no dancing

i dance for joy

i twirl and sway

and lift my feet in song

and you gaze upon me

with love and adoration

and long to touch

the joy

to dance with it

for just one moment

to feel it move you

 

but it seems i cannot move

with your arms around me

and though i long to share the music with you

it seems i cannot sing

with your lips upon my mouth

for my arms remember

ropes that bind

and my mouth remembers

being gagged

and my legs can’t dance

when they are spread and tied

no-dancing-allowed

oasis

I thought I had arrived

in the land of milk and honey

but now i see

that it was merely an oasis

a cool draw of fresh water

for my thirsty soul

respite for travel weary limbs

for suddenly i turn around

and i am once again

alone

a voice crying in the wilderness

lost again, i wander

in this desert sand’s chaotic whirlwind

which blinds my vision

and i wonder if it was merely a mirage

for it has disappeared from my horizon

disoriented, i attempt return

yet i can find no water here

and i cry out in desolate despair

till resolutely i rise again

to continue on my way

onward into You.

death’s call

sweet death

the others fear your call

yet i recognize your voice

it is the voice of Love

which beckons me to enter

for within your realm

there is a purity of feeling

which i cannot acheive here

in this place of pain

and i have heard you

calling out my name

not from a pit of darkness

but from a sphere of Light

inviting me to join

the celebration

 

cave dweller

you didn’t know

that i was here

until the surface of your world

collapsed

 

you didn’t recognize

how sparsely vegetated

was your soil

where precious water was being

drained

from your terrain

 

but as the water table dropped

from the long dry spells

the chambers grew more deeply within you

acid water

dissolving rock

carving holes within your soul

 

where i subsisted

on decaying matter

wandering

amidst delicate formations

grotesque beauty

created by the water’s impurity

 

blinded by the lack of light

in this subterranean world

i evolved this acute

sensitivity to touch

and with projected and reflected

waves of energy

i see

 

 

 

hideous monster

this hideous monster

this terrible beast

with her ugly matted fur

and her haunting yellow eyes

attacks with feral rage

with vicious claws

and gnashing teeth

she roars

and rules this forest of terror

this wretched creature

that comes to devour me each night

she is so grotesque

they turn their eyes in disgust

and she frightens them all away

they hide from her

and they tremble

and they cover their mouths

to prevent the bile from rising

for she is so repulsive

and she reeks of rotting flesh

from the festering wound in her side

where the knife was plunged into her

before they carried her into the forest

and she despises them all

and attacks with unbridled rage

those who dare get too close

to protect herself from their weapons

then goes back inside

deep into the forest

to wail at the moon

alone in the dark

she curls into her lair

to whimper and cry

 

 

 

mother god

mother god

where were you

for i couldn’t feel

protective wrath

in your silent lips

when the predator

preyed upon me

 

mother god

where were you

for i couldn’t hear

your anguished cries

when you looked away

as the executioner cut 

life from me

 

mother god

where were you

for i couldn’t see

compassionate eyes

upon your back

when i brought my shame

to you

 

mother god

where were you

for i couldn’t hear

your tears of mourning

from the other room

when death was born

from your daughter’s womb

 

mother god

where were you

for i couldn’t feel

your arms of welcome

in your icy stare

when i showed up at your door

starving with my children

 

mother god

where were you

when i couldn’t feel

 

 

trees

God feeds her trees

with a natural rhythm of grace

seasons of wisdom

falling

gentle blanket the earth

and become the rich humus

which nutures the roots in the soil

 

It is Her way.

 

She does not prune the branches

cutting away at yearnings toward the light

for man’s way is but a harsh attempt

to force the fruit

and restrict the growth

to conform to our ideal

of rigid predictability

which is not in the image

(or the imag-ination) of our God.

 

She allows for seasons of production

and for years of dormancy

when the energy of Her Love is being stored

or recycled for the next generation.

 

So feed me in the way of the Nurtuting One

with nourishment to my soil

so that I can flourish into my own shape

into full, abundant foliage

with limbs that stretch

and dance upon the wind

and I will bear much fruit for you

when my season has arrived

 

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