Disdain: A Lioness Roars Back

In the secret cabinet,

I detect fears that reek like worst nightmares, swarms of bugs and things. 

Love, is not like this to men, 

Oh no more, the way blood was never necessary to be spilt. 

Under the carpet is swept maroon secrets and cast away dreams- ship-wrecked somewhere, I wonder if they have yet, 

To discover an island, or land. 

Surrender is the life force of humility. I am perhaps stubborn because too many are not. 

Innate, in green plant form, is miraculous life. The color of life gestates as Gaia's womb, where faery magick is once again made whole.  

Tribes die, and rebirth, and you and I have met again, have we not? Perhaps? 

Nay. Even as a psychic, I tell you, it matter not, where u come from, but rather 

What you be. 

Who do you be? 

Action is the divine mark of God. Repentance another. Correction another. There are many, and where the ships have set for Hates, I escape. My soul is free- God's never choosing for me. 

The Walk & Company

Delicate. 

In a turtle's nudge, 

Is strapped my refuge. 

Carried, across a distance surmountable, 

Is a love, much like the bodies of heaven, 

But here it dwells, 

A toppling universe, 

Inside this dark hollow body I carry atop my own. 

Love is the refuge, 

Dwelling in homeland, once..more, 

And for all. 

You, there. In my dwelling, 

And vast hollow space, 

Of spindling stretches

And no shortage of extension. 

I love, in here...walking a vast desert plain, and you, always the clouds beyond it. 

I will remember your face and heart, like a Hopi Master in the Sky, and Mother Gaia below, as two great heads that have revealed me, the face of God; 

Just as you have, 

With your joker self. 

Embodied is every dry, 

And rejoiced again

As I walk this plain. Stretching my limbs towards a distance I may never see, 

There is a great love in the sky, 

And it is walking with me. 

Tao Now

Dare not you, 

How you know I. 

And no fool. 

But bittersweet life-rains. 

No fool to death, but ever stumbling on gain, before once more, 

It is lost.  

Death is a hand of setting sails to sea. Wartime ships that drums from deeper intents by a King.  Indeed, 

Only one Kingdom I know. 

And it is the mountain of the anointed. 

Anointed here, 

Once more, 

Rearing up, in all forms, 

Postulating between turbulence, Rife, innocence, and peace. 

Quivering with an old man's brow, and older the body. 

Attempting to mold things, 

Though I am a seer. 

 

Gravity's are heavy, like a drumbeat, and artillery- 

Like the sign of the times never to be the same- entering a moment, knowing forever we will come out of it 

Transformed. 

Entering it; we have already. 

Knowing. 

Like simply every providence from heaven. 

Cycle is death, and destruction. Change over time, and rebirth, of grasses atop charred bone and wood.  

It is nature. 

We are simply 

Of it. 

The Spider's Dance

A spider, 

Swaying to the long spin of a single web, 

I am the alone centerfuge, 

Against a midnight deep and speckled blanket. 

The wind, dances me and thrashes as fear plays to the bounce of sharp jolting, and long glides as if tip-toeing on the air itself. 

The sky, not just God's blanket, but mine. 

The wind, not just God's kiss, but Her breath, her heartbeat, her rhyme, 

Her Womb

Odyssey

I am

   like a s
              u
                nc
                   k
                     en sh
                             ip
                      trudged up and stuck

  in old mud, thick from
                                      recent rains.

              wooden and soured,
  my boards lay now in wet splinters
            and dreams lost

    of anywhere to go.

my soul lays here,
ship and all,

unable to release what I thought had been me-



but My soul lives on,

   examining the death of my body.

free, and bound, a ghost, as ever.

Will a ship get to return home,
   if her Soul is abandoned

and laid
  to sea?