Breathe

Nostrils 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.

Airmail Love

Sometimes before sleep late at night, I lie in bed
listening to my cats purr as they lick themselves clean
before curling up in a furball as close as possible to me.
I hear the distant roar of the highway, thousands
of cars swishing in a hurry to get somewhere,
perhaps the moon. Maybe they are lonely,
and sad love follows them as fast as they can drive.
Or maybe they’re rushing for an emergency,
a serious accident, or worse. Or maybe they were
working late, and long to get home
to a warm bed, and peace, if nothing else.
I think of my friends all over the world,
living lives with direction, going forward, or not,
friends past, whom I’ve lost touch with,
friends present but distant, thousands of miles away.
I think of all the sad or happy or tragic people
spinning around the planet as it spins across time,
laughing, crying, or lonely, dying,
or perhaps wondering and grateful, as I am.
And I think of you, with your quiet burning
of life with it’s myriad questions.
And I send you a little message. I open my heart
and give you my nurturing thoughts, my hope, my love.
I wish you well, I wish you peace.
By sending an airmail full of good wishes,
I feel lighter as I prepare for sleep under
a fluffy down comforter and two warm furballs.

Digiart by Veach. I think they’re pretty cool. I hope you do too. If you want to see the original piece, click on the image and there you are.

Let (Give)

I will be taking an indefinite hiatus from blogging. Most of my writing is relevant anytime, so please browse around, or do a search for a specific topic if you wish. There’s lots to dig into. I’ll be back. I just can’t say when. Let’s say I’m in a non-verbal phase of development in my life; acting on intention rather than processing.

Ineffable Present
careening, seething,
(gelatinous collision of
past and future)
Universe breathing.

Mute Mother
(whispering) (yes),
perilous fusion
resonating us.
There is no choice
but to give in
to terrifying

Bliss (consciousness).

Honor the seed, the flower,
the book, the hour
(and the subtle, singing space between)
Forgive as you go.
Let rest
all this.

Noël

Happy Winter Solstice!

technorati tags- Christmas poems, Winter Solstice poems, Noel, Winter garden poems

The Ache

Beveled blade of geese aches its cry
slices the embalmed gray sky,
down the quicksilver river,
along the clackity clack tree lined bank,
staccato notes across my eyes,
between me and the geese as they fly.
They leave me with my southern dreams,
wallowing, aching, desired wings.
I inhale the crisp, dense air and say farewell
to a year, a life, to so many seconds,
expired breaths along the frivolous exhalation of streams
over so many rocks, so many easy, tired days,
basking in sunny nonchalance, ripened fruit
which dribbles down my chin, or rots
in the grass, bar tending for bees, drunk
with silly, wasted sumptuous dreams,
wooden troughs, overflowing, wasted
sustenance for tufts of grass which flourish below
the overflow, on the ground, the ground
beneath my stumbling steps, raucous,
dumbfounded, smiling with idiotic content,
as I continue, walking, then jogging,
onward, geese-less, beguiled, oblivious
to the effects I have on others,
drama for God alone.

The roar of highway traffic nearby continues unabated.