Am I Drunk

I look in your face
As I stumble from my car
Purposely forgetting my cane

Unmistakable instant judgment
Is scribbled across your starring
Glare while you grab your phone
Frowning towards my daughter

I laugh and turn back to my car
Parked in the Handicap zone
I grab my cane to pass you again
Watching you stop the call
Not wanting to look my way

I cannot resist muttering
“So, you think I’m drunk
Well sorry, I have MS”

*I was thinking this piece was too bitchy but as my daughter said, “Its true.”

at Dusk it Begins….

at dusk
stillness shields the air and parched
earth from the humid day
it begins to lightly rain
a burst of light
brightens the dusk lit eve
the earth drinks the water
thunder echoes
the wind picks up
lifting the trees into dance
bolts of light flash
revealing a dance of movement
in seconds a frightening
boom
booms shake the ground
rain comes down harder and harder
the sky lights up in patches
followed a second later
by deep rumbling
thunder
lightening strikes
thunder booms
lightening strikes from a gigantic
dark cloud
approaching quickly
the wind grows in strength and howls
whipping the huge Maple around
around in a frantic dance of boundary and limits
blackness moves over the land
rain
rain pours down
lightening flashes
the sky and trees light up
exposing their surrender
night engulfs day
rain pours
the ground a puddle not able to keep up
streams line the edges running down the surface
at once
thunder and lighting ignite in light and power
the rain begins to slow down
the winds move on taking the storm clouds with them
turning the rain back to a sprinkle
the horizon lights up in a burst of flickering light
scattered across the sky
a distant rumble fades
a smell grows of new rains
and cleansed earth
renewed in life
imbued in me
once more

River 7/10

This poem was inspired from my ramblings during a thunderstorm.  At one point, sirens went off and we went to the basement. Also, I was inspired by the writings of  slpmartin with the writing style. 🙂          One Shot Wednesday

~Two Elements~ revised

The wind collects secrets
as he soars through the lands.
A river gathers answers
as she travels created paths.

Secrets journey distances
whispered to the trees.
Answers roll with currents;
delivered to the waters edge.

Distances haunt a man
that knows of a secret.
Currents draw a woman
troubled by a question.

A man walks among the trees
listening for a whisper.
A woman sits on a waters edge
raking the earth for the answer.

The trees are the doors
to all the many secrets
caught amongst the air
blowing in the winds.

The banks, edges along her path,
are the keepers of the answers
that move with timeless waters

traveling down rivers.

©River 7/10

The poem is written in a  form called  ‘paradelle’.  This poem is a revision of the first ‘Two Elements’.

Two Elements

The wind collects secrets
soaring by our doors
A river gathers answers
flowing through all time

Secrets travel distances
whispered to the trees
Answers roll with currents
delivered to a waters edge

Distances haunt a man
that knows of  a secret
Currents draw a woman
troubled by a question

A man climbs among the trees
waiting for the words
A woman sits at a waters edge
listening for an answer

The trees are the doors
to all the many secrets
caught amongst the air
blowing in the winds

A waters edge through times
is the keeper of the answers
one with the waters
traveling down rivers

For One Stop Wednesday

ziibi~ July 5- The full Moon rises to the East

The full Moon rises to the East

She dances under the Birch
To the music of her soul
Bare feet against wet Earth
Freer then she has ever known

She dances a healing dance
To cleanse the invisible wounds
Buried through generations
Deep within the soul

She dances for all women
Young, weak, strong and old
Women across waters and land
Throughout all of time

She dances secret knowledge
Beats of movement and song
Mothers have taught to Daughters
Since the days of Avalon

She dances under the full Moon
Encircled by the magic
As they have for Centuries
And will forever more

River 7/10

The revised poem from June 28th.

Tea with Fuller and a Few More

Wouldn’t it be something to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought.
Challenging each other
to think outside the box,
to write even better.

I can see it now…
My arms flaring,
eyes blazing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them…
Their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them…
They were a part of change.
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them…
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
Their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

Revised poem from June 29th & 22nd

ziibi~ June 21

I stand in a canoe
Singing their song
with the help of my drum.

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