Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Word Play 2014 Two

Uploaded on Oct 23, 2007 by

Muy Buen Video, Te Amamos John.

The stench of carbide filled everything between my nostrils and the closing in of the afternoon hinting backwash of a sky devoid of a sunset once again. The carbide plant had been closed for many years. Some other company bought it out and many men lost their jobs as a result. What used to be a bustling rural area of North East Iowa was reduced to abandoned farms and folks hanging on hoping for renewal somehow. It would come in a smaller form and later than was able to make a difference. Still, there are some who have managed to hold on to a sliver of what their parents can remember. 

The porch of the slant sided pea green stained farm house contained not a stitch of existence save the wall sized Catahoula bull dog hunched squarely in the middle of the entryway to the front door on the first step. The chain gracing his neck resembling one I had used only a few days before to pull a log free from a raviene on the farm when I had miscalculated the fall of an old rotting ash. I could have used his muscle that day. A sign, hand painted on a piece of cardboard, stated, "Yeah, Beware of Dog" with a smiley face in the upper right hand corner. It had the appearance of having been painted by a child and lovingly left behind to protect their friend while away at school or as if a teddy bear had been given to the Salvation Army with a note asking that Teddy be well loved as he was in his last home. I drove by slowly taking the scene in with a bit of amusement. Rover never moved a muscle except to notice the sixteen or more wild turkeys in the empty field next to the house their red and blue wattles standing out as if burnished against the now graying evening calm. 

It is not only the lives which are bare now a days. Winter has taken a toll on the land also. Each old man Oak wears his suit of sad skin with indifference to the coming Spring. It has been, perhaps more this year than in past years, evident on the land how we have felt at our core. The lines on the faces of the people you see who try to pay for their heating fuel will be found in the patterned bark and leafless tendrils of hope's branches.They catch the clouds asking them for shelter as they pass low in the mornings. By this time of day most are too tired to still be looking up yet, if they were they could witness the crows wishing themselves into ravens in answer to those prayers. They are not, unlike myself, letting loose of such shared remembrances of the rose pallor upon my cheeks at Dawn held from peeking at your sleeping mask, my fingers blue and pursed at your window sill. We all have our wishes and our dreams. Yet, the hawks face South as I pull away off the ice packed gravel road onto the pavement of the city streets, knowing the blanket of cold hellish night is on it's way down the state towards their hunting haunt.   

The smell of carbide has returned to the countryside. The big dogs still rule the porch. I still hope one day we will see people return to a way of life which puts a hand out first and points a finger not at all. 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

"You may say that I'm a dreamer ... but I'm not the only one ... I hope some day you will join us ... and the world will live as one ... " John Lenon
Peace my friend and One Love

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Internet Love Line Down :)

The phone says there's no line ... so I have no way to reach you ... I ain't been sleepin' ... I ain't been eatin' ... just meetin' every heartbeat at the door ... Can't check a message ... send a vestige ... of the thoughts I'm keeping stored ... inside my eyelids ... for late night reciting ... my hair in your hands ... your lips drinking my sighs ... I lost my Twitter ... misdirected shooting stars gmail can't deliver ... not always easy to disguise ... exactly what I'm feeling ... lost in the shuffle of mass appealing ... or the crafty  + 135 ... with no computer ... the silence sends me .... to root out a new surmise ... of why you send me ...  scent hound hungry ... swaying to slow jungle lunging ... Bruno Mars' gorilla eyes ...

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Reaching Across

Eyes Wide Open

The crows are complaining once again in the morning's false spring air ... the songbirds choose not to pay them a bit of attention however, ... they are pleased with the wood roaches which have begun to scurry about searching for discarded minimals to devour. None of them seem to care that we have seven inches of snow coming in a few days and it will be well below zero again tomorrow evening ... they believe in the wisdom the trees are whispering to them ... "my sap runs" ... " I feel by buds begin to swell" ... they pass their murmurings along the fence rows like children with tin can and string telephone toys ... the rattle of loose ice still wrapped about their branches a fair instrument ... My Grandmother always told me never to rake the yester year leaves from their autumn resting places until the coming new leaves of the Oaks were as big as a mouse's ear or the lady bugs would perish ... How do the crows feel about this I wonder for man seems not to care at all now a days ... Mama saw a pair of blue birds beginning to nest on the road to town the other day so happiness is returned home and will surely tame those black temperaments once Winter has finished it's final bid for the Underworld crown ... the catfish will soon be awake ... with the thawing of the lake and the ice receding each day we get a bit of warmth from Father Sky ... I have not seen a squirrel or opossum in days now ... They haven't been fooled as they birds have ... although last evening the coyotes sang their same killing songs and the mountain lion reminded me this will always be her woods with a gentle scrawl as she passed by the front porch ... The neighbors  said to expect more snakes this summer as we have lost our wild turkey population drastically of late ... The daily trains have begun to run over the old tunnel at the end of the rural route ... now opening the dawn officially as to become morning ... I believe the fire might need another log.  
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Friday, February 21, 2014

Word Play 2014 One

Scream dreaming our way across the fingerprint causeway each galaxy mandal~brotted beneath another ... bleeding stars on the level below in the Vulcan chess game of love we are playing with each other's heart.


I pulled the sky down to pave your feet in marble pathways ... 
only to find you had already grown grass of silk for me to sleep upon. 


The clouds were chiming the musical May song of crayon absent sun dogs ...
chasing sleeping dragons from the lair of bitterness to greet the raging Slyph's desires ...
and a beautiful rain fell upon the Earth in which lovers bathes their Oneness.


How did you find me? Was it your infamous scent trail ...
I captured it and ran hiding behind tomorrow ...
you heard my perfume laughing warmed in yesterday's sunrise ...
lingering still honey dew dangles and melting mew ...
I'll be waiting on the porch when you arrive ...
stars strung out proud with powdered moonlight ... 
come along barefoot, my love, so we all can be new.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved


Might I linger here with you a moment
not being expected of
not having to
not requiring anything
for anyone else
not feeling a thing
except the hum of your frequency.

I live above my studio these days
My town house a thing of the past
My bed in the loft below the slanting rafters
Green Tara on the ceiling above my bed
She reminds me,giving strength, in the mornings
We are stars and liberated women
It is Her name sake after all.

The sunrise greets me out my quarter pane windows
Covered with frost all this winter, bitter white
I study the fern frost patterns for a message from you
Some signet scented code of coming gladness
A sweet greeting sent with smiles or sorrow
Either is welcome for I would bear them alike
You have filled the hollows of my soul so round

I've just begun to thaw, the deep blue ice to bloom
Spring truly isn't the cause this hush can claim
It belongs to your kindness, to your truth
to the cruelty with which you lashed out at me
Sometimes it takes this to break through
Some harsh bitterness which cracks the illusion
Can often heal in the most loving of ways

It's not such an easy thing to find a way to say
that which runs so deep one must first find
the implements to dig up the grave and
extract herself from it before there are words
before there is tactile emotion and breath
in the corpse, cold and inanimate for so long
Not having drempt of Summer's sun in eons

Thus, I continue my journey, as I did last Spring
this year with a brighter conviction
in these moments with the hope of constancy
to delve deeply into my soul and self daily
My heart is filled with gratitude for you
I wish not to be a vine to strangle nor a bramble
Perhaps, I will learn to be a rose.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Becoming Rain

So often... the sky here is not unlike the transparent webbed swish between sink and blur in the deepening evening of spun sugar imaginings ... how swift is it's the kiss about me in this frigid mist ... when pink and blue share the same white paper carnival caper cone ... unwound from Summer dreams to become the substance Night will draw It's presence from. I wonder, when this magic happens, .... if it could be a wish escaped from many hearts ... wind wisp shy lisp feathers settling ... wanting to be young again ... I'd eat the clouds filling myself with their lavendar cohesion ... that all true dreams are possible for all true people. ... I walk the land of my Earth family ... their expressions of arch and dot of bow and below ... the trees' branches cling heavy and cuddle with the weight of the world's snow ... momentary hydrangeas seeking unspoken clusters to drape with continuous lines of love ... only those moments of white witness truly know ... we are the ones forgetting to listen ... perhaps why the cedars hang on to Christmas and the crunching of the wisdom ice beneath my boots ... still cookies and icing, presents and glow, that's when we know. ... Is this then why the sunset must turn tangerine just before it sets playing touch and go with the sunrise ... So Morning will know how to hold the mystic palm of this moment, the magic which has grasp my soul's clove ... if not would the hold of this place be lost on me ? ... Would I no longer stay here ... Leaving to find my heart again ... answer the swaying haunt of other trees in need of solitude from the humanness surrounding them ... Perhaps, I'll follow the tracks taken by the hares in the early afternoon ... they search for their simple stolen holes and the warmth of the known safety She holds ... I'll down the rabbit hole again and again until I too sweetly surrender in the Twilight folding into the coldness of the night about my shoulders ... Beneath the Oak, Around the Birch, Below the Willow, Within the Hawthorne and let the Snow Queen take me ... In Spring I shall merry be sprouting as the Lady's Mantle... growing full fan green and great caped in the eyes of Her Majesty ... each morning gathering the dew drops of all love I see, ... the Day's warmth evaporating me into Her ... passing me to the Sylph to fall again in soft morning rain. 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

the blind lantern: barrio to barricade...

the blind lantern: barrio to barricade...: art by Irfan Haider Mirza © losing what peoples my bones ‘all the voices warring the stories of myself in no man’...

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Beautiful Poems: 51. Al-Haqq – The Truth in each moment

A prayer we will all relate to as writers. Very powerful and lovely from the heart.

Beautiful Poems: 51. Al-Haqq – The Truth in each moment: Suggests Truth, Existing, Just --- 'There are more possibilities available in each moment that we realize' Emily Dickinson ...