Tag Archives: metaphor

making truth up as you go along

Do you find yourself in this ramble?

desert trees

Truth has many faces.

In the, is anything of truth?

Relative in the vortex of 

imagination’s prism landscape

Of how the spiral of her vision

Makes way into the flounce of

Magic held to the story she weaves.


Choosing to believe in that seduction

In the why not, it’s as good as any

Rainbow of truth to that pot of gold

That yearning calls out to in the vacuum

Of limited thinking in the short focus

She is such a good story teller after all 

Till the next good one comes along.


There’s always another one waiting

On the grassy side line or where life

Is a beach under the blue and sunny

And hunger’s want didn’t quite get fed

In the captured hope of maybe next time

The story gets swallowed hook, line, n’

Sinker and the fill up feels so good.


And it’s a home run setting up the 

Household, like two peas in a pod

Enveloped in all that Spring green

Waiting for Summer blossoming

Under the starry starry night cuddle up

sipping on a Milky Way of Universal goodness

It’s as good a Story as any making it up

As you go along cause you can.  








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snake face 2altered

I know you Fool. You can’t fool me.

The way you jump into that free fall

Where trust is your absolute

On the way down to your up.

Funny how that works in the give in

To allow what will be on the upward

From that downward flight free


There is freedom in that

‘What the hell, I’m gonna jump.’

Knowing the worse that can happen

Is dying and you’ve been there before,

In that kind of foolishness without regard.

There’s regard now in the Every-lasting

You got your Joy on, and it’s all ready

To fly in imagination’s splendor

No worry in being caught in what’s unseen

It’s all good and what greets will lay

Some love all over you in the new beginning.


I know you Fool and I’d follow you anywhere.

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Serendipity came.  He knows my language well, speaks it with enthusiasm and charm.  He wears his art like a banner of The Journey, that comes in over indulgences with the want of being seen, and known beyond the surface of the story laid in technicolor on hungry flesh. I know this story well beyond the skin of protection in the want of creative passion.   In rhymes, and flags of colour, we weave our Siren’s song to the coo of possibilities with no care for the rocks and waves, the depth and tides of  the up ahead or over there.  The now shimmers and gives it magic moment drinking up like drunk sailors after a huge bounty in the cheer of the share and hope of creativity’s gifts.

Serendipity came and gave.  Thank you.

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The sky gets wider as the leaves give their slow twirl to Earth

Hundreds in golds and reds  in release make naked their summer home

Laying the carpet thick with their final breath


Vulnerability spreads it branches to the coming season of bitter cold

Rooted deep, gathering the vital force of earth to harbor the core of life safe

The metaphor trembles in me.

Of being fully frocked in summer green and lush 

All dressed up for the heat and the party in abundance

Then Winter heralds her call in chilled beg of release to lay it all down


Lay it all down vulnerable and naked to the season of freeze and austerity

There is no hiding of the self when the cold bares down hard

The flirt of Summer dress falls away hiding nothing

HIding nothing at all

As you stand stripped to your branches, unguarded, unprotected, 

Exposed in the raw like every other tree in the woods.

Every tree in your woods with arms stretched to the Heavens

Taking the Winter for the renewal of life in Spring


Cause it will come.  It will come and feed your soul of green

Call creativity up from the roots of you as you give again

It is for this you remember as you let the death  of things go

Rooted to the truth of of the everlasting journey of  One with the other

What was never yours has always been yours in the circle of Seasons

In the circle of life, In the unending circle of All that Is.

In the death and life, and Rebirth, In the coming and going and return


Maybe, you are Pine


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Feeling pros-ze.  (new word)  Playing in the poetics of life.



They came bearing memories of the us of us, long gone from the Los Angles of what rocked and then rolled us together in the early 70’s.  We tripped on some old song and dance that didn’t matter anymore.  Profundities had no show to steal or lay rest to a telling.  In it together, we savored in oUr respective talents, we were reminded of how time is illusive on the head of any pin. Our exchange held our hearts open beyond all the yesterdays.  Feeling the generosity of how where we were, had at last brought us to a patient calm; a feeling of how generous we had always been together, more so after 40 years.  More so because love was always at the center before and after the aches and joys of life that got lived.  Together again in times meander of stop and go, reminded that we would always be in love beyond this passing life.

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Howdy… Thanks for stopping by.   Weather relief… Yippee.  Too hot for this gal these last days.  And… nature wins. She does what she feels she can and we that share space with her have to go with the hot flow.  So. today, is perfect.  Cool and sunny.  aaaahhh

Tomorrow, I slam a story in front of other local entrepreneurs at Live in Ann Arbor.  http://www.knowledgecrush.com/index.php/entreslam  I can safely tell you, I’m super nervous.  I have my story ready for the telling.  It will ultimately, well, if I win, which I don’t know that at all. might go up on You-Tube.  Now wouldn’t that be a hoot?


Stories are for the telling

At least some stories are

Some stories are ramblings

that don’t get you far


It’s all one big story

We have one going all the time

Don’t fool yourself in the glory

That yours might be mine


We walk around making up

Some story about this or that

Having no idea of the what

That really is where the story’s at


What do you know about the truth

When no details belong to you

YOu walk around with no real proof

About what doesn’t belong to you


Stories are for the telling

Be sure you know the facts

Otherwise my friends your selling

Words that are not on track


What you see may not be what it is

No matter the story you glean

Until you walk in someone else’s biz

You story is not what it seems


The story you tell is yours alone

The truth is yours in that telling

NO other truth can be known

Cause only you know that telling


PLEASE… visit my Invitation Tarot blog.    http://invitationtarot.com


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I went and saw  The Exotic Marigold Hotel.  I loved it.  Truly a good geezer movie.   I realized that I certainly do not want to be one of the invisible old ones that people think don’t have desire, or passion, or the drive to be the best that we can each and every moment.  Seeing the beauty  and wisdom in the aging process, when nature has her way with us and our beauty shifts to wrinkles and sags.  That that inner beauty we are quick to tell the youth about is truly within us and that We are part of the Divine expression of what ever is God, or Source, Or Oneness, or Goddess, or Nature…

Geezers of the World Unite.  We are beautiful and wise, and have so much to share.


Each wrinkle moved like a wave

In unison with her giggle

Her snicker was a ripple

on the shore of her old body


And when she really gave in

To a belly full of laughter

Every part of her shimmered

And shook in ruffles of old ribbon


And the lace of her eighty plus decades

Were as detailed as the hands

That tatted them in a dexterous

flow of a life intricate and beautiful


I watched the ripples and waves of her

Held to the story of a bright yesterday

Of a life well lived found in this moment

She wore her history in wrinkled time


Her youth still a sea of desires passion

Held within the wrinkled times and

Decades of yesterdays, that in this

moment bubble like lava to her surface


She is the girl she has always been 

She is the wise woman of living long

She is the wrinkled wave of love that kisses your shore

She is forever the shimmer of passions want





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A joyous Beltane to you.  Should you be so inclined, please visit this site that can give you information about this sacred time of year for the Earth and those of us that honor this Celtic holiday  ..   LILACS FOR JO…


The simple celebration of the Maypole dance is one that I have done many times.  My tradition takes a 25 ft. piece of colourful ribbon and we write what  we desire to plant/bring/create/fertilize into our lives to come to fruition.  I also write what I am willing to let go of to give space for new seeds to be planted within me.  We tack it to the pole and weave between each other singing sacred chants to the Earth and to Spirit of Spring unfolding.  This year I will not be doing the literal Maypole dance, and I will be writing what I desire to seed in my inner garden.  How I might fertilize these seeds of kindness, compassion, goodness, and well-being.  

How about you?  What do you wish to plant and seed in your life at this time?  What do you want to come to fruition?




Chant the seeding wish

Rainbow ribbons weave the pole

Spring green opens wide


Thin between the worlds

Dance sacred earth and heaven

Cast the blessing song


Weave the wish to truth

Let go of lost beginnings

Feel the dew refresh


Renew in Springs call

In meadow green dance the dance

Let love find you now







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Day 27 in the NaPoWriMo scheme of things; that giving of a poem everyday, everyday for the month of April.  


It’s been a breeze, sometimes a gust, a whip, 

maybe wisp of spring wind caught in my hair, 

or maybe it’s your breath in our passing that catches 

on the edge of my face that I quickly inhale.  

Inhale your exhale, gather a bit of you in my breathing,

 take it a few steps, a few steps down the street and 

exhale it for someone else to take in. They take in you 

and me and the spring wind caught in my hair,

 the whip of air around us.  Breathing without any thought 

to the taking of my breath, your breath, our breath, 

everywhere all of us sharing what we need for life.

Lives all connected by the passing of inhales and exhales 

of strangers and lovers,  battle fields, and churches,

victims and perpetrators, that vicious little child in the grocery 

that huddled man covered in dirt on the corner begging, 

Or… the infinite breath of God or Goddess or who or whatever 

you call that magnificence All around you.  Breathing

In the finite world of living your last breath that will be mixed

with everyone’s breath spiraling around the globe to you

And in that last gasp, as you mind leaves you and your

body has said it last goodbye, you are not alone

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CELEBRATION beyond the grey matter…

Howdy… Thursday has found it’s way around another 7 days.  NaPoWriMo is coming to a close in another 4 days and I will keep on writing well after that.  Todays prompt is to write an elegy,   I recently did that for my brother and I’m not feeling the need or desire to do that again.  Should you like to read it please go to 12th of April.

In my sippy de’la cafe’, I’m pondering nothing at all to write about in this minute and any minute now something will roll on over this brain of mine to sputter out some little diddy.  



What is be a blank life; empty, void of thoughts and delights?

A fuzzy screen of grey crackle with the white noise drone of endlessly

Going no-where, doing nothing, breathing blank gasps of blind air


Not even in death can my imagination see anything but rainbow bliss

Carousels of writhing ponies  celebrating the green meadow hoof dance 

The rise of Spring green welcoming a carpet of blazing daffodils and 

Butterfly crocus flitting orange and purple in chilly morning breezes 


In that moment of nothing is everything that ever filled me with life

And I can see the welcome of those gone before me opened armed

Smiling their bright beams of light to my last breathe


Not even in my darkest hour at the bottom of my dry well lonely

Does the soul of me wallow colourless in the deserted paths to my heart

Even then  the hot red sear of ache spatters my canvas brilliantly

Blazing vibrancy over the walls of what I deem anguish


No, I can not know that blank void of a life desolate and colourless

Joy and pain vibrate prisms of copious colour in flames and sky

The march of Seasons hungry to have their time to be seen and heard


I am a child of life excited by each spasm and drift of resplendent wonder

My screen is cacophony of vibrance and verdant elation singing

Songs of Hallelujah everywhere all the time, In praise of All that is

Where everything is life force and my breath is a celebration





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