Advent Poem: Away With The Gimmicks (echoing ‘Away In A Manger’)

away with the gimmicks
we’re done with your crap
the lies that you laid down
the manger a trap

we want a tradition
that’s living and free
and songs of thanksgiving
and fresh liturgy
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that’s ancient and yet new
and still relevant
so profound, so simple
so “un-sycophant”

Entrance, proclamation,
the Eucharist true,
sending out, gathering,
preaching Good News
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Restore the New Baby
the Time Bomb in time
the Bread come from Heaven
the Living New Wine

away with the gimmicks
the scripts and the lies
So faith, hope and love can
come open our eyes.
New Covenant

On The Shores

Where will it be?

Here…on the shores
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of
this
nation?

Where will it be?
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That future lost wondering
seething and shambling
generations will come
stand shaky, un-kneeling,
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stand in hushed horror,
stare at the gates,
the looming blank gates
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and the haunted
and harrowing houses
within
the walls of more walls…
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Where will the cries
and the screams
and the howls
of the dispossessed
and the long dead
ring and groan
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and echo and moan
on the winds that strain hard,
try in vain cold-scourings
to blow clean and to cleanse
to exorcise acts
of horror…and hatred…
in-hu-man-ity…
concentration-camps
Will it be in
the beautiful mountains
so pine-covered, veiled
in gauzy soft blue?
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Perhaps down beneath,
in the swampy and wonderful
croaky and crawly den
of ancient gators?
Inside of a barracks of the Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz Birkenau
Or built
in the bones,
on the bleached
and unburied
bones of the hot
painted deserts?
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Or nested
so comfortably
ensconced, a proud present
plover quick-picking
and plucking the carrion
from fetid gums
in the gaping sheer mouth
midst the bracing, imposing
implacable teeth
made of jagged still
mountains?
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Or bleeding forever on
the shores of the seas
and the grieving shrill cries
of the gulls…
of the gulls…
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Where will the haunted
ziggurat hunker,
a crater at home
in the wastelands and horror
of inhuman time,
of living black holes
of hatred that sucks
all the life and all light
into

the dark
pusillanimous
core?
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Where?

there…

on the shore…
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the Potter

Beautiful poem by a fabulous poetess…Lynda Bullerwell

forget-me-not

Sculpts me, shapes me
into a brand new vessel;

his nurturing fingers
add pinches of humility,
kindness and tolerance,

massage the mind,
penetrate the heart

leaving me hungry,

this poet,
this scavenger of words,

tiptoeing on David’s heels,
reading psalms and loving,
in praise and adoration;

just a lowly messenger
after God’s own heart.

~~(I am penning a poem a day from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #5)

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Forgotten Beauty

I have not forgotten beauty
gleaming in the rim of gathering dark
sounding in the crying of the snow geese
hiding in the cross cries of the storm
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and rain races thru the air
in darts and stinging slaps and snaps
to light upon my eyeslashes
to kiss my tippy nose

and I hear deep within the earth
the sighs of slumber, sleepy breath
and turning from this seeming death
when winter races strong

(and yet cannot
NOT be beautiful)
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and so I walk the edges here
between the sea and sky and sand
and look for that pink glimmer
of that shell, that alabaster

moment, that holds
and does not break
at least not yet,
for I have not forgotten beauty.
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This Horrifying Displacement (On Existence In Post-Trump America)

he spoke in broken words,
an anxious monologue
of guilt confessed and expiation…

me, numbed by the encounter,
and cast reluctant confessor
of an ordinary monster
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who committed such
unordinary acts
of blind obedience,

setting ablaze an entire village
with gasoline words ignited
by fists of flame,
trump-voter
and in the name of Great,
of Better…of fear.
And now he can’t get loose,

cannot silence from
his mind the screams
of those people.  Them.
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Now on a deathbed
of his own design
and no good sense

to even lay down
and be still, a last
desperate attempt
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to seek forgiveness
and what am I supposed
to say to this displacement,

this horrifying displacement?
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Big-Hand Little-Hand Me

and what, Mama?
You turned me inside out
so red, so dark, a cave…
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an old sock wooly
on the outside,
and yet hollow
and full of things
yet held…
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and yet the holder
of a galaxy of galaxies!

You took my emptiness
and filled me with Yours
which aches with the pregnant
potentiality of it all.
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what am I gunna do
with this new ache
You gave me?

You reach
and grant that grace,
that terrifying removal
of veil and valence and vector…
and this new and bracing ache
remaining behind like
a lost tooth in my
heart’s mouth.
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I went to that mat of death
alone and yet surrounded
to discover that pile of me,
I bone of my own bone…

what gain was there?
what loss endured?
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my mouth stoppered
my eyes covered
ah but ears so open-wide
to hear the death song sung
so slow and yet so steady
tock-ticking its way round

that twisty path to me
laid there like a circle…
my big-hand little-hand me
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We Happy 15 (A sending poem)

Ya know, even Jesus,
being a dude and all,
didn’t get it!

He thought He
could do it all
with just 12…
and Himself of course!

L. O. freaking L!!

What else would you
expect from a man?
largeThey always think a few inches is a ruler!

“Hey buddy, suck it up Bro!
Rub some dirt on it
Call it good”!

Umm…yeah no.
We know different,
am I right?!?!

Every woman knows
it takes 14
to make a goddess!
A living zesty busty

hippy jazzy sleek

fat hale hearty

slick  and

slippery

oh so yummy

JUICY LUCY GODDESS
made of us…we happy 14.
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Our Hearts have twined,
our souls have moved

And Mama, She poured
out Her glue

until
We have

elided, danced
and birthed and
been born US!!!
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goddess awake and so divine
and we decree our ministry:

the mission of the Broken Pot
forever pouring, ever filling

ever loving, ever willing
always welling upward welling

HEALING

Then?  Mama Herself
presses in and on to us
(We Happy 14,
extension of Her face,
Her mask created!)

And caps this Broken Pot of wee
with Holy Trust and Sacred Mercy
running burning everywhere

1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9+10+11+12+13+14

And Mama…

We Happy 15
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Six Word Memoir (Seven Examples)

From fire
and ice
I’m born

Come On In!
the Water’s fine!

from the ashes
I have risen

I’m Mama’s Girl…
Just ask Her!

I am a
Selke
of Shalom

my bones
call the
goddess you

You ask me
why I laugh
^
|
(insert a comma after “why” for double entendre)
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In Blood & Bone (A Seven Line poem on “Earth” Day)

It is looming, dark and leaning in, this Winter

     and its ancient song echoes in blood and bone.

          It pulls down Blue from frozen skies…

               While perched nearby a wizened crone…draws breath

                    and tosses her gleeful cracked chanson in cackled tones

                         that run and roll like casting bones…that dance and then…still

                              and winter, song, blood and bone and ancient crone…are one.
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Deeply Well (French Pantoum)

You are a Many-Moon now
Baby, deeply well

My Conjurer-Priestess
just like Me.
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MAMA!!
IT HURTS!!

I HAVE DUG YOU OUT
My Conjurer-Priestess
just like Me!

My Consolation is Sweeter…and
I HAVE DUG YOU OUT!
You shall not run dry…for

My Consolation is Sweeter.
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MAMA!!
IT HURTS!!

You shall not run dry…because
you are a Many-Moon now,
Baby…deeply well

T78 INT 61

 

Advice In The Maelstrom’s Commencement

These are vulnerable, slinky damp days
exposed by the scalpels of fear.
So steady yourself in the bones
of the grey granite cliffs and the mist
of the dizzy array of events
that are reeling like carrion crows
while the weak light fast forwards
to night.

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Stay deeply centered, just stand
in yourself as you engage a world
that seems to despise its true center.
Remember yourself, be that point
that is present, for you and for others
in the mushy immediate world
that’s careening and swirling
around us.

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Ravenous tides of malevolence
thirst for your blood, your breath and your song
and would drain you dry, crumple, discard you
and destroy your rock steady sereneness.
You must simply refuse to be buffeted!
Shine brightly and stay softly confident
in your hard commitment
to truth.

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Stand strong, and keep your eyes open
to see who can stand with you, who can’t.
In your stillness be free to jump higher
and to mount up on wings in the long winds
and rely on the ones who just love you
with great tenderness, keep you in check,
cus we all need the tension
of both.

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There is no need for undeserved compliments
and a great need for unrestrained love.
Know whatever your loved ones experience
will affect you, yet is not about you!
so keep orienting yourself towards
your truth, and keep letting that truth
shine through all that you are and
you do.

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This Indigo Night

I love this poem, but only because it is an accurate capture of an endless nightmare agony-night.

It also captures the pain of being othered


what am I,
here in this current so swift,
here in this flow so crystal,
the color of none, of nothing
seeping from hearts of high mountains
whose tops are jagged and sharp,
sharp enough to shred en…

Source: This Indigo Night

NaNoWriMo: Nation over Novel

This incredible poem is something I just now got around to reading…catching up after time away at retreat.  I am both linking to the original stunning post, and copying it here too.

sadly…we know we did not choose life, but a curse

Election Eve, November 7, 2016

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live…” Deuteronomy 30:19-20

The moon is half-and-half tonight, like
A mitzpah coin holding out its promise:
That this is not some space-opera dystopia,
Where the creepy demagogue wanna-be
Is going to shoot down the moon, leave
All our tides raging out of control, our seas
Washing their bloody waves, troughing through
Our silent, ravaged, grey cities. No. Never.

The moon will remain to govern all our tides,
Those of water, those of blood: like clockwork.
The shining silver half-coin will grow to full,
Showing that we shall be together, not long hence,
With what this country was always meant to be:
The melted alloy of many elements, the gift given,
The promise kept: that we are stronger together,
And together we can heal all the broken pieces.

*******************************************

So yesterday I was struggling to write a blogpost about how we need to vote to avoid turning this country into an English-speaking version of 1930s Italy or Germany, how if we fail our country now…

Source: NaNoWriMo: Nation over Novel

A Rain So Red And Warm (Transgender Remembrance Day 2016)

“April is the cruellest month…”
T.S. Eliot said…
he simply wasn’t paying
the steep cost of attention.

It’s in the brown pits of November,
when we lie in hopeless wait,
in limbo stuck there in between
the stupid and sublime…
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stuck in that old and barren hollow,
wedged between a grease congealed
KFC bucket called Autumn
laying in dead crackly leaves

and its winter-shadow-self
approaching in uneven shambling
gait with cutting winds, harbingers
lurking in its fraying heart.
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I listen hard, I strain my soul
in this insensate endless month
for a song, a sound…anything?
maybe a last, desperate word

of Release?
Real-ease?
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Reeling, I go through the gates
of death that loom large in the night
aware that I may well be robbed
of all this nothing left to me,

of all the rest of my short years
aware the grave cannot give praise,
that death cannot sing elegy
and I know, finally, that we
large (3)
are sick for life, and desperate cling
to this nameless shining thing,
a fountain sealed, we drift toward
our edges, there below revealed

in such familiar frightening
familiar numb-ed anguished sting
shared just by one Incarnate One
a weak and beaten broken man,
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a God defeated, crying in
the quiet weeping freezing rain
falling slowly in the black
and cloying plummeting sloe dark

that’s darker than our darkened world
blacker than all blackened loss
blinder than all senseless hate
and bleak as splintery bloody cross
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and it is there our questions cold
fall limp…just like the rain itself
and like His sadly dripping tears
(Himself a rain so red and warm)

and here His tears mingle our own
and here His blood flows from His side
and there the final faint quick spark
flickers within His ruined hide
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His broken heart amidst the dreck
of our lives brutally played out
in this tragic blind senseless wreck
where light lays down, and breathes its last

and mourns all dreams of futures past.
our only hope a hang-ed man
become the lowest of the low
embodying every despair,
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He gives a cross to cling to, know
a hang-ed man, His own self there
insistent Incarnation fair
drinking the deep cup of despair

and promises that it is Done.
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Silver Tails and Fading Light

flick of silver tail,
flash of waning argent light
bloated belly rolling over red echoes
of a blooming crimson sky

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and then these little gifts eternal
nestled in the cleans-ed sand
another flick of tired tail
a last flutter of a gaspy-gill

and all is still…

floaty toward the slumber stop

and all is still

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In Honor Of The Death Song

It’s swans…
white in the
flashing golden air
flaking off as sky goes
pink at the edges
and falling away
reeling away
in honor of the Death Song…
then
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they’re gone,
and echoes flutter
and twisty fall
down upon
my upturned face
and chill each spot
they touch

with that fading Western Glory
I turn, and face my fire-pit
embers dead and full
of waiting bones
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Ah, waiting bones, still and calling
crooning for my naked tired flesh
to lay me down on them
(extension of my bones’ face)
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and those bones, those
cold glowy bones stark
dig me with rooty bites
and toothy ancient secrets.
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I turn my face to see the Last,
the Last Swan soaring, lingering
watching to see me to my
earthy bed of bones
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and then I give in
and give myself to those
greedy-needy hungry bones
who must have me for blood
and fertile fire for winter
for winter lasting thru

I close my eyes and sink,
a silver rain red and slow
smoking into that earthy
boney glow…and sigh
and trust the crooning process
of deep marrow…of deep bone.
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The Adoration In You

Run, Child, from the once into the upon and thru the times
to emerge knowing that leaves ARE…
having passed from once there
upon a tree
thru air
in that
moment

Twisty
Timeless
Floaty
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Look Child, in my voice’s sound and hear
the siren call of Riotous-Red Drifty yellow
(sounds like MMMMMMMM!)

My hand, Baby Girl…touch…my…hand

Darting
Diving
Twisting

Oceans Run and Race thru the air
within these sacrificial leaves…
A continent is written in the wind
beneath their stems!
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Crackle
Swish
Swoop

Settle in the sun come down
into a million longing little leaves
all starting…all fall…to settle
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Fly without wings, without eyes! 
Trust your heart, it sees the leaves
that fall within my Heart for you
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and in

falling

and flying

and settling

Shall you know Peace
Shall you touch Release

and know the adoration in you
My Heart of Hearts
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A Love Note…From The Dark Of The Moon

Sisters…

I have come, like Hagar returning home…
back from the dark side of the moon
and I am full of wisdom gleaned
from sun-baked wanderings
across wide bleak and barren lands
and Beautiful Bedouin Deserts
and all the way to that distant shore…

the edge of my soul-wound.
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I have faced the edges of myself
I have faced that Gulf of separation
and I have headlong heedless SWAN-DIVED
pure…and I survived
the plunge!

I have crossed over…that gulf
I have TRANS-ED!
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And now I run
returned to you, same-sided ones
My CIS-ters dear and precious-rare
marooned and longing for The DARE!
You still stuck on that Lost Coast
of desolation waiting at the long deserted
service station called same old
same old same old old old SIDE

Ohhh Sarahs!  I have heard such secrets in
the red-reed voice of Scirroco winds
Oh the things I know, winnowed by that
wind and winnow-stick of courage
from the shifting Sands of self…
I have sifted and been sifted
by the heat and cold and light…andtmg-article_tall
the dark
the dark

the dark that knows what sleeps alone
the dark that knows what it knows not
(and nought, ahhh, yes, the dark knows nought)
the dark that knows what it knows nought
and it has taught me Love Notes…
on the dark side of the Moontumblr_ofmf36kuxt1ue8tbmo1_1280
OHHHH MY MOON!!!
MA MERE!!!
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You see, she is stuck too (just like you, Sarah, just like you)
in his orbit circling and one side shining one side dark
her endless pasted happy smile while growing thin and desperate
and starved, ravenous in the night

Oh Sarah, remember you laughed, back then!
Well, I could teach you a thing or two about Laughing NOW!
Cus from your chuckle sprang a promised child
who grew into a nation dusty rusty red?

But I…me?  Hagar??
HAH!!

From the Womb of my laughter
springs forth The Children of Her Promise!

I!!  The Outcast ME!!
My Laughing womb brings forth
the very Rose Behind The Sun!!
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We are two wombs, two moons, Sarah…you and me
But I’m a moon that got fed up and broke away
and learned to spin and twirl and dance!
I learned how to gladden this close Dark
I have understood how to please the Light
as I spin and twirl and turnturnturnspinstepspinturn
lightdarklightdarklightdarklightdarkLIGHT!!!

I am your Hagar!  Outcast and returned
here in your hour of great need!
I stand before you, with you
with my wand of Cedar freedom waving
and my book of Mama-Conjuring!!

Ohhh Dearest Sarah, can’t you see?
That you are the same as me?
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Look passed deserts veils so long ago assigned
Peer deep beneath this hoary hated hide!
And see the vital fertile oceanic sea…
see my…
ME!

Ohh Sarah, I see you!  I was you…
languishing in bitter wounds of old
I see you in your hurty night
your tear stained grief
and darkened dreams

I see your Chrystal Mountain Rare
now Shattered in Indifferent air
and Chasm shards!
And I have come to mid-wife you
from the womb of your true self
to the mercy of your real True You!
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I will help you see with eyes unblinking
thru your tears those canyons riven
by erosion bit by bit from
your most treasured self!

STAND!  Leave behind the CIS-ter lands
and join me, we’ll reclaim OURSELVES!
Finally forever truly SIS-TERS

For in truth?
Our destiny is one.
To be exultation light-filled
Trans-women all
crossed over

and spinning wildly,
Joyful in the Night!
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In The Thickening Dark Air

The days are growing thin, now…
more firmly anchored, chained to earth
as she grows sleepy and surrenders
to impending, crooning death
that has in time passed always passed
and yet, each time seems like her last___
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And I, with naked desperate face
pressed frantic to that fading sky
so blue, impossibly so blue
blue BLUE…and pale and growing paler
as my running tears run free
and carry Blue down to the dirt
of me, the dusty dirt of me

The sky dims in the echoes of
those flying waves of wild geese fleeing
Vanguard of this fading time
this sleepy, grown-thin dying time
so out of step, in stuttering rhyme
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They fly and sing, elegiac,
the Songs of Captive Zion, and
the broken harps hung high on willows
on the willows wailing there
while geese fly, sailing sadly by

and as these waves sweep by above
in broken honks (like broken harps
played tragically by broken hands
and broken hearts) that rain, that fall
to lay upon the many-waters growing still
and shining dull in dimming light and wondering
Image result for broken harps on the willows
if there is any love left here…or there…
or anywhere to see us safely
thru the night, the coming dark night
sinister and silent as the grave?  And still
my tears fall ceaseless, mourning
growing still, so listless, still…

The flapping wings the flutterings
of geese and my tears hot, welling
glistening sliding dripping falling
as the earth shifts and rolls over
on her side and so resigned
she groans and closes sorrowful
and milky sightless rheumy eyes
Image result for rheumy eyesand the rhythms of the wings,
the waves, the tears (oh tears and tears)
they echo other rhythms dread
stilled long ago…but now awake
a dreadful Sauron Eye aflame
snapped open in malice and pain
unblinking, staring without weeping…

flapflapflap (the wings),
snapsnapsnap (the eyes)
crackcrackcrack (other geese-stepping)
TROMPTROMPTRUMP (the boots, the boots of night)    
TRUMPTRUMPTRUMP 
(boots so shiny underneath
a cold Bone Graveyard moon)
trumptromptrumptromp

I weep…I wonder…if the dying
of the autumn light presages
some dread other coming night
some night hollow as the grave
in this thickening Dark Air
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The Knowable And Yet Unseen Fine Line (JD)

Written for my friend a year ago…dedicated now to all who find the rise of an autocrat to power a horrifying prospect


What is this mystery
that imbues us with mercies,
that makes us worthy?

What Hand unbridles us,
makes us like fire
sweeping quick and inexorable
across the dry crackly pampas?

Is calculated bravery…

Source: The Knowable And Yet Unseen Fine Line (JD)

This Ghost Poetic

This is a couple years ago…I really think it is one of my best poems, in that it carries Meaning from The Beyond into this place.  I hope you take your time and enjoy.

I wander this world ghost-like in poetic places,
like a phantom passing thru unseen, unfelt.
I wonder in the presence all around…
I see, I feel… I dwell in mists, resarciate revelation, …

Source: This Ghost Poetic

Ever Outward On

flitting forward in fits
and starts and swings
on wings

gossamer, delicate
and strong enough
for a thousand miles
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swimming down, out
far away and then again
up, and in, deeper
Image result for salmon
against the broad current
and into the rushing froth
back to beds of spawning time

and what seems captive
here in time
and two dimension
Image result for salmon spawningtakes on depth
and height and breadth
and Spirals ever outward
Image result for spiral
on.

 

Sands and Shadows and Pearls, Deconstructed

So I wanna give a lil glimpse to how I weave poems into poems…this is Sands and Shadows and Pearls, but taken apart into its strands…you can read each strand, and then go back and look at how I juxtapose to create Poetic Harmonics…this should create some depth and distance in the metaphors and implications of waking, dreaming, shadow, sun and what casts the shadow.

I hope you will work with it some…❤

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I do shed tears, these days
I also shed dreams too
I dreamed, last night
I also shed tears too

I think…yes.

I dreamed that I walked lands crying
and my tears fell on red sands glistening

my tears

my tears on red sands sizzled
because I had no shadow,
they had no shadow

and then in that glaring sun unbridled,
that staring star unfiltered
they became pearls
of white
and ivory
and pink
they
became pearls
of My Mother,
the Mother of Pearls

and then I saw,
Her, walking there,
sowing in tears
and reaping in pearls
with nary a diamond
in sight
life_in_color_by_bojan1558-d5xq6zb
and She turned to me,
She bid me pick them up
and take…eat…and I did
and where they lay
the sand was gone

and green grass jumped lush
into my eyes with verdant glee!
And the pearls tasted like honey

and the pearls
became glory within me
and I rose up on glory,
I rose up in glory,
glory within me
and glory in the air

and I saw my shadow,
distant and crumpled
and pinned to the ground
for always by arrows
and spears and the knives
of those children
of red sand and shadows.

And just as I began to wake
I realized that ever
would they gather there,
around that shadow
pinned and empty
of all save their vitriol and hate

while I walked free but achy
across the red sands,
with no shadow
between me
and that stark sun
except for the glory
that’s given by pearls
plucked from green grass
so verdant that used to be
red sand so hot
on which was shed precious
tears without shadow.

So I wake, each time

I wake and realize
I do not need a shadow
to stand between me and the sun
and some something
to tell me that I am, I am.

I am.

I just need those tears
shed on sands red and glaring
become pearls from my Mother
to wrap me in glory
and glory wrapped in me
and no shadow my shadow
forever

and pearls
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(and nights…it is strange
to wake and find the wet
residue of sorrows dried
and digging at the corners
of my eyes),

(like tears).

(last night…it is strange
to wake and find the dry
remnants of dreams moist
and pressed, pushing into
the spaces between me
and my pillow)

(like dreams).

(my tears glistening,
not the sands, they lay leering,
skulking, glaring flat and angry)

(the ones in my dreams,
the ones with no shadow)

(the tears and me,
not the sands and dreams)
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(my tears)
(like the armpits of abalones,
who also learned to live
without shadows)

(my tears,
not the abalones,
or the red sands,
or the shadows)

(born of tears shed on red sands glaring,
tears glistening and without shadow)
(not shadows or sands)
(because diamonds have shadows
and slinky songs and glittery platinum
brittle best friends)

(the pearls, not
sands and shadows)

(like shadows flee daylight)
(and clear thirst-quenching
shadow-clearing life)

(and the pearls of my Mother,
not the sands and shadows)

(not to day,
not in night,
I wake to me)
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To Skim Thru Night With Me

To Skim Thru Night With MePOSTED ON NOVEMBER 1, 2015

I skim quick thru the darkling night
I skinny along those fissures deep
and rough faults in thick dark.

The sable satin curtain parts
and I slide thru, slide thru alone
and hot with dark-fire smoke.

My eyes flash flash light to light
and gleam within the velvet night
and promise there’s an end.

But you must strip off layers, yes
you must there disrobe complete
and scrub away the past

to skim thru night with me right here,
to skim thru night with me.

Source: To Skim Thru Night With Me

Sometimes In Fall

sometimes in Fall
when the mist is just right
floating, hanging in light
you can make out a wall

a rampart extends
from the Back of Beyond
shouting of a far place
that is ever so near

and if you simply walk
walk right thru that deft arch
on your light tippytoes
you can just about touch

the glowery stem
of the flowery Rose
at the Center of all…

sometimes in Fall
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Our Little Hut

To you newish readers, here is another of my favorite poems, from a couple of years ago…Our Little Hut…dedicated to my Love

Darling, are you awake? Yes? Good…do you remember our beginning? A little hut by the sea wearing grey cedar shingles like feathers ruffled in rainy winds and shot thru with browns and blacks&…

Source: Our Little Hut

Grace Upon Grace

Constance…Thank you for your patience with me as I am not writing new things right now…but do I ever, really?

Write new things…

Oh, I catch poems that have not yet been caged in words, and do so with some volume…but I dunno if they are new.

But I am focused on the election, and no, not the candidates…but the story this election is telling about the lurking horror inside so many in this nation, which is the seeds of destruction for so many souls.

In the meantime, enjoy some of the poems from the past as I post them.  You can also check out my FB page…if you are not yet a friend, request me with a message that you read at Grace Notes.  <3

open me to new ways of looking at old wounds without examining them. give me grace to recreate loving space and mercy great for childhood, home and family. nourish me, here, I belong and have a pla…

Source: Grace Upon Grace

I love this honesty, and relate to so much of what she writes. Happily Ever Affirmed (Guest Post by Lakin Saucedo)

“I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere I want it more than I can tell And for once it might be grand To have someone understand I want so much more than they’ve got planned…” – “…

Source: Happily Ever Affirmed (Guest Post by Lakin Saucedo)

The Must

I am re-blogging this old poem, for it is one of my very favorites, and I think it is actually one of my most excellent poems as well.  The metaphors are very full and agile…I wrote about one night in the winery, doing “Evening Punch”, that process where the crushed mass of grape clusters together with the seeds and stems called “must” is pierced over and over again with an implement called a “punch”…

OH!!!  How these things just came alive to me!!  I encourage you to think about things like:

dirt
dirt become flesh
flesh become spirit
silver (color of redemption)
piercing
sweat
blood
in-out-up-down
The Must
The Song/Symphony

As I have commented before, I think wine is the central metaphor that best explains the journey of Life, and the task we are all given.  In that post, I said that a good bottle of wine is the disti…

Source: The Must

Morning Meditations

Contrast the difference a year makes… Reeling In Rome when the blow of being shunned by flesh and blood was fresh… And the next, the poem below, when I had been born from betwixt the legs of suffering, and becoming…

When you lose the rest of everything and the curb merges with the gutter, wander on down the grey road in the weak darkness, thin and sorry for its skinny powers. Like you, it has been stripped and…

Source: Morning Meditations

The Girls We Were Without Knowing

I wrote this to one of my deepest loves… The day after the hardest text I ever heard. Two years later, and it’s still unclear whether this rift will ever be healed, or just stand there gaping and bloody, gawking blindly at the horror of separation…

high strung doesn’t even come close to how high strung i really am… but i lay like the dead lifeless, empty inside, afraid, seeing your departure as the substance of my ugliness and you…

Source: The Girls We Were Without Knowing

I Smelled Rosemary and Sage

I am Pressing this poem from a couple years ago…it was just before The Great Reduction began…it is written to and for my friend Dani over at Blooming Spiders…and I think it captures something of what makes a friendship.

I love you Dani…always your sister,
Charissa


I was wanting to “do some work” in our garden, right?
cus relationships need nurturing, tending, (like gardens)
flower gardens, vegetable gardens, forest gardens
wild and austere and ma…

Source: I Smelled Rosemary and Sage

Mama You Told Me

One last repost…it is the contrast here of the mountains and the valleys that creates the space in-between…a space that I love to write about.

Edges are not merely the furthest border of a given territory…Edges by definition are their own space, and time and place…transgender people inhabit edges in obvious given ways…but I write as I do, speak as I do so that you can tumble to the fact that all human beings live in “Edges”…

…it is what makes us human.

What are your edges?  Your furthest reaches?
And what “Edge” is that place that is you?

Mama’s words to me are mine.

You told me there would be silences, differences between mountain streams and valley brooks, You told me Your flow was warm, liquid collecting of the gifts and graces of valleys. You said my bracin…

Source: Mama You Told Me

Jacob’s Half-Sister

This is my naming poem.  It is one of my very favorite works…I am happy with the allusions, metaphors, the techniques and inferences…the resonances in the poem and the implications of a transwoman being a “half-sister”…

Well, I just love it and I hope that you can find some resonance that echoes to your own life.

words. swallowed in medicine times but found to be only poison slow half-life killers just in time spat out in relief, in apprehension, in hope… i am jacob’s half-sister confessing her …

Source: Jacob’s Half-Sister

Love And Breath

This is a re-post of a poem written last year…this goes out to my recent “Constances” who have come round after this poem was composed…I am so honored that you read here and I hope this poem rings a bell within.

When light fades in upside down slow burn that looks like sunset when it’s actually just God’s Hand on your heart Their dimmer switch of love spinning round on and off… brighter…

Source: Love And Breath

Teetering On The Precipice

To Trump Voter:

You are against divorce.
You say you hate porn.
You hate Hillary for reasons that you cannot link to anything
except the onslaught of attack from the 90s…

So therefore you are gunna vote for a man who:
Sends Gingrich and Giuliani to attack Hillary because HER husband
was unfaithful but SHE HERSELF WAS FAITHFUL…
He himself also attacks her on this basis…
Image result for woman being stonedWhich means that between Gingrich, Giuliani and Trump they have 9 wives…

NINE!!! NINE WIVES!!! Which means that you are supporting a candidate
that is ANTITHETICAL to EVERYTHING you claim is core value.Image result for hate and horror and fear
You get angry and defensive when this is pointed out.
You say the media is lying to you about this, and that
Fox News is the only one that tells you the truth.

Even though the internet gives the ability to check out multiple sources for yourself
so you CAN find out who is telling the news straight…if you want to.Image result for hate and horror and fear
But you would rather sit…and pull Fox News’s lies around
you like a snuggly warm dirty diaper around your brain.

Yes…it is warm…but you now have the WORST case of mental diaper rash.

Do you know that Trump..your Presidential Nominee…
uses his DIRECT COMMUNICATION LINE (Twitter)
to TELL YOU to look at a sex tape of some woman
that he has already insulted, bullied and verbally abused…
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AT THE SAME TIME WORLD LEADERS ARE EULOGIZING Shimon Peres…

let that sink in.

Trump is raving about sex tapes and everyone else is being world leaders…

SOOOO….when the sex tape search was conducted???

NO sex tape found with Hillary…
NO sex tape found with the person he accuses…

ONE SEX TAPE FOUND!!!

Do you know who is the star?

(It’s a hard Q, given what I just wrote…it will shock you,
cus NO ONE would or could imagine this person doing a sex tape…NOT)
ughsogross
Donald Trump. Your Nominee.
Leads off the tape pouring champagne on women…and it goes downhill from there.

I am outraged, upset, and deeply DEEPLY grieved that you sit…
and tell me that God wants Trump…tell me that the christian thing to do
is put Trump in place…give your support to the evangelical right who have
SOLD THEIR FREAKING SOULS TO THE DEVIL and climbed in bed with Trump…
Image result for hate and horror and fearIt’s like watching Donald Trump and you his supporters
commit sex tape atrocities EVERY SINGLE DAY!

Yes, this whole election has been like A Clockwork Orange,
and being forced to watch such perversions…
Image result for a clockwork orangethe perversion of a formerly Grand Old Party,
and the degeneration of a whole expression of Christendom
into masturbatory self-worship at best
and adulterous profligate orgies of hatred and fear.

He disgusts me…deeply.
You disappoint me…sadly and intensely.

And after all of the above, I STILL find myself utterly unable
to purge myself of my intense and literal keening…and grief…
Image result for hate and horror and fear…for you.

Fallen! Fallen! Oh! The Beauty of Israel is slain on the mountains!
You were once swifter than eagles! You were stronger than lions!
Tales of your renown circled the world in scarlet threads of redemption.
Your reputation was faith, hope, and love!
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Fallen! Slain! Your lips once held rubies of love, pearls of wisdom…
and now your mouth is an open grave of worms and maggots.
You were robed in scarlet…you had ornaments of gold
but now you are wrapped in filthy rags and rotten blood
and ornamented with skulls and the teeth of your enemies…
Image result for hate and horror and fear
Once your song smelled sweet of salvation
but now your very breath is death, and your speech is STENCH
and you stink of hypocrisy, adultery, idolatry, and your medal of honor
is nuffin but a divided heart.

WEEP AND HOWL!!!
REPENT!! REPENT YOU HYPOCRITES!
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Let your sorrow no longer be for those you condemn to hell
but for yourselves, and PRAY that it be godly sorrow
which produces repentance!

I am distressed, I am in mourning and my sun has set.
I remember when your love was sweet, sweeter than song
and I flounder in this night of long knives and zombie moans
Image result for hate and horror and fearBut I shall wait for dawn unflinching
I shall see the rise of the Morning Star
and the oppressed shall sing again
and the fatherless shall be gathered
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for justice shall come, in rivers and waves
rolling in righteous streams
to cleanse…to heal…

I write with no expectation of a metanoia…
I write in Hope, that Great Holy Spirit is in this world…
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to convict humans concerning deviations
and woo with Love.

May God have mercy on us all
and deliver us NOT from Donald Trump…
but from our divided avaristic hearts
that led us here to the precipice of self
on which we now teeter.
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