On the Wheel of Living and Dying

Another year’s swallowing its own tail,
riding helter-skelter on the Wheel
of living and dying and living again…

getting me from dizzy to sozzled
on the juices of Chaos’ other brother—
you know him,
he’s the calm-camouflaged Catastrophe
fed by society to all its accepting
self-blinded souls.

.
In spring, I lived content
between happiness and heartache,
soaring over a precipice of brilliance,
thinking, Not my drama.

.
Then came July’s heat
to sweat a lioness’ dying tears
over a world that screamed,
“Murder-death-kill!”

I waited for the ebb and flow of the status quo
to trip into an endless downward spiral,
where it would choke in stark, tumultuous grief.

But nothing ever changes—Chaos reigns
when we fight the fog while stuck in place.

.
So I sat through the fall…
existing
on naps, snacks and blogs…
muttering
of sweet blood denied,
of poverty-driven chaos,
of fuckin’ hard goings…

.
Winter slapped me like a sickness—
a pandemic of empowerment and changes
shouting into my skull, “Take control ruthlessly.
Misery doesn’t need more friends. Escape
clouds of barely submerged apprehension.
Tongue kiss enlightenment. Reclaim your belief
in dirt, in Faerie, in the resurgence of love, in Self!
Devour this creative boost.”

.
I am reclaiming my all.

I kissed Gaia with spirit, flesh and bone,
felt my old doors opening,
welcomed the rebirth of inspiration;

I met the eyes of the infant Wheel,
watched them open… open again,
glimpsing the spring of a new me.

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Process Note: yesterday, I asked friends on Facebook to share 3-word phrases that described their 2015. This is the word-baby conceived by their descriptive trios and birthed by my Muse. Many of the phrases made it into the poem intact, a few were tweaked a bit, some became one with threesomes that held similar meanings. Writing “On the Wheel of Living and Dying” was a gift to me. I hope reading it feels the same to you. Fly towards happy. Kiss daring on the mouth. Be true to flesh, spirit and bone. Be your very best self, my Luvs.

linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 284

Rebirth, by Delawer-OmarRebirth”, by Delawer-Omar

Finger-Feeding Souls

Music does wonderful things for the soul; and when a visual storyline dances to the right tune, the combination turns the experience into pure magic. This is one of the reasons why I delight so much in watching my Piano Man on stage—I already know his face, his hands, his heart… but every time I see him as part of an orchestra (at the piano or conducting), I get to know him anew.

I love to watch him while he practices for a new show (especially when he doesn’t know my eyes are on him). There is something warm and alive about the cadence shaping his face, ruling his shoulders, flexing his arms, stretching his fingers… just the right way.

Finger-Feeding Souls (1)via

I’ve gone to see my Piano Man perform several times these last few weeks, twice at Radio City Music Hall. First while he was at the keyboard, and then when he conducted. I was glad to have already seen this year’s show; for if I hadn’t, I would have missed most of the dancing. You see, my Wicked Luvs, since the orchestra spends almost the entire show in the pit, I found myself staring over my shoulder, eyes glued to a screen that showed the conductor.

Finger-Feeding Souls (2)not sure who took these

I watched his body—hands, arms, head and face—speak to woodwinds, brass, percussion and strings. “Be one with self and all,” his flesh and bones said. “Be guider of steps, kisser of ears, filler of hearts.” And they were… and he was.

like the sun on blooms,
with his music, my lover
finger-feeding souls

Finger-Feeding Souls (3)

I Turn to the Soil

With the Sun three days in hiding
and the breezes May-hot in December,
I turn to the soil
for a glimpse of New York winter…

but there is only fall,
whispering of already reached limits
and wishing for natural sleep.

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Process Note: New York City has seen no snow this December. The temperatures have been so mild that if I close my eyes, I can fool myself into believing it’s spring. The whole thing makes me all kinds of anxious; for as much as I enjoy the fall leaves clinging to their trees, the green brightening the grass, the berries blushing so prettily… every time I consider the implications, my heart hurts and my brain worries.

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Get Listed

Berries