one, I think, ‘no I can
pass this one by, there are more down the road. Haven’t I
already hit a dozen of them in the last 150 miles? Don’t I
have enough shit’ At this rate of junk hunting, I’ll never get to Dease Lake, or where ever it is I might be on my way to. I’m always on my way somewhere and I’m always taking the back roads following the signs.

I was heading due north, making the three hour trek to
Dease Lake, for relaxation, good food, family fun and bit of
one of my addiction cures… garage sales. The weather was
spectacular and promised to continue with blue sky, and
80 degrees. Nights would be filled with the illumination of
stars and a silver moon. The gentle ripple of the lake
against the shore would kiss my eyelids goodnight.

For a junker/pirate the freeway is a dead zone, a void-less,
mindless stretch of pavement that offers no treasure; a
means to end that can happen in a hurry. It’s heartless
and I avoid freeways most of the time. I take it as far I
need to; caught in the jam of cars once to often, hopeful
to get off of it as quickly as possible.

I made the u-turn on the two lane country road, taking a
bit off the shoulder, just missing the ditch. I’m good at
just missing the ditch. I saw the garage sale sign half a
mile back, black paint scrawled on a piece of 3’ x 2’ wood,
staked into the side of the road. I’m sure there is a replica of it about a mile north with the same invitation on it for those garage salers coming towards me. It called out to me like a siren from a sea of many such signs that
dotted the rural roads of the Midwest in the summer.

Despair had not yet marked this old farmhouse. Even with garden debris and old tools strewn about the yard there was still a graciousness and care that brightens it. Spring flowers stood tall and vivid. A huge lilac bush wafted the scent of its dark purple blossoms as I let myself brush by it with a deep inhale. I turned the corner of the old house to greet the over filled tables and the two women that gave me a sweeping gesture and began to say together,

‘Hi Hun. We probably got what ever yer lookin’ for. Make us an offer.”

They look at each other, giggle and give me a smile. I say,

“K”

I reached for the old tattered purse. It was crafted in fine wool needlepoint of red tulips, green leaves on a black background. The edges were rough and worn with time. The handle was broken. It smelt of an old damp basement that had rusted the zipper just enough to make it difficult to pull. It still had a beauty about it that moved me to want it. It must have once been special to a woman nearly a 75 years ago, a gift, a birthday, a wedding trousseau; it was too fine to have not held special meaning. I felt the history of it slide up my fingers with it’s stories of love and loss. It was going to be mine. I walked around the sale looking at all the clothes and household offerings, feeling this purse story slide into my heart, I placed it down on an old wood crate and left it. I left it with it with all its stories. I left it with its hope and losses. I left it so I wouldn’t feel the ache of it. I wanted it. I left it.

 

Ache hungry to tell

stings the heart a sad old song

left to be wanted

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MOTHER MOON’S MAGNIFICENT MUNCHIES


15 june 2011 > 7/16 > charioteer/tower

What needs your focus?
Can you take one small step to regain your focus?
How do you remain true to the core/foundation of your life?

Small moments; that’s what we are focusing on in the writer’s retreat. Thinking of a large moment of our lives and from that, a small moment of. NO more than 500 words. Sorta like flash fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MY FIRST JOB IN HOLLYWOOD, 1972

MOTHER MOON’S MAGNIFICENT MUNCHIES

 I moved into Sandy Pulce’s basement apartment till I could find my own. The sunken stone bath rivaled my bed with an open view of giant ferns, weaving pink bougainvillea, and birds of paradise.

Mother Moon’s Magnificent Munches, operated above me, sending the waft of spice and fruit through the house. Smells I had never imagined existed, filled my nose with bliss. I was high.

Everything about Sandy was luscious, exotic, an endless temptation to the senses. Her generosity and kindness equaled her sensuality. She trailed in her brilliant silk swaths of fabric that barely covered her sumptuous curves, gracefully falling into the folds of stacked pillows of the same silk fabric, scattered over her entire living room. She would set her white wine on a low carved table, inlayed with stones and mirrors from India, speaking in expletives, swinging her arms like a ballerina swan dance, and passing a joint around the room for our heady pleasures.

I helped Sandy with the catering, prep, cooking, cleaning, washing, gathering the silver, the cloth napkins and table covers. I learned to spice and garnish succulent turkeys stuffed with dried fruits soak in sweet wines, covered in India spices, baked to perfection. Salads of couscous, asparagus, chick peas, garlic, tahini, raw vegetables, eatable greens, gathered and considered for various salads to be matched with the turkey.
Sandy did everything with colour and flare, giving her exotic delights to her clients who paid her well for her catering.

Once all was ready, properly stacked and contained for travel, I packed it in my shabby, ’65 Rambler station wagon and went to the location of some film or commercial to feed the hungry crews. I’d lay out the table cloth and napkins on a make shift table or the back of a camera crane, setting the beautiful food out as Sandy had taught me. I improvised a lot: serving, catering to the whims of these Hollywood people that were alien to me, spilling their gratuitous comments, hugging and touching, ripping into the beauty of Sandy’s eroticism. I was a Mid-Western gal, we didn’t touch like that.

From Sandy. I learn the art of sensuality, graciousness, and the pure pleasure of letting food be a near sexual experience.

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YOUR BEST


14 june 2011 > 6/15 > lovers/devil

What has teased you away from what matters?
Can you look in the face of everyone you meet and see some piece of you?
How will you give love to yourself today?

Ellison Bay gives of it’s quaint charms a sense of calm and nature’s beauty. The Clearing, nestled into the edge of town, right on the Green Baby, invites me to notice
my senses: the smell of the breezed, the clamor of floral scents that via for my attention, the green and blue from top to bottom, the chatter of the gulls, the ‘flock’ of mosquitos, and us writer’s talkin our talk and writing for the pleasure of giving ourselves to this muse of nature.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is no reason to save the best for last
last might come before your best is given
the end might snuff out the very best of you
and then all that goodness,
that top of the line, you’re damn greatness
is gone… bye bye see ya later.

Oops I didn’t give my best.

There is no reason to save the best for last
That best of you is goin’ on right now
Sure some bestness was rollin’ outta ya
back then when…
a few years ago, in your 30’s, or 40’s
back then when…
you were at the ‘top of your’ game
back then when…
your youth held you to possibilities
back then when…

When what?

If you think the best has yet to come
think again…
your best is busy being itself
waiting for you to notice
waiting for you to Get it.
tapping her little toes patiently
cause here she is, Miss Best
been here all the time.

You give hope to much credit. He’s a fall back.
Hope seduces you at your edges
Teases you believe you haven’t given the
best of you yet. Hoping you along.
You can hope all up n’ down
gettin’ all hopeful and wishful
in the face of being the best of you

The best is here … right now…
no hope needed, no wishful thinking
no judicious longing…

just you… giving your best
saving dying for the last.

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13 june 2011 > 5/14 > Hierophant/Alchemy

What resources do you need to gather to yourself to get what you need done?
Can you consider: doing what you do differently, can you stir the pot of life anew?
Did you know that you are a magical being here to share yourself completely?

 

Early morning became this afternoon…. 

 

THE BIRTH OF LIGHT AND DARK

I am a cloistered cluster of robin egg blue
ready to birth the sun
all that yellow custard from my belly
will rise up,radiate, illuminate, saturate

then..
when I open my mouth I will be
a beacon, a flare, a signal
a guiding light to the spaces in between
the darkness filling with yolk.

because…
I ate the darkness yesterday
all of it, I gobbled it up in a fury
It thrashed, convulsed
seized me like a hellion

now..
I am darkness birthing the sun
from the blue egged sky
on wings of light and magic
my eyes, my mouth, my heart
are open and you may gather as much
light as you need.

 

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A BEACH PAST DREAMLAND


12 june 2011 > 13/4/0

What can you give your life to?
What can you give form to that supports your life?
What in your life needs let going of?

oh.. is that the Sun I see rising over Lake Michigan? WAT? WHy.. YES. SUN..
We are off to The Clearing this morning, off to give the writer’s muse a fonting.
Wat da Font? tee hee.
Today, I give myself to the journey to Ellison Bay and possibilities; Being in the presence of other writers, good writers, for a week. WOW… Squeeze me an call me Muffin.

A BEACH PAST DREAMLAND

I never had it to let go of it
It was just past dreamland
Down the road to the left of it
Tucked in to the right of it.
I waved my wand
I clapped my hands
Just past dreamland

Some beaches are sandy
Soft, welcoming, lay a towel out
And rest in the Sun kinda beaches
Castles get built here
Holes to the other side get dug here
I’ve been bury here.
Before dreamland

It’s the rocky, hard beaches
That call me to their water’s edge
the beaches that make travel
hard, dangerous, tenuous
walking is a slip and slid
Each step a look out to the next
Trust is not predictable here
Love is not easy here
just past Dreamland
just down the road
take a left on the right

This beach, just past dreamland
has special offerings
This beach begs for a treasure hunt,
a deeper look,a harder gathering
supreme patience, a tender heart
an embrace of the unpredictable.
This beach hurts hard and stoney.
And… you think the treasures
are worth the gathering,
you feel the truth held to stone
an ancient wisdom
just past dreamland,
just down the road
to the left on the right.

 

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