Breathe

Breathe in the Open SkyNostrils flare in anticipation
as earthy caramel smells sift
past heady cavities, past
gates which open up to lift
eyeballs and ear tips tingly,
chilly red and awake. Brain
swoons soft by the glow
of fresh air flow, rushing in and down,
as chest and rib cage expand out,
extrude on an excursion to full balloon.
Neck, spine and cartilage joints gather
to allow room. Liquid xylophone bones
bloom as body soaks in tipsy
nourishing oxygen lessons,
rush of ancient, instinctive motions
learned, zillions of times churned,
practiced measures, yet new and vital
with each sumptuous breath.

Now exhale slow, soft thoughts as
your spine elongates toward the sky.

Breathe. Repeat.

Through the Alexander Technique, I’ve learned, again, how to breathe, to really breathe, without tension, without clenched neck, stressed chest or anxious eyes. Letting my body breathe as it has learned for millions of years, is like being reborn with each breath.

Cicada Flower Quilt

Pulsing Cicadas emboss Sunflowers
Trapunto, over dusty
tired ivies
Helios’ Chariot chars
burgundy Dahlias
unraveling their light.
Pastel Hibiscus wilt beyond
bleached Rose.
Stiff reefs of electric
Globe Thistle lap by
parched grasses.
Geranium beams
roast Baby’s Breath
Foxglove, Echinacea
While molten smoldering Petunias
pierce through, over and over.

Tell Tell, These Bells

Tell tell, these bells ring in clamorous mimes,
golden light ripening dusk’s rhymes.

Their wavy peals knock senseless all will
with intoxicating smells. Sweet frilly trills of

velvet curl ’round minds weak thoughts.
Trumpets blare orange, their mute shots

grip deeply, but mildly, spreading moments apart.
Move not a muscle! You only think you start.

Alien udders, teats, voluptuous, alluring
spew marvelous gas, earthward procuring.

Honey, clover, sweet oil scented plasma
fumes night’s clicking air with hypnotic miasma.

Take their milk, succor its careless troth
of sun, summer’s blare distilled for the moth

whose wings, hummingbird style, blur eerily
as it darts near these towering tubes, haunting warily.

These chants of vertical cornos, aiming skyward ho
blast off, pushing earth and you, flyward, singing so.

These cantalope colored carillons urge time away
to let your mind wander, let love to love stray.

brugmansia
The grand, momentous, earthward hanging trumpets of Brugmansia are blooming ecstatically and prolifically on an eight foot potted plant I have in my back yard. There are now 26 huge flowers flopping carelessly down from the tree like form. (which started as a 1 foot stump in June) This nightshade family plant is also related to Datura, whose up facing trumpets carry hallucinogenic oils, giving them mystical powers over human minds.

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Seasonal Poems to Warm the Soul

Happy Winter Solstice! I may not be religious in the traditional sense, but I understand and cherish the importance of the “spirit of the season”.

As many of you know, Jesus wasn’t born in December, but his birthday was placed near the pagan Roman holiday of Saturnalia by Constantine to encourage pagans to join the church. The celebration of light and rebirth appeals to all.

Over the years I’ve written various poems for the season. Some are just ruminations on the mood, some are about the solstice, but all, I think convey universal sentiments. I’ve linked to some and printed others in a list here. Enjoy.

Poem, with photo of yellows roses in snow

Rhythms of the Seasons

Noël

Sacrificial Tree (two poems)

Jingle Ironies

A Simple Gift

Inspire Beauty

Beauty calls and yearns for your attention,
it gives rise and dimension to your soul,
a reflection of your truest goals.

Lest we forget, our hearts are fueled
by a love enduring beyond our lives.
And beauty is its chaperon,
a spark through the dark nights
on the long walk
to the light of the mountain top.

All we have is each other.

May the comfort of love be with you.

Memories

Conch/Bug shadow

Memories give us amnesia
about what we could know:
spooks telling truths
in cunningly coy
closed, secret sessions.

They wrap us in myths,
conjuring dreamy, alluring
vapid mirages
                         which may guide us-
                         beguiling as
                         stars in the distance
while receding further, further
as we approach.

Memories shatter moments
of fragile truth, (unwillingly)
drawing us
irresistibly, to their
tinseled cocoons.

They corrode love’s
fresh childish rapture with
sugar and rust
syrup and dust.

Memories lock us in
windowless rooms
as we stare longingly at
faded, curling photographs
of the way
we once wished
we once dreamed
we might have been,
but may never know-
for haunted oldness coats
new moments like thick, black grease.

Now forget all this
and peel open your heart.

I wasn’t too happy when I wrote this. I had been rejected by a long term lover. But it has a certain bitter truth to it about clinging to the past.