I walk alone in lonely woods
fading from fall to winter snows
moving from the warmth of home
to wander lost and barren
I wonder as I move from tree
to tree and touch the scratchy bark
concealing living wood within
and warm there in the cold
if I can find a home inside
this tree or that one, twisting in
the gloamy air I wander thru
and thus root down to earth
But no, this tree is walking still
moving and not going there
stuck here but there and not here
I walk alone in lonely woods.
Category Archives: Charissa Grace
What Makes A Difference?
As I am pessimistic that TGRD will matter…I think I shall practice something useful…
giggles
Hear Me Screaming (Transgender Remembrance Day 2015)
I am a ghost wandering in the dark
and you don’t even know,
you don’t even see.
Wandering lost and in sorrowful shades
and you don’t even know,
you don’t even see.
I am a wailing voice keening in grief
and you don’t even know,
you don’t even see.
Wrapped in a funeral shroud black and white
and you don’t even know,
you don’t even see.
You walk into the nook, seeing me here
but you don’t even know,
you don’t even see
you don’t even hear me screaming.
It doesn’t interest me if there is one God or many gods.
I want to know if you belong ~or feel abandoned;
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need to change you~ If you can look back
with firm eyes saying “this is where I stand.”
I want to know if you know how to melt Into that fierce heat
of living falling toward the centre of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing to live day by day with the consequence of love
and the bitter unwanted passion of your sure defeat.I have been told In that fierce embrace
even the gods speak of God.
— David Whyte
I’m Sad…
…cus I think
you will
never
catch up
So Blessed
My Peculiar Love, Arise!
Look up, arise
my Peculiar Love!
You tumble still
wracking rocks
wrenching ravines
clawing cliffs
and scratching
with nails broken
and bloodied in the plunge.
No…I have not left
your side, your side
(it’s only bruised, Love)
so vulnerable to that lance
and the stinky rough
warhands of that coward
masquerading as a shepherd
covering for a rapist
And on that note remember
He who lays by your side
He who took the lance
He who went all the way
coming to common terms
with loss
blind as wind…
But I float now…see?
You will too soon…
And this is waiting…
there…and so I lay these words of care
upon your lips like mountain blood
white and clear and clean and cold
to slake your thirst with sop
(not hyssop)
of beauty, healing, Promise…
Oh my Love…my Love Peculiar
the day will come to
Arise
and join me in the Liberty
you prophesied when you spied
your baby’s heart eternal.
What I Want To Do When I Am Slurred!
I Don’t Need To Go To Paris
I can stay right here,
no passport, no visa
no access to that fairytale
land of opportunity and liberty
I don’t need to go to Paris
to find those willing
to gun me down, blow me up,
kill me in the name
of their bloodthirsty god
called gender.
Those terrorists
walk the streets
of my world behind
white faces, middle class manners
and smirks to rival the Riddler’s.
Paris comes to me
everyday.
Your Waiting Pyre
Go ahead…
light it, the match
and let the spark
fall on the twigs,
the tindre tenebrous
I will stand
on your perch
you made for me
under the sign
saying suffer not
a witch to live.
Even while
the flames lick
and curl around
my ankles and calves
I still see you clearly
From my perch
(your perch)
Standing on
Your Waiting Pyre
The Barrier You Are
You sit, snide, sneering
behind your nicey face
feeding your inner mean-girl
bonbons and envy
You turn green and then white
As fingers of dread and doubt
Grab your throat and choke
Because you cannot spin
Or weave or throw clay
So you weave tales, innuendo,
wage war of resistance
and haughty head tosses
That brain barrier has
gotta go…gotta shatter
and I am just the girl
to break it.
I Wanted To Be Her
Powerless Silly Random Facts
Mont Blanc is the highest mountain
in Europe. It sits on the border
between France and Italy.
A black-headed gull walks in the snow
on a wall of the Palais de Chaillot
while the Eiffel Tower sings laments
in the background.
The wetlands of Camargue are found
between the between
of the Mediterranean Sea
and the Rhône River delta.
Not one of these silly random facts
can unring that bell,
can unsay that hate,
can un-rip those shreds,
can mend up those shards.
Cartographer of the Heart
Come to my town, my street
come to my house, to me.
Come find me, bags packed and parked
in the hall like puppies puddly-wriggling
to take a walk…come take a walk with me.
I will ride shotgun with words for shells
And heart for sound and I will
hit the target every time.
I will sing to you, for you
I will sing of the roads we wander
and make each strange unknown place
known and forever written in your heart
for I am a
Cartographer of the Heart
I am a Poetess, and I would
belong to you and you alone
if you would but just stop by
and say how you stroll.
I will make you groan,
I will make you thrill,
and bring you home again
and again and again and
your fire will never go out
for I will feed my limbs
to the licking flames of
your desire
for I am a
Cartographer of the Heart
I am I, and waiting…
To My Judges…
…you who wrote vociferously to deny me becoming, deny me growth…
…you who wrote to deprive me of my innate destiny to have a perspective, walk thru life and the years, and then have a new perspective from a new place…
…you who wrote to deny forgiveness by telling me that I was unforgiveable…
…you who wrote in denial of a Grandfather’s wisdom that a wise person changes their mind and a fool never…
…this post is for you.
I am free of your judgments. Take them back to the grave you choose to live in, I want nothing to do with them.
Give me a chance to be responsible and to give and take and live and learn and forgive and be forgiven…give me a chance to be the person I allus was and not this fabricated golem you have created to tell yourself what you think you need to be…give me that chance and I will take it.
But to gas-light me, castigate me and condemn me all the while denying me any means or opportunity to walk forward?
No…Charissa will not play that.
Take it all away and best of luck to you…as for me, I will live in forgiveness, give forgiveness, receive forgiveness, love, laugh, and know that I am perfectly imperfect.
I mourn that you deny me the opportunity to walk a life with you…but from the looks of things you are far more the loser.
To The 3 Judges…Regarding Dysphoria
When you’re given a diagnosis later in your life that somewhat explains for some of the terrible things you did,
mistakes you made, behaviours that make you want to bang your head against the wall.You can’t write a letter to anyone you’ve ever cared about and say,
hey sorry, part of my behaviour back then stemmed from this apparent mental illness.
It doesn’t work that way. It’s not an excuse, it’s a mess.But, for the rest of my life, I will search for moments full of you.
The Truth About Transgender Suicide | Brynn Tannehill
“Suicidal behaviors in LGBT populations appear to be related to “minority stress”, which stems from the cultural and social prejudice attached to minority sexual orientation and gender identity.
“This stress includes individual experiences of prejudice or discrimination, such as family rejection, harassment, bullying, violence, and victimization. Increasingly recognized as an aspect of minority stress is “institutional discrimination” resulting from laws and public policies that create inequities or omit LGBT people from benefits and protections afforded others.
“Individual and institutional discrimination have been found to be associated with social isolation, low self-esteem, negative sexual/gender identity, and depression, anxiety, and other mental disorders.
“These negative outcomes, rather than minority sexual orientation or gender identity per se, appear to be the key risk factors for LGBT suicidal ideation and behavior.”
Source: The Truth About Transgender Suicide | Brynn Tannehill
This.
I am sharing this truly scintillating essay, and the pull quote above is the core for me.
I just wanna say that I was raised white…but I was…raised white. Fortunately for me, I was never inculcated with racist bull shit, to the point that in college in the 80s I had a dear friend literally shock me when he told me I was the least racist person he had ever met…and yes, I did hear and note his use of the word “least”…which said volumes to me but in a language that I could not decipher or understand.
Well…since coming to terms with myself and understanding my gender journey, my life has changed in shattering ways, stunning and transcendent ways…but most importantly of all I was delivered from the ocean at last…
and became aware of so much that I never knew, could never see, even as a fish in the sea has no clue that it is in the sea.
I understand the comment of my friend now…”least racist”.
I wish I had the words and ways to let my friends, acquaintances and loved ones who are subject to that which they are subject to for the absolute worst and most insignificant of reasons KNOW that I get it now…
Oh, I will NEVER get it for the reason that they are made subject, anymore than any cis-gender person will ever “get it” in any way other than developing a deep and sincere sympathy and resolute commitment to love and live that love…
But I do get it now, the persecution, the othering, the abuse, the hatred and the fucking demonic unreasoning irrational stupidity of those besotted and drunk on the luck of the draw and the fate of biology.
My friends, and you know who you are…this post is for you…may I always find the joy I have found in solidarity with you and the love of your deep suns of being that shine undefeated and undefeatable! May I always have the heart, the eyes to see and to be inspired time and again with your indomitable spirit, will, but most of all your LOVE which just fucking never quits, CAN never quit.
You have no idea, the moments you have dragged me thru…you bearing the hate directed at you due to skin and me bearing the hate directed at me due to a variation on skin but essentially a common thing we walk in…times I was on the way out, and I would read sumfin, hear sumfin, think of sumfin…and be inspired and lifted up in your heart of hearts.
Now? I can at least have the means to find the remaining privilege I have and divest myself of it intentionally…it doesn’t always go, it is stuck to my skin color…but at last it is not stuck to me.
I regret only that it took as long as it did for my understanding and seeing eyes to catch up to what my heart must have known for my friend to tell me what he told me. We intersect…and for the rest of my days on earth I am expanding that intersection with every ounce of love, faith, hope, grace and mercy that is mine.
To the rest of my friends: please take it in faith that your privilege is there, is stuck to you, and is a legacy that you can use if you will but set your heart in a frame of humility and ask that your eyes be opened…hopefully you will gain insight without experiencing it being ripped away…but if that is what it takes, it is better that this occur rather than go thru your life blind while thinking you see.
Grace In The Gulf
It is in that gulf
that vast distance
between
that meadow hanging
on the wondrous mountainside
beautiful for situation
and cupping the wind
in its song-chamber bowl
and sounding like angels
and that desert looming
that desperate dryness
and filled with the winds
and the wails of the desolate
and the bleach-ed dry bones
that confound Ezekiel
That gulf is witness
and proof of the Heart
that freely pours Grace
until it is full,
that emptiness stark
repulsive in being
Charissa the Graceful
Full, overflowing
and liberal of gesture
Charissa Bereft
and so empty and jagged
and a curse on the lips
Both of us Mama’s Girl
One speaks of Grace Given
One speaks of Grace Needed
Lord
In Your Mercy
Hear my prayer
Kyrie Eleison
Just ran across the most beautiful and sad song that catches the essence of my heart right now
“”In a long forgotten book I read,
something that Augustine said,
in his deepest wound he found God’s Glory,
but I’m afraid that I’m too sick,
to conjure up that magic trick,
can I write myself into that story,
kyrie eleison…
kyrie eleison…
once had faith
but now it’s gone
kyrie eleison…
kyrie eleison…
I cut myself with stones and cry,
pretend, I’m not alone when I
fear that all along it’s only me,
kyrie, do you care?
eleison…”
Now…of course I have not “lost” faith…how could I? They found me and will never lose me…but it is poignant and haunting, this song, and I often lose hope that I will ever not feel outside and apart rather than a part.
Transgender Remembrance day draws close…it is so ironic to me that this day is so close to Veteran’s Day…one honors all…and one simply remembers those who died, and yet how impossible to remember anyone you never really knew, and then back to business as usual and the murder/violence rate continues to grow.
Sometimes the worst is that there are so many days thruout the year that I feel so utterly distant and forlorn that it feels like being erased from a day by others…a metaphorical murder…
…and other days I in essence commit spiritual suicide, the way that the dysphoria and my own failure conspire together.
Then there is the irony of the term…”Remembrance Day”…
Not a day goes by that I have forgotten or even could forget.
That Eternal Aftermath
It’s burst,
that Red Balloon floating
over the spindly-legged delicate
black lace Eiffel.
It splattered balloony-guts
in violent gouts
so grotesque
it’s nearly absurd,
and their
rubbery red-joke streaks
on the side
of that squatty arc
are anything but
Triomphe.
That’s how it works, terrorism…
that shock,
that
out-of-the-blue-blow-up
and your life
is doomed to never
the same
and yet never
recover
rinse-repeat cycle…
That’s how it is…
in my own private Paris,
misogynistic othering
phobic policing
sacks of pure hatred
shitting swaths
of bullets from
gender-uzis
and bursting Balloons here
and over the rainbow
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
You come at me with your fancy eye-teeth
all sparkly and shiny and pointed behind
your smile pasted there friendly on the front
and ravenous in the rear, hungry for blood…
my blood. the blood of my desire, of my fire,
the blood of what I make, create.
I feel like a rabbit frozen in the forest
trembling in the cold black.
I see the bones hidden behind the flesh
beneath the blood, I see the lurch
of your skeletal undisciplined hands
as you tear and clutch at me and my tasks.
Why can’t you just leave me alone?
It’s So Easy
It’s so easy for you, isn’t it
just pull the rip cord and disappear
anytime conflict draws near
or anything that threatens
your lil cis-gender heaven
where everyone is just like you.
It makes me laugh how you stand
at a distance and make ooey-gooey
nicey-nice noises and cooes
that are supposed to tell me
how great you are and how
much you love me
but when there is even
so much as a fart in a light breeze
(god forbid the shit ever hit the fan)
you march right to the trenches
along with those who attack me
because you all are gender pure
and they are your gender relatives
and like must stand with like after all
and you might get struck or cut beside me.
Yeah…delete me when you don’t like
what I say (or what I am) or when
you don’t want to do the work to really understand
what I am saying, what I am doing
who I am…or just ignore me
just don’t look here and go away
Look…there are monsters in this world
and they want to hurt me, but they will
settle for you if you are in the way
I think you are beginning to see
that I am not your token tranny…
being my friend?
it’s not so easy.
The Manse
You stand there, so distant, so stark.
You glower, outlined in the dark.
Your face the knife, my heart the mark
you leave with your hard stoney glance.
I look for a way around you.
A way beneath, around, not thru.
You standing there like hellish dew
or maybe a wrecking crew dance.
I need the trees, grass, the peaks
of high snow covered mountains and leaks
of stars, birds and wind, they all speak
of the Grace that grows, given a chance.
But you, standing there on one rock.
You on the sand near the clock.
Your words either silent or chalk
and your heart just an empty black manse.
This Knowable And Yet Unseen Fine Line
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 dry crackly pampas?
Is calculated bravery even that?
Calculated?
Brave?
Or is it that opening,
limitless in love,
that casual bravery that
sets apart stark and unique
and truly free?
The bright light and sounding fury
of your sharp inhalation as you stand
just on the verge of this blessed virgin
landscape, uncharted territory and at last
without a method for its mapping!
Your miraculous secrets
can now be made known,
open to the depths
of your deep core!
God,
the planet’s very core
trembles at the prospect
of you unearthing your mysterious you!
Face them down, confront them,
hair gleaming in the moon,
eyes ferocious, feminine
in the sun and perfect chaos
of a new creation being born!!
Wreak havoc in the hearts of those
who fear lord foul and want to break you open…
they only serve The Sacred Heart
which alone can touch you only
with the Mercies and the Grace!
They hate what they cannot control
and deem you far too much
but I ask them how could you
ever be too much
or anything but
too much
when you can fly above
those lofty snow-graced peaks
and you can warm those
star-kissed ocean-swept
beaches and speak to trees
in profound whispers in
the dead of night
or in the desert
at dawn?
Change and transformation beats,
a drum within your soul,
that elegantly crafted
straightforward chorus
and procession of passion
and purpose and melty-love!
The notion of you resurrected
sends battalions bowing, backwards
and rejoicing that they caught sight of you
there beside our Sister Joan
and the silver noble mantle
she wraps you both within!
Oh Ship Graceful!
You with the stubborn faith
and ridiculous courage to dare
the tempestuous seas of transformation!
Oh you dark and light pulsing!
Oh you unstoppable hurricane spinning!
Oh you warm rain and gentle embrace
glowing with Mama’s swaying rhythms
and untameable electricity and containing
the very formula for birth!
Let your passion become elixir,
life-force, fuel of legions of the lost
destined to be found!
Let jewels drip from your lips
to the mouths of we your sisters
and send us sailing on clouds
and lay us basking in light!
Let your heart be a home
and golden chamber
of comfort soft
and yet unyielding!
But now, sit in deserts
and wrap yourself in silence
while your spirit howls at the moon
and sings the songs of freedom
from the palace of yourself
restored to you.
Let your temple you
be that magnetic masterpiece
of completely unconscionable strength
and grace and majesty untwisting time
with every bump of your Holy Hips,
every twist of your spine fro and to.
And do not neglect your softness
at the heart of you, of your force.
Carry yourself like breezes in sweet meadows,
swaying like the willows in joyful moving hymns.
Remember to be small
when you speak stars
from your very lips.
You are a walking
breathing, living
temple in whom
our Mama
dwells
and
beautifies
so stark and lovely
that the very stones
give up their tears that
lay so petrified and still!
And so…sister exhale gently.
Let your lungs blow ancient magic
and conjure blooming flowers in the exhalations.
You are Mama’s Girl and are becoming
as a goddess by comparison to the dead
who shovel shit upon their brethren
dead and buried.
This is my solemn promise and exhortation,
I who have dwelt a season at the heart of a scream
and now stand ever in the Red Wonder of Her Heart…
join me here…
the water is just fine
in this knowable and yet
unseen fine line.
That Instant Untimeless Moment
You know that moment
(or is it an era or an eon)
that time in which space expands
(or does it contract)
or rather that space in which time
runs faster or stops all together…
that moment when you must
step up or step back
you must be quick-eyed and instant
not sluggish, slothful, mesmerized
by the glimmer of light on the waves
and the ripples of the sea towards the shore…
you must take your chin from your knees
raise your nose to the stiff water breeze
and let your hair blow free and unafraid
I have heard a lot of empty words
devoid of solid stance and foundation
in that expanding time,
that folding space,
that instant
untimeless
moment.
It’s Gettin’ Closer!!!
YIPPPPEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!
If One Shall See
your eyes upon these words
are like these words upon your heart
is like your heart upon this soul
is like this soul there in your eyes
upon these words
upon this heart
upon this soul
therein your eyes
but one must look
if one shall see
The Future of JP
a heart that’s purged is empty
and yet full all at once.
stuff and nonsense banished
pomp and pretense vanished
and only there remains
windows stained and clear
and incense in the air
and just the cross…just there.
A Rain-Fall In Autumn
I am standing in the midst
of mist and swirling grey streaked lengthy
with soft silver songs sung sighing
lost so long ago and dying
as the stone piled up on stone
oh so regal, stark and solid
now gives way to winds a crying
over years and years and years
and the rains fall washing all
in the bittersweet wet fountains
of the coming Bright Steep Mountains
falling from Aurora Rainbow
Skies, landing on earth in ruins
ruins, yes, in rain and ruins
I stand lonely and alone
and musky light smudges my cheeks
so wet and blood deserts my body
and runs to the earth between
my toes and there upon the soil
it does lay herself to die
alone
abandoned
and deserted
“…I’m STILL HERE!…”
This line has inspired me for 40 plus years…literally.
Watch to the end…For I am committed to living to that…the end.
PS: the irony of the fact that this movie is called “Papillon” is not lost on me!!
I Learned This Today
Some days, survival is going to be hard and people are still going to look at you
in the way you hate, with eyes narrowed in judgement, words like quicksand
drawing you deeper and deeper into self doubt, self hatred when they tell you
in how many ways you are not beautiful.
On those days, look people in the eye and say
“I do not know how to be your version of beautiful, but I do know
how to be every version of strong, I am a survivor
and no one can ever take that away from me.”
— I Learned This Today | Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)
New Beginnings
New beginnings are
often disguised as
painful endings.
often disguised as
painful endings.
| — | Lao Tzu |
My Secret Strings
Will any
fingers ever find
my secret strings
stretched taut inside?
Intricate, delicate,
intimate, articulate
invisible to any eye
not naked, any heart
still dressed in sheaths
and robes and layers.
I am
layers
I am
robes
and sheaths
(or rather,
I am
hidden
in those swaddles)
I am
those strings stretched
from Terebinthia to Gondolin
I am a song
played by wind
on window panes
by drops of rain
and lightning fingers
dancing cross
the crests of frothy waves
silver in the light
of hidden stars
and stormy moons.
I am
not accessible
to just
anyone,
and if you
find yourself
become bored
easily, then
shove off,
move along
go and listen
to the Beatles
or someone else
like them
(there are a million wannabes).
But until
the Time
might ever
come, I still…
wonder…
will any
fingers find
my strings,
hands caress
my neck?
Tonight Inside This Skin
It’s lonely here tonite
and all alone inside
my skin
while music plays
and pretty soon
the air is filled with
shadow shades
that sing,
lament, remind me of
my failure to be what
you wanted, what
they wanted.
And there…
in yon wood there
sits the bear
in silverlight
there in the rising
dark and that bear
part and parcel
of itself and
of the wood
but me…alone
inside this skin
well, it’s lonely
here tonight
inside this skin
inside this skin
Irrevocably Loved By God
there dogwood lingers
lost in long and cooling nights
side by side with sassafras
brooding over browning grass
and sumac stands
with red oak and sheds
leaves in broad daylight
while maples paint
in crimsons, scarlets, purples
yellow brush upon the air
and splashed across
the transom of my heart.
winds and rain come now
and colors muddle, fade to dull
and make their ready to fall down
into the soil dark that croons
and calls them to their fall.
and I am shattered in this fade
of yellow birch and maple red
the flower of spring is there unmade
and frost laments now come in lace
and nibble at my tender face
and precious profound beauty
here and gone and me
that hardest of hues to hold
as my life falls in leaves of days
is here and gone in just a wink
and nothing gold can stand untouched
and how is it, Eternal One
can love so strong and fierce this shade
who passes from the day to night
and fades into the mists?
The Seams of Our Beautiful Story
And all this time
I thought I was
building you up
as you grew
and became.
I really never
realized (really)
you were breaking
so unbecoming
and I was failing bad.
It breaks
my heart to
know you were
ripping apart the seams
of our beautiful story.
And now
tatters, shards
shatters, shutters
mutters and
clogged gutters
and it
is too late
at last
I realize
alas.
In Time To Come
Touch me
with unconscious hands
Unaware but
not unknowing
Find me
with yearning heart
untroubled in
the mists of time.
For I am here
dying, Love,
dying on
this slum’bring vine
And I know
myself alone
now and in
time to come
Like Candles
“Good people are like candles;
they burn themselves up
to give others light.”
— Turkish Proverb
Absence
“Absence.
Absence, hear thou my protestation against thy strength, distance, and length.
Do what thou canst for alteration… For hearts for truest mettle.
Absence doth still and time doth settle.”
A Prayer For Healing
Into the compassionate womb of your Love, Oh God
I bring my deepest needs, my strongest hopes, my greatest fears.
Give me tears for my grief, a voice that I might cry out unto You.
Give me words, that I might say what is most in my heart.
Give me courage, that I might always seek the healing You have to give.
Let me always offer my suffering to you, so that if healing does not come,
wisdom, justice, and compassion maybe its fruit.
A life offered to You, Abba God.
Amen
Relevant…Quite Relevant
Behind Bars
Behind the bars
of socialization
and choices made
unawares and assumed
I look and I long
to be set free quick
and to have my own day
to have my own day
In Mid-Air (Ode To Facebook)
Your words,
tossed off
trumpeted out
staccato,
running trills
like some
Miles Davis
of the trivial
not-thought-thru
remark
leave me
set on fire
and hanging
in mid-air
I Love Mama’s Hands
I love Mama’s Beautiful Hands
so dirty with me, with us.
I love that She is not distant from me
But draws close and plunges to muss
My hair, my heart, my head and my soul
She molds and She mushes and messes
And then She will wash me and clean me right up
And put pleats in my Lonely Tresses
My Face Against Your Glass
The monolith of your decided thoughts
looms large in dreadfall shades and shadows stark
of lost judgments formed in historic fogs
and lacking light and love, short on comfort.
and I am shrieking-dwarfed in their shot gaze
unblinking, baleful red and white and black
for all those choices made back in lost days
in reactive guilt and in hidden shame
give recoil now to even the mere name
of who and what I am, what I am not.
and still I throw myself against those stones
those bastions large and looming, standing there
in granite ground into your heart and bones
that glass unbreakable that you have set
to look thru, thinking seeing is the same
as being, but it’s not, not even close.
because you cannot touch me…no…not quite
…you will not touch me, that’s it, you will not
then I am naught…and my face…ohhh my face
my face against your glass red, blue and white
red and blue and white and I can’t get a breath
my face against your glass, your glass my death
Frozen White In An Instant
I froze white
in an instant
just a glance
just seeing
everything
except me, eyes
bouncing here there
everywhere
except me, fingers
draping, dragging
dancing around
edges, middles,
dabbling in puddles
and oceans, seas,
except me
black hole
in the middle
of your
universe
A Morning Phase
It’s a Morning Phase I’m in here,
walking in fogs and mists
thru familiar places long past
and gone but glimmering…
hinting,
haunting,
high above
in shrouded skies
wrapped in what?
Funereal splendour?
Swaddling clothes?
I can’t tell which
but then again
does it really
matter?
They signify
the same.
And I pass
along the path
dirt crunching
scrunching under
my trodding feet,
my padding feet
my tramping feet
looking for home
it’s a
Morning
Phase
I’m
in.
A Song For Autumn Without Music
Could I leave the bright waves
and take to the blue skies?
Could I leave my cold skin
and sail into your eyes?
Is the moon high above
just reflecting to me
all the love that you hold
in your heart?
If the leaves on the trees
can turn red, yellow, gold
why can’t I find a heart
that will tenderly hold
my body, my spirit,
my mind and my soul
while the tale of my true
love is told?
Mount up! Mount up!
Take courage on the wind!
Lift the hands of your sails on the waters!
Rise up! Rise up!
Leave the surface behind and let the bow of your ship
carve the clouds on your way!
I will sail all the seas
I will follow the stars
I will listen behind the beauty
beyond what mars
And someday I shall come
to my sea-harbour home
I will finally rest
deep in you.
Yes I will finally rest
deep in you.
It Feels Weird To Me
…like Grace Notes has become
an echo chamber and I am
speaking only to myself…
no matter…
I am liking my poetry,
and that pleases me.
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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