Blankly and a Grin

    

  Staring blankly out the window before my desk - not unusually blankly, (because it's not that unusual for me to be blankly), but definitely blankly blankly. The kind of blankly where you might recall being a certain many years old and a certain many inches high, but you don't know how many - specifically. You're also certain you have done many interesting things over the course of those many certain years - and with great purpose, but the reason for the purpose is forgotten, and also, what the many "interesting things" were - exactly.  

coffee cup (jacket) doodle - akka b

  Staring blankly out the window in front of me, I observe evidence that I have in fact been busy, because of what is grossly spread behind me. Notes taped over the entirety of the wall, stacks of real books and note books on every available surface. Colored pens, pastels, paint brushes strewn, jewelry weaving projects in a half finished mess on the antique tray near my closet, piles of clothes - approximately three of them - in various positions on the bed, carefully heaped on the floor, and thrown with great intention to 'put-away' across the back of the chair that isn't meant for that.

  My blank stare softens into a grin. I'm not sure what I've been doing, but at least it looks worthwhile. If someone - anyone walked in on this, they would likely have some questions. I wouldn't have answers by the way. But I would invite them to stare out the window with me.

Falling Down

You can't get back up, till you let yourself fall down...

 

Let's not sit still anymore. 

Let's NOT go back to sleep. 

TREES ARE FALLING

listen

Today I ate waterfalls

Three large fallen Oaks

And seven spoonfuls of sunlight, 

between handfuls of MARCHing rain

yes

I'm a Poem Hunter and Poem Prey

I do use Poems to Pray

I was looking for place. Place within poem. Watching for home.

(That's the theme here isn't it?

Watching for home?)

yes, but

WHY DO TREES FALL?

And when they fall... let out  -  Big Thunder? 

Is THIS rebellion?

OR

Are the trees talking? 

Showing us talking?

Giving their voice, so we might find our own?

"Use your voice," said the Tree

(As it left its song all-over, the yard)

"Let my bark light your fire, human friend."

TREES ARE FALLING

listen

"If I fall for YOU... you MUST grow for me."

In the deep dark night of this rebellion.

WAKE UP POEM CATCHER

POEM PRAY

Don't go back to sleep

Recognition

In the land of recognition (now)

How can I say? 

Watching faces

Remembering times

When first we met

And I don't mean recently

Connecting dots

and they are everywhere

Like stars

Moons 

Bright waves of remembering

It's good to know you

again

Magic is as Magic Does ~*~

Magic is as magic does 

Today a crystal heart hanging from my window spoke, as I sat silently - motionlessly - reviewing words. I don't know what the message was, but all of the sudden, the crystal heart tapped itself against the window and set itself to spinning. Spinning light all around my room in rainbow fragments. I watched mesmerized by unexplainable occurrence. 

Surely, certain people would try to explain it. 

But certainly, I could care less, why...

I just think it's beautiful is all.

Let the Elves in...

Let the Elves in...

*

what i really love...

What I really love is morning fire.

Stacked pillows and shades gently drawn.

The candle lit is not the fire of which I speak.

But, it is reassuring.

In this foyer of intentional resolve, I find a way to sit. Rest.

Before the day-fire begins.

I begin.

I get to.

Intentional loving is what I really love.

The candle lit and burning sage and a shawl draped ever so, simply.

What I really love, is how meant to be...

This love is meant to be.

Nothing further.

July 18th 2010 - 4:05am

Counting down till sunrise. 

1.75 cups of coffee consumed between the hours of 5 and 10pm.

BAD. 

and

Really, really GOOD!!  

Candles were lit and I got-it-on with Sticky-Notes.

Sticky-Notes and stacks of forgotten paperwork and my copy- machine. 

Scissors and tape and notebooks and oh yes... the file got used. 

You heard that right... I used the file.  

But don't worry, it was consensual.  

And it made me hungry, but I didn't eat.   

Food. That is. 

Nope. 

I didn't eat food and I'm cutting back on sleep and none of it's my fault. 

It's the Sticky-Notes. 

I blame the Sticky-Notes.

WORLD CUP

Sometimes there is nothing to say.

When everything else falls away...

Street lamps dim,

Water turns to mud

Fog fails to lift

Wind refuses sleep

Earth let's go

When these things happen...

And we realize money is imaginary

And fancy hubcaps are unnecessary

And even makeup weighs us down

When there's nothing left to do but listen. 

And hold tight to that which will never let us go

And not hold tight at all

But let ourselves be loved and let the love continue...

Spaghetti

Of course she feels pain. Of course she cries in the bathtub with the shower raining down. Doesn't every woman? On days when she can't get to the bathtub in time, she imagines the bathtub - and herself crying there. Like comfort food. 

Like spaghetti.

Bedding Prose

 It's because I feel guilty about bedding prose on a perfect day. As if the sky, too well lit, would attract misfortune - the eyes of the world might notice me missing and think to trace my steps. I should probably look busier than this. Lying here with words in my lap, loving them so...

I've been entirely selfish in my want of Thunder. Rain. Mud. Think of how many lovely events might have been canceled had I gotten my way. And all because I want to feel less guilty.

Selfish Writer Type. -- Call me that for short, won't you?

where to find IT.

Inside pages, under footsteps, without calling card.
Because of bathtubs, and candles and the bear.
For wanting, or For-getting or For-having.
this much.

Enclosed in envelopes, to keep, to touch a lot.
Breaking from tree, that had to let go of its twig.
Giving, clouds transfer thoughts via nations.
that's where.

Growing out of tears, dropped carelessly on night stand.
Sprouting colors, turn to words, blossom dreams.
Sharing, there is nothing more to do now.
becoming.

all this

We are all this

Whispered the dragonfly to the daisy to the frog

We are all this

Whispered the frog back to the daisy back to me

I confirmed it with the sky, who shared it with the clouds

The clouds said they would go and tell the sea

We are all this

Whispered waves to the curiosity of the bee

We are all this

yes. we. are.

akka b.

The Pioneer of This...

The incentive is clear...

When you are ONE standing before a confluence of trees and winter is coming
and you have no home
and you have no food

you either,
begin looking for a good place to die

or,
you start building a home and gathering food

with what is before you

You have to make, with what you have, because that is what you have been given.

and if you make good use of what you have
and ask politely...

The giving keeps giving...

We are the pioneers of all this. The pioneers of our own bounty. Carving our own landscape. Fashioning our own home.

We need WATER to keep us FLUID. FRUIT to keep us SWEET. We need WOOD to keep us WARM, and EARTH to keep us HERE. We need SKY to call us forward and MOON by which to sleep.

Then...when SUNSHINE returns we will know how to gather it under our sails, cherish more,
and recycle it throughout the year

with gratitude,

and SO MUCH LOVE