Shimmer and Grief

Sometimes I clear my snout from the mud to reflect on life from truth and mood blood.

Life is worth living.

For any instance, yes.  I am blessed, I don't fret dress

Yet

I know somehow in the depth of unknown there is a shimmer no one else knows.

The shimmer of Humor so profound and kind and thick and wicked all time flows.

Humor.  Grief.

Humor, Grief sometimes and there around.

My Dearest Love, My Grandma Susie with my sons.  She equals supreme Humor and Acceptance, always.  I miss her mind.  I carry her.  I hear her daily.  I am guided by her Shimmer.

Heard: Elder Wisdom

I have a moment.

This Moment to think.  Bloody-F think.  Please stop banging on the door, Mama deserves to think.

A Moment.

The moment: soft, clear, open and surrounded by liquid goo of yum.  Mama visual.  Silent.

Silent.

Silent.  Listen.

I hold any number of normal facets; breath, laugh, be kind.

I soak from Peace Givers thru word, art, medium of human make: Thomas Moore, Dr. Wangari Maathai, Mr. Fred Rogers, Ilene Wolf, Levon Helm, Neil Diamond, Neil Young, MLK, list on and on.......

Gift: soaking the words of Elders.

Nothing will ever compute the way an Elder word is heard through a Tender ear.

Joyful quest for us all to find reason of chaos, we have Elder wisdom of reflection.

It will be found.  Always with Elder voice and Youth ear, It Will Be Found.

Hazel Wide Eyed

Hazel eyes, amazed at the shake.
Massive hurt felt around the massive global perimeter.
Hazel.
We are a blend eye make.  Always.

Why?
Why the shake and make a grave for little body sake?
Why?

The light in eye make is shaken to the core of reasoning why such harsh could be taken onto the vulnerable.  Elders and children.  Elders and children.

Why?
More than why, give some more why please.

Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
And more to all the vulnerable lost in vise, why?  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
Never can the count of why be enough.  Please take the amount of years on this earth to reflect on your Why.

New Negotiation

Files out, mail is in the make pull amount.
We couple are negotiating which way to pull full out.
That this
that want
that makes a massive pool.

Living with those who know the line, give it and call it and be it to for find cool.

Toastie in the morning, nice and serene and then there is the day that can make a Maker seen.

Why do I feel the same pull from massive birth?

Not is now and now is not and that is when we all find an engraved pen.

Not sure when you're born, not sure when made of material to last, we are all be giving to those who hear some last.

Never mind you the route your love takes.

Love is withstanding and make a popper right shake.

Long, lean live for our old never known what is known.

The negotiation is everlasting when grief is in full moon shown.

Finder Chill Finder

Dropped my ashes on a clean key board.  Found my answer in a think tank call.

My thoughts are in many different places tonight.

Ok: permission to not be creative.

Not hold a purpose or clear spelling.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I cry.

I scream.

I definitely scream.

I hit.

I ache.

I ache so hard the sounds don't make sound.

I am me.

I am me.

When I finish a sentience I wonder if my words made sense.

i am me.

I look for experiences that provoke some reflection--sometimes.
And other times, I am looking to provoke some anything.  I don't care--as I seem.

I am me.

Me, well I am stoic and family proud.  I married right.  Truly on all levels.  I seek creativity-can't avoid it.  I seek it.

I love beauty--in all forms.

I love my daily routine, dailies are my savior.

I love to sneeze.

I love feeling uninhibited and observing loved ones in the same moment-to-moment space.  Authenticity to the hilt!  To the loving, bloody hilt!

AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY

love your first, second, many and last and be authentic in the adventures you allot.

Come now--be.

Connection to bereavement:  You change daily.  Embrace that.  Like Grief--Life is ever-masterly shifting, pick your point of interest and make havoc for it!

Why bloody not?!

Water Shared

Water shared of the night.  The night was whole, spirit filled and massive in vibrato.  Yet the laughter and love and the light shined in knowing we all were nothing but welcoming.

Spirit be.
Spirit be of Islay.
Spirit we know you follow Isle to Isle.

Our origins, roots, blood thicker thank water all resonate from the pond of make some fuck'n fire.

The bridges are mended, all snug in their sling and we look to the island for some spiritual maze.

Won't come.

You know why?

Because living and loving and living Coastal/Island life is more than a wee heart can take.

Takes care, conscious, love and beware plus a massive amount of gusto that many cannot share.  Coastal/Atlantic life lived is raw and we want it so.

So let us Graham/Kellow/McIntyre yelp "Ay Ya" make our presence known.

We be com'n, strong and loving fast.  We be swift with devotion and memory of the past.  We are of the clan to represent good and true, for stories to be told to our new borns who require the rule.

Love is love.

Pain is pain.

Live your life for a bottle or for a massive wonderful Plane.

Islay, we are here for you Always, never the same.

Thirst Burn

Call to that day when my burn went mute and the thirst ached, for the bottle did tip toward an open lesson throat flute.

It did beside Ocean mouth.

She poured out-loud-thunder that made no sense at all.  Then black came and washed memory to learn some pain, see some pain.

Mama did say.

Papa did say.

Husband did say, enough please.

My brain became muddy and my feet were numb up veins to heart.  Her voice did keen.

A cover was made when the sour juice made way down, so sweet and lack of vain.  

But the hurt remained.

Lost.

New grey and I watched the downed fawn lay.

Weak in the lead, unable to try and beat the off-balance down for her eyes were braided shut to the sadness brewing stale from over-heat.

Always was the Lost when the grief voice was pushed muted for fear of the limbo path. 

That sickening temptation made wild to hide behind cloaked wine madame.

Coat and numb the secret pain of uncertain steps.

The family ground did shake and questions arose asking, how do you wick up this mess you created?

With gentle, sore tongue I lick the wounds repeatedly, ritually so the burn does not ache thirst again.

Wood Grain

Veins of wood are deep and history sound.  Some yell, some are silent, some are distant and make an owl fowl sing.  It all is deep.  It all is resonant of a time that was not our own.

Something is percolating.  Something is vibrating, a shift that is low and so very slow.

Silence.

Still.

Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Make a night for us, ah ya for real, yet here we are feeling some shift that is nearer than a blush star.

I ache over my voice.  Messages are so uncomfortable, tight and exposed.  I ache over my message.

Yet, Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Honey, lovely, make me some funny the quest for humble pie still lives on.

I yearn to do it...seek to do it....move to do it....love my babes for it....

Grain of truth that can carry us on.

I feel in my goose bumps a shift be shifting.  Not sure if the shift is my own silent sifting but it is taking place and the world is in mid-pace for the world might feel slower, softer, fuller, pregnant in digest pause of where to pulsate.

I am my own wood grain.  I have veins spread to the reaches of unknown.
I
You
We hold wood grain: Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Blanket Movement

Up tonight, like many of worry sight of what will bring and what would sing if time would be allowed.

Nothing anymore is slow.
                                nap-filled
                                quiet
                                sheet calm.

When did we loose naps?  That nap-sacred space to contemplate earth shift and space, when?

What is happening to the thirst of our conscious seek for silent reflection?
                                                                                                  Eye contact
                                                                                                  Hand to hand
                                                                                                  Arm to arm
                                                                                                  Cheek to cheek
                                                                                                  Lip to healing lip?
What?

Blanket movement so she is draped lovingly on the teeth grind.
Earth move, but she move slow.
Can we not remember her so?

Turn off the appendages and be in silver slick how
                                                                       do I think now and know.

Instinct.
Instinct, Motha Lov'n Fuck'n Instinct.

Lets Blanket Movement and just sing INSTINCT.

Twitching Hands

The house is tidy and I'm all done, nothing more to sing un-sung.

And here I sit with the itch of what more, moving and grooving me to please for move some sore.

I see these women in Vogue and Vanity Fair pleading cases so close to the chair and I want to be of that turn but then am afraid of how it may burn.  And Yes, I am afraid.

My twitchy hands be twitch'n, my itchy scratchy life be fill'n some but not sure wait we be wait'n.

My voice and story are not extraordinary but my intention is gold, my root is center fold and what I have to offer is nothing but "give me more til I'm old."

I sit, I wait, I anticipate that Thomas Moore Vibrate that jacked me to give more than take.

I will offer the world a voice of what can be of and what can be of when--I just am okay if the world is my sons, husband, relatives and friends that seek vise.  I do not have expectation of more than what is sight.

I am not afraid.
I am of remembrance story for the open and the deep red cherry before the bed.

Tattoo

Not soft but oh so concentrated still.
Meaning less than what we tell to feel or seek for pull.

This Tattoo is embedded in the crystal zone of our story long lorn and what we do with it is our journey's given life fill.

The Tattoo is her seen, her heard, her lent and her form family still.
She is our Nora V Bam, Bam, Bam quaking for life's breaking to the other knowing, to the other showing.

Never do I know the ink press she bestows but I always know she is zing print perfect in her fire blows.

We take it.
We fake consciousness in it but we never second guess the living magnitude of breathing it.
She did not.
She now is imprinted on my back, my husband's back.

We are family.
Let the story be told.
Let the family be whole.

Birth Become

Birth Become
Birth Become, you've got that bend son.

Luna changing all around and you are crescent on horizon sound.

5 years ago the moment anniversary of still birth.
She
All
Make
Fall
Just feel the very tall in her telling and making of symbol quest.

Birth Become
Birth Become, you've got that bend it through son.

Voice not knowing, but being steadfast in our conquer to understanding the tests.
Not falling.
Not being of anything but a puller to find past.

5 years you are our lady guide clearing visions for our firm family pass.
We pass to visions of truth.

We feel you as blue breathes midnight to her hue.

We are here.
We are fierce.
We are fire.
We are tattooed tribe.

Turn, Turn Me On

Sat with my sistas out on the lawn, under familiar shade that I hadn't met in a long yawn.

She, my life-live with dead sista Elisa who shed my layers to place of newer.  I am seen from my scattered glass how jagged and frayed were my tendril lessons of past.

This will be a manifest turning ground for
me
family
for great world round.

I'm going to be working hard and seek to feel the necessary fleshing of scattered shades to know and find still.

I am to be born yet again.

My skin is tight and my belly aches for this visceral meal; meaty living for the sake.  I'm digesting to grow and grow some more.

Thank you sista Elisa for shedding some snake skin knowing on what is aching me so.

The List Does Not Compare

Be left, be dry, be that sign that resonates for lifetimes try.

The earth is a singular large fighting for gentle mourning cause
Seen is seen for us of light shine
                                          bring to a place that is understood and semi-keen.

So sorry for the look that does not compute.  Intimidating but know it is not.  Vulnerability is swing shift gift that fluctuates frequently and does not give idle or tint.

Life is life.
Not is not.
Do is do.
Make it for your self and others for knot closet sought.

The house is colored to a shade of night and air.  We are devils bringing giddy spring flare.  But nothing compares to the singular fair of ponies and bunnies and things of cuddly fur.  Life is about living for self and other no matter what the fabric given.

Living is living.  No matter what the spring offers as a given wear.

Wild----

I want to scream a little louder, bend a wee bow.
Be that woman that has been secret in reveal.  She is not clear headed, she is just plain wild.

I hold her so close, she has been biting to be let free and set obligation dependents and fearful mom/pop on their demand plane.
Destination, go slow down to our Jill Scott groove.

Woman wild, Inner mule.
The hee ha loud knee jerk that pummels to the soul of no win.  But win.

I punch and pray that someday there will be less stubborn and a lot more love for....
For you say I.  Telling us to make time to steer clear of quakes that produce a fuse short and for-nada-truth.

Mule-work-mule work for a poke and not a prick.
Mule Mama you be that un-pretty pretty back-bone of farmer hope and dream.

You carry more than 1000 men seen.

Woman be wild.
Me be wild so I can find restful mule-day-off mild.

Permission

Permission to be that parent we yearn to create...
Quiet, calm, accept all.

Yet there are Human Times stronger than "yes" that call to our children:
Please give space so I may make self grounded and not make an earth mess!

Seek the comforts of feeling your you.  You are never alone, even when those sleepless nights creep stronger virus like.

No matter the age of your children live or not, community is key.  For we forge to new oceans broad yet limited on what we individuals can see.

We are parents of live most, some not.  And that is a gift for whatever you choose to knot.

The gift is giving.  What we can in silly anecdotes, eye welled contact or just a gentle lend of how our grandma did her dare.  It is all there.  Solid and fair.

We are parents.
Permission to be humbled by the new.
Offering gratitude to our amazingly serious. sassy, spirited few.

Stride

Do I walk silent or do I run loud?
Do I feel the pull of human make long and sound?

The inner answers are arduous and swift, listening with patience only makes the senses motion sick.

But we do--
We listen and somehow learn to grow for that pain understanding that manifests to strides we do not yet know.

Sing it Lady...
Hard and Fast.

Sing it Gentle-Man...
For your parents to feel life's pass.

We are our stories.
We are the stride of make-break-it-all.

Be that Eddy Vedder singing truth on an acoustic guitar,
reaching that Soft Soul who needs a power diaphragm channeler
Sacred and make howler.

We all sing it.
We all stride it.
We all be not afraid of the loud fear vibration of nightly news.

We digest our daily dose of whats, wheres, how, why
And then...
Heel-to-Toe the message of understand and try.

Try to be that embrace of learning where not to go
but
how to be.

This is our human labyrinth to seek what is unknown and...
Oh
So
Beautifully fly without stride.

Bad Ass Mama Mew

Mama Mew purr for us all.

Say your Mama name proud and balls-to-the-wall.

You cradle Self so feline demure but under the velvety cloak coat, you bring it For Sure

Loud and sometimes for
Fear.

Mama Mew how daringly soothe you sing.
To ease your babes til their rest remains.

But don't be quick in thinking She is done
with her
Blood Boil quest making the world play a note that can make us undone.

With glory, with pride stand for the tide and current know
we
all
bling bling the glitter of self soothe gleam.

She is Bad Ass Mama Mew broad casting message of uterine pulse vibrating message for
Her
You
I
Think.

Lonely

I feel insecure.

I know there are things that are meant to transpire yet where do I feel connected?  Where do I feel complete?  Is it a baby?  Is it that some something that strangers' symbol offer or is it that nothing nothing that feels like something but ends up,

nothing?

The nothing is something.  Dr. Seuss was right of rhythms.  The world is polar and synergy.  We who live, are full to the rim with sayings and praying for the answers that come consistently infrequently.

Lonely is this infrequency.  The energy is not put forth and in the end not received.
Where are all the bees man?  Where are all the bees?

NO pollination is happening and the cold is so cold.  Where are all the bees?  Sleeping and being dormant for the storm of earth lecture basin to yell what she feels is not being heard.

Be us of sound direction round.  And find that gravity weight for something magically great learning what we collectively need to do to create that something something mate.

There are no sapphire answers but the quest to find is magnificent in all minds.  Living is, living is...

Lonely or not.

Babe In Bath

Babe in bath.
Babe in bed's arms.
Babe be singing for gentle life's farms.

Farms full of fruitful glory bring life orchards of gust and glory.
We need to understand our place and role with our earth, mother and soul.

She sings and keens truth of whatever life's quandary.
We sing song of earth.
We sing song of many-- learning to understand her language that is complex and withstand.
We have a lot to learn in our linguistic demands.

Listen.
Listen.
Watch.
Learn.
Listen.
Watch.
Learn.
Listen.
Watch.
Learn.
What next....

Be the path that is for the other growth benefit; That is good.
You feel it.
We breath it.
Vashon sing it.
World listen, world listen...we be the island isolated frontier that explores it.

Truth be truth, no ego attached.  It be what it be, learning from pioneers' language match.

The Earth be our Mother.  The Soil our sibling knowing know.  How we listen and digest is anyone's crap-shoot go.

Be it be solid and sound.  Be it be solid and sound.  Blessed our glory be round and forever found.