Sunday, December 29, 2013

Violet Ice

The hushed lack of sway.
in cedar boughs, 
above my circle swept,
Sits the owl,
attendant to the night,
song book of tales,
Sleeping ever deeper,
in wait for your arrival,
to my forest home,
Is my red rose heart,
patient as a whisper,
waiting to be born,
Beneath this violet ice,
Rosy and warm.

 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Monday, December 16, 2013

"Soul Caravan"

"Soul Caravan"

 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

An excerpt from the book:

In Whispers of the Lantern Keeper
Rain consisting of rose petals the slightest blue tinge in hue... wished from the Heavens by you ... they melt into vapor as contact is made with your sacred skin ... seeping along the line of your lips your tongue reaching out to collect them, a thick liquor of angel's potion poured from a dream dared become Maya's blessing ... you out in the backyard standing in a circle of them ankle deep all around fragmented to vaporous wisps, buds riding on the syrup of each other along your back till they can find a bare patch of skin to make that electrifying mark arc and burst with a violet blue spark against the white grey pallor of the night ... stretching your throat back you open your mouth to receive them, I smile, they pile up about your eyelid and wash off in violet flames as if a God were commanding Elementals to dance in His reigns, your mouth bubbling with la bruja's purple dew, slipping sinew along neck meat awe tenderized sweet loin ... palms dancing demons, juggling fire flies ... shoulders pulsing, thighs rising to tighten when toes take a stance and calves burst into a cadence of some Underwordly music the Phaeries must be piping in the gardens about, only for your ears ... pink platters of wetter wadding shades splashing timeless orbits, rings for new Saturns and a Moon Venus is glad to bear out across the now thick blue blushed lawn ... How you discovered this I'll never know, yet, you've been out there for an hour now playing with them and I am on my third cup of Earl grey laying snuggled by your bathrobe in the window seat, watching you ... I am fascinated by the way you change everything into another state of consciousness interacting with it, I wait ... patiently not spoiling your fun yet, joining you... I long to discover what flavor you imagined those roses to be.

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

It was Love ...
It was Love who scratched at my window screen last night wanting to know if perhaps my Devotion could come bathe with Her in the moonlight?

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Sweeping echoes ...
Sweeping echoes sound of all I can remember that day the plum trees refused to bloom from sorrow weeping petals, raining upon your bare feet

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

"Speaking with Shadows"

"Speaking with Shadows"
 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

 An excerpt from the book:

974, Still I Wonder

Looking out across afternoon rooftops from my corner room
The same window frame framing the same refrain I have sung before
Once again wondering and wandering those streets dirty black
Silken cocoa pods of skin once beneath my fingertips wrinkling
My mind tracing warm wanting paths pushed aside the clay
So you would not be tempted to forget my touch, my care.

"You always smell so damn good, Baby, 
Uhm, Uhm, Uhm ...
That's Right"

Still, I wonder where you are?

The same dogs have been howling hard cause they have cause
For hours are like years to them and 2012 is knocking Bad
On their garage shed doors fools with chains and bullets
Baby screaming in the alleys they know what's to come
And what's to become of them then ? and their babies
Most definitively worried... Council come to order !!!

"I'm in love with you Baby. You my girl !
I can’t say it no better than that.
You gonna marry me or not?"

Still, I wonder where you are?

An angry young man crosses my view on the broken sidewalk below
Diddy bop, Diddy bop, Diddy bop, through the mosaic grass tiles,
Appreciate who ever brought the Afro back the badge the honor
Wear it well swear it is your pride somewhere it takes us back
That ain't what Dwayne said No No No !!! Communicate !!!!
Rolls off his red hat he fades to be found dead deep in the night.

"You are a beautiful woman. So soft so feminine.
From your head to your toes. I love you.
I can't believe I can have you !"

Still, I wonder where you are?

The security light for the New Mission church's dumpster flicks on
Dusk draws ever nearer chimney sweeps returning for the season
Their lovely twits almost drowning out the couple screaming obscenities
Their hate poems moving to the back of my mind as the sweeps begin
Their mystical Sufi dance of mid air acrobatic death defying trust
Preparing for the dive into misty moonlight’s dark belonging

"I want you to meet my Mother.
And I want to meet your Mama
To meet the woman who made this woman."

Still, I wonder where you are?

The air grows cool against my bare arms causing a shiver
I hope you have your jacket knowing what a chill you take
When the evening air settles in around you and takes You !!!
It steals your heat away, your drive too, too often your clarity,
When you left you said you would be home tomorrow
And that, my love, was too many yesterdays ...

Ain’t nothing ever gonna come between you and me,
Feel your breathing, Baby?
Yeah, that’s the real thing !
Your mine and I’m yours.”

Still, I wonder where you are?

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Sunday, December 15, 2013

On a Fairer Shore

Can you forgive my silence?
... for I can only wait … wrapped close in cloaks of velvet you grew dreaming ... cloud lit from the silk skin of my shoulder ... your cheek wed last spring ... soft as bunny furs cried into on lonely winter fort nights ... the lamp oil all but wicked away completely by your memory …The sharing tears bitter Winter claims pause to crystallize … half way to my mouth's crescent crease … as if to give you time to arrive from the distance you have kept … and bear them witness, inviting their worth be seen … as stolen cherries shared crimson kissed … your hand cupping my warmth. The new fallen snow, lace of light and limb about … calls your names toward fairer shores … beyond this safe silence I've held vigil within … past the bloody trail of crooked stains … you cause … you crave … you seek ... when shards touch your veins … I bleed the same empathic drain … my robes soaked in purple language … now lavender on the white ground below … in my hand the words you seek … too horrible to loose from my blue bird lips.

 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, December 14, 2013

"Voice of the Grandmothers"

"Voice of the Grandmothers" 
© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Excerpt from the book:

A Fool's Heart

Today I learned I have a fool's heart. They are purple by their very nature, being the exact colour of a violet's small face in the first light it meets at Summer's birth of her virgining sun. Yet, if by chance, this blossom forgets It's cares, as foolish hearts ofttimes do, the Moon's beams glancing across It's face in the dank cool hours collecting dew and Dawn, the blood red of hidden magenta flesh will expose It's slumbering beneath that flowery skin for all to witness. My wine weary cloister is lined in pure gold of the kind men dream and murder for owning, sterling workings for which they would sell a daughter's soul soon enough. Listen intently and you will hear the faintest whisper of It's call, the song It has been singing since it chose to formed in my Mother's womb which if discovered may give cause to roar ... "Do you know my Muse ? Do you know my Muse ?" It's rhythm that of a slow purposeful phantom of a steam engine some hundred or more years ago trudging in search of rest and the cool hope that comes from man finding answers to unanswerable quest or quenching a thirst he has no cure to hope to battle. As one more trek is made across the open range between the two mining tent cities cutting smoke salamanders into the bitter morning sky bright and weeping with the blood spilled at the feet of the majestic Sangre de Christo peaks above my meager cotton bed below soaked in Mother's sandy grass carpet. All I can do is roll over and know he won't be home for many days now since a new silver vein has been opened up above us in the face of the mountain. Now there is time for me to heal, to write, and to feel, become my Self once again.
© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

The Promise of Hazelnuts
The Hazel brush flowered two months ago while the rains could not be appeased to desist their torrential crying upon the Earth no matter how many appeals we made with last winter’s fruits nor the blood of our palms beneath full and the darkness of the moons alike. The rivers swelled far beyond any limits they were able to recall in their recent happenings. The creeks had all but disappeared from our recognition, from theirs as well. The autumn’s promised harvest is coming on now despite best efforts of Spring to explain her jealousy to Mother over the love tryst Winter and the Wind had partaken in while she slept peaceful and unaware below. What it is to be such a transient memory when you become each and every time into your own paradox … your own fated familiar prophetic happiness for sake of Earth’s children? Yet, she always manages to fall in love with the greens somehow, again and again each year for she has the foreknowledge of their hidden wonders. Those proverbial brown delights forming bunched as wise women assembled beneath fringe cloaks trimmed in Ermine tassels to be courted, to be served, and to be gifted. Hop like bundles of rice paper thin sheaths grow mentions children will roast in honor of the slaying of the Year King, hot in their mittens stolen directly from the Yuletide hearth. The Hazel kittens dangle head down in the Summer sun now their soft new tails swishing even when the breeze has abandon them to go lay with calm waters in need of ripples or dance through trees seeking a voice with which to sing. The bees busy about mating them one to another and their laughter can be heard in the night when the Fae come to swing upon their tender wisps catapulting themselves into the moonlit waters of Blue Cat Lake here at the Wren Haven.

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Friday, November 29, 2013

"A Peacock's Love Vows"

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Available now on Amazon

Excerpt from the book:

"A Peacock's Love Vows"

A Goddess
A Goddess would not shrink from your sight, my Love, as I have done,
She being well above the loftiness of Her human counterpart, the woman,
Yet, I have so shamefully bowing not for fear the fury love brings in it's coming,
The silence which grows on mossy walls hangs in my mind often times,
I pluck it from it's crevice and wear it about my shoulder as a shawl,
Strolling this lonely garden of my own making barefoot in my frozen winter,
This same white nightgown you left me in slung weary about me shivers,
Yet, I feel not the sting of biting cold, only your love bites can I recall,
My feet purple like the roses we plucked by the stream in August,
The plums we shared at the market before paying and were chased away,
This smile I wear seems out of place with my costume of memories,
My parasol of the Japanese Maple I forget to water by the goldfish pond,
For want of finding your reflection next to mine before the fall leaves fell,
These gloves of pasted petals from all our bouquets now dropping along the path,
Oh that they were bread crumbs leading me back to you and your open heart.
The case which held your pillow adorns my head tied below my tiny chin and lonely lips,
A ribbon run through in the color I last remember your sighs bringing shyness to bare,
I run my fingers along the now barren branches of the hedges which make up our maze,
Your laughter echoes ahead somewhere in it's matrix grooved recallings of playtime,
I stop, closing my eyes, and turn my mind towards the wind hoping for your scent once again.
© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

From "Beloved"

When All Is Said

When all is said and yet so much is left undone, whom so ever sets free the ashes of this vessel I have animated with my essential expressive care,
there will be a single note sounding in the air,
chiming the name which whispers felt the lust for when my hair was tousled down at midnight to receive the combing of your gentle fingers,
the reason your roses remained open to capture the sweet vibration of echoing songs you sang upon their petals' palette,
what dreams remain to carry on, what love still aches until the dawn of yesteryear's tomorrow born,
all tears you dried without their being seen, the wishes left behind in cookie jars on parchment scraps, in Bible leafs, in worn ribbons tied about my neck cupped deftly by your hands,
Caution shall stop His hurried rushing shuffle noticed and remove his hat bowing as your Earthly mention drifts by,
the Phaery Land singing in Underwordly harmony the chorale symphony my heart yet holds for lives to come,
and love will kiss the winds again.

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Sunday, November 24, 2013


Heralds sent black dragons out stalking the crags you've sought for comfort,
The wells depth of razor mage meadow lands bellow,
Unreachable by beast or fair maiden in some swallowed tomb,
Would the sacrifice stand a chance as you have making the descent?
Mirror mines reflect your self proclaimed madness,
A plague of wishes you collected in granite grenching boxes,
When they told you sweet voices had all betrayed the world,
It was a lie ...
We feed the beast spun sugar mandelbrots by day's dawning,
And sleep coiled in their spiny scaled tails pinched not,
When Nightime falls from halo rims of shadowed reminders,
It can all be won again with love.
Spells are simple tasks to trance the masses mugged mouths,
Mindless puppet trudging towards surrender,
Truth is along side to guide light to your keep,
Ale and cakes for the deities who surely guard your gates.
How have you fallen on such a silence,
Come walk with me along this holding path,
Blessed in long seasons of the Sun's seeking warmth,
Out of this dismal bleak.

 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Receiver

I take the receiver to bed with me,
hope to catch you can't return,
from where they hoped to send me,
with the blue pill,
makes me sleepy bowed alone,
even though today I had not taken,
it's just the sadness,
just the madness,
of the pain of being hit,
by my soul self,
when I was you,
Tho' no one is to blame,
We were ferried cross those waters,
fateful married long ago,
It's rather funny ... maybe tragic,
but the same thing in the Sun,
how you love me, not my body,
not my falseness nor my face,
succor slices calm the clamor,
pretty eyes fall on cold clay,
I've dreamed that Christ must forgive roses,
to heal my mind from your illusions,
when belief was only winter stains,
I hear my crystals are aligning,
feel their fragrant casts refrain,
my soft white legs long beside,
the ocean's wild horse tidal salt minding,
for how I'll tell you,
how refreshing God has been,
in returning us to the grain,
The song begins now in the wrinkles,
around my eyelids then descend,
can you see them in the picture,
the one I posted,
while I was sleeping on that train,
North bound for Heaven, the Arctic circle,
pillows weeping blue hand stains,
they teach us violence in the womb,
when screams are painted there with flowers,
cause convictions growing rooted,
by the color of our name,
we are the warriors,
hearts our daggers,
dungeons huddled in the corner,
have my lanterns,
I won't need them,
I think I'll just burst into flame.

 © 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Renewal Time Again ...

Each year on my birthday I take down the poems of the previous year and add them to the swelling folders in the file cabinet. This year I spent this day in the hospital with my father who had been admitted for having TIAs, mini strokes. In the end after a week of tests, he had surgery and is now home recovering. In a way it was a rites of passage for me. I was watching a parent slip away so close to death. So close to the ultimate lose. It affects the being, the Self, the spiritual core of a person. Who knows what the new year will bring. How will I write ? How do I see the world now ? Who am I after this experience ? We shall see. I am to begin by taking this blog down once again and preparing all my work from the last three years, what is worth sharing that is, into eBook for the Christmas season. I will post links and you can always find them on Twitter, Facebook, any of my pages. I hope your Autumn is full of colour and a smooth transition into the quiet contemplation of the Yuletide Season... Bright Blessings, Carla Dawn

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Books I have Read ... Book Review

Books I have read
Book Reviews

I began reading this book, "Leap the Wild Water"by Jenny Lloyd, without much of a notion as to it's cause or meaning. I like to go into adventures in life blindly. You are unprepared in this way. I believe you learn more feeling, smelling, and tasting your way through. You are open to the challenges, the blessings, the journey of life from the heart, rather than from the head. It just so happens, I was correct in my approach when delving into the Wild Waters of Jenny Lloyd's first novel. This is the spirit in which she offers the reader the journey through the Welsh countryside and the lives of her characters. A passageway through the heart by way of cloisters we all must navigate in life, the head. 

Her story is brilliantly told. I would suggest her work to any reader from any walk of life as the strands of fellowships are easily felt with these masterfully presented characters. She brings into both sharp and subtle view the issues we face in familial relationships having such pathways come to us all. Our ability to overcome collective transgressions and their difficulties may largely depend on our abilities to cope with our own. In the use of her craft, Jenny Lloyd, gifts us a brilliantly told tale with powerful deliverance giving the landscape and atmosphere as much breadth as the characters themselves. This is a wondrous device marrying the human factor with the wild flowers and farm livestock alike which seem to both be substance for the soul. In this way she has brought about a true vision of the life and struggles faced by our antecedents no matter for hence they originated. In this marriage of the landscape, the air, the rain, the storm of sky, and soul, Lloyd blends her characters emotional crisis to these very forces of nature. The struggles they faced daily are gracefully imparted to the modern reader. We once were a more simple belonging child to the natural, more humble, though somewhat even less brutal, worldly order which recognized we did belong as well to it, unlike today.

If you seek for self or wish to learn the struggle of your ancestors. Read this book. I am a woman arriving at middle age. This book has done wonders for me to assure my arrival is set on a solid and firm ground of confidence and unbridled hope for years to come. I would especially recommend it to young ladies who are ready for their Rights of Passage. "Leap the Wild Water" is a book which should be in the home of every mother who loves and wishes to communicate openly and honestly with their daughter to establish a new tradition breaking the bonds of silence which have been held for so very long in so many families. They were in mine. "Leap the Wild Water" will set many a soul free. Thank you Jenny for writing this book. Thank you for gifting us all with your vision and speaking out in a room many have not the courage to even whisper in. 

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Indie Author Land

Interview with Jenny Lloyd, author of Leap theWild Water

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Leonard Cohen London 2009 live - If it be your will

Caught in my own butterfly net ...
Breathing between the spaces ....
Take my flight, take my will ...
Love will fill these places ...
There is no darkness, deep despair ...
The Sun cannot break given time ...
If my wings are torn apart ...
My heart remains inclined ...
To seek the light my ever muse ...
Niravan's metamorphic mind ...
Become the net, the air, the One reborn ...
If it be your will, so let it be mine ...

© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Thank You Mary @ Hippie Peace Freaks ...

with One Love and One Prayer for One Peace All Over the World today. We offer Heartfelt Gratitude to you Mary this morning for your post of Facebook of this People's Anthem Bright Blessings and Lovelight

Melanie - Candles In The Rain - Lay Down (Candles In The Rain)

Saturday, July 27, 2013

The Spiritual Edge: Satyr

The Spiritual Edge: Satyr: Wild One Fountain Sprite; tin-can kicking vagabond whose pockets are never empty Chase me down those blind alleys Pull my head out...

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Word Play

Word Play...
I have started a new exercise to get me back into the limber state of writing on a daily basis. My life and I have been going through a great many changes over the last year. Finally, it seems, knock on wood, I may be settled for a time ... This new discipline started with "The Difficult Word Dictionary". The words aren't necessarily all that difficult, they are however a bit clever on the mind when you try to work them into a poem or half a page of expression. So, this is what I do for mental gymnastics at the moment. I open "The Difficult Word Dictionary" to a random page and which ever word pops off the page at me is the assignment. I then couple it with whatever is happening in my present environment, smells, songs on the radio, food being consumed, activity, names, animals, get the idea. When I have a good little list of words I flesh out a poem or short telling and the only rule is I have to use all of the words I wrote down. The key is to not be resistant while the words are flowing into you during the first half of the exercise. It is not easy to not filter them in this stage. I found the first few times fun then my intellectual prowess began to want to ride the Merry-Go-Round also and it had a way of picking and choosing far too carefully what it let through. I was writing before the choosing process was complete and during the time when randomness was to be the key to creative mayhem. I do this everyday now at least once. Some of these works will be seen here and some may not though I suppose if I were to be true to the process I should really publish the awful one's also. This is not how I write on a normal basis. My writing comes from somewhere else completely. Yet, I find this to be grounding and it certainly stretches my dendrites which I believe is good for every writer. I'd love to read anyone else if they practice this and hear if it is helpful to them.
Shiny Sunday,
Carla Dawn    
© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

The Spiritual Edge: Reading from "The Dream Invitation"

The Spiritual Edge: Reading from "The Dream Invitation": This passage provides an introduction to the inner journey that our dreams invite us to partake in...

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Spring is aTime for Digging

"I have not written here for what seems like a year now. Life has taken on a strange sense about it's Self. Living has become much more than merely the spiritual path I knew it to be. There is an embraceable turn and twist in the wind. Embraceable by those of us who care to dig in rabbit holes and our own souls to see what lies beneath the slumbering soil. It is a space in which it does not always lend itself well to being understood however ... that is not the poet's purpose. I read by a blind lantern and feel my way along the walls these days with a touch unlike any other I have employed before. How to be exact, I am not sure. In these actions, I assure the present in iron clad shackles struck to the chamber in which they are set, admiring the window beyond. It is a self inflicted safety zone ... cuddled in moments ... other times glared upon. Still, it is embedded in that wall all the same. Spring will come. I will break free of these mind traps, and join the warmth in the window panes ... along side the realization."

The above lines have been sitting in a draft note here on this blog since the last time I wrote a syllable of poetry or whatever it is I write on this blog. As I read these words I realize how very true they are in describing winter's long, detached, and reclusive nature. Yet, Spring is a time for digging and I am feeling the worms turn deep in my guts making their way to the surface of my skin. My journey has been one of great introspection over the last few months. A voice has begun to speak with cause and in tones I am not sure even I am ready for. I am thought to be many things ... I am known to be a few. 

I know I am at a crossroads in life. Standing bare in the passage ways a writer takes when they begin to see the world and Self in a light which is far different than they have seen, until this point is reached if it ever is, in their spiritual and human journey here on this Earth. In some moments I have found fear and others joy beyond words, past what I could write or make reason to another with. I am going to try ... put it out there, so to speak ... fly or flounder it matters not. 

I believe we must find a way to Be beyond that window and remain unshackled even if we are crawling in the darkness from time to time for as we begin to learn to process the sacred love of self ... this is all good and well progress especially when the most astonishing things begin to emerge in our mirrors. Those very things we are so weary of looking at that we cant turn away any longer because they have become a fascination, a pathway to Self truth and understanding.  Life becomes this much more intriguing the wider we open ourselves to it's journey.   
© 2013 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved