Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Day Six

Day Six

And on the sixth day I lost all sight of who I thought I was ... my definition of Self dissolved away and melded with another in such a way breathing was an effort at moments ... my hopes became children and grew much too quickly for my liking to leaving home in the late afternoon on a Greyhound bus, so like their Mother ... my desires turning into a hungry lion pride which is still out there somewhere lurking, waiting to pounce on tasty tendrils passing by outside the shadow boxes of the coloring book lines ... my aspirations simply poo~fed into umbrellas and floated off into the sunset across the lake ... the umbrellas were needed to stave off the mild rain showers the fray of fears have conjured up ... I knew the more I let go the more I would find ... Love is always waiting at the end of any day ... if we are only ready or able to let it flow rather than try to define it ... Love needs to be loved.
© 2014 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Rights Reserved

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Spider's Gift

Spider's Gift

Resting for a moment while listening to the rain fall in never before spoken patterns outside study door ... I lean my head back on the chair letting the thunder seek my mind for a moment ... a crab spider is busy walking about on my still partially clinging turquoise rich painted ceiling ... the old hippie weeping glass globe lamp has cast a shadow dance there ... seldom edged ebb and glow of the electric socket's bright ballet ... She, for soon I see she is a web builder ... moves through this stage as if it were a maze of hedge or hay ... keeping to and turning with the light's accord ... crossing possibly a time or two at a dim yet slight cast shadow of partial stay ... a quickening or a lesser doorway across to bridge with Bright and Self again ... after pacing patterned labyrinth prayers ... She turns home to Her corner bound web ... petting it in a manner ... so odd it would seem ... as if presenting a gift to a  child ... I smile ... wondering what must it have been she found ... in our upside down worlds ... on her journey worth to bundle away home ?
© 2014 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Rights Reserved

Awakening Autumn

Awakening Autumn

Through the wild wilderness of the pagan heart ... rides the woman who Autumn has by the hair ... hand fulls of wet and wild potent play ... One kiss brought one by phaery invitation ... claims of coals and candle wax alike ... hoping to become a red stallion between her peachy lips longing chained ... mortals would try to tame and break her ... as if she were a white pony in a fringed bridle ... side saddle and so little known of her ... less the memories of their loins begat in begging ... The Summer Sun turns her hair as copper as the Tin Smith's dreaming dares ... punching into the Netherworld's drawn vapor ... fed flame passing the scent of pregnant Ginko fruit ... through those hidden gates ... yet back it will grow in her belly ... when Winter leaves her bed abandon ... His purple toes between her thighs prying secrets belonging to Sister Spring alone ... Once, when she was young and frail, she mistook this for a sadness ... tho now even as the last of the hummingbirds kiss to sip ... drowning the loss of hours in ever lessening blossoms ... she listens for the sleeping bells toll ... strings her hazelnuts with certain wisdom ... sadness is as sadness does ... and all masters are a slave to their making ... Love of a good woman is forever free ... if forever it is cared for and not forsaken ... As for me ?... My wild heart is fancy still ... yet, taken by mortal, I agree ... Tho', happy, buxom, and bonny am I ... the Lord wanton of me.
© 2014 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Twenty-Five Days of Turning Fifty Day Two

Joyous Journey

Life is a joyous journey even when it seems difficult and we can't find our way to the sunshine. It is a more joyous road to have come along when you snuggle up to half a century old or young. Oh my, yes I am going to be half a century in years in a few weeks. I wasn't supposed to see my sixteenth birthday and here I am about to kiss fifty, "Hello !!"

It is the greatest of blessings to be a woman who has walked the path I have for 49 years. One can learn great Compassion from being ill and also from caring for other's needs. Deep Understanding of the Courage in warriors from having to draw on Strengths you never knew you have. Gain enormous Appreciation for the beauty of this world when colors are absent. Learn to smile even in the face of seriousness and laugh for no reason at all except the heart set free. Seek warmth with pure lust and give the cold bite of Nature Her proper practicalities. Respect bright eyed, Love leaning in. Regard all as family. Always leave the door unlocked for Peace. Perhaps, most important of all take great care of Intent and Discretion for they are the task masters by which you will make your emotional casualties in this life. Nurse them well with Forgiveness and Abandonment for in all things there is some manner of happiness if we only care to find the love and growth to cling to.

I feel I have been blessed and I am grateful to everyone who has ever taught me along the way. I can write this smiling back at the young lady who would not have understood so many years ago. She was beautiful and an awesome being then as I am now. I love them both. I look forward to the next years, the growth, and the ride down the side of the mountain.  

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Twenty-Five Days on Turning Fifty Day One

Day One                

Lay me beneath the Cypress trees,
Shedding their armor and maile scales,
On the damp rain soaked hummus,
The slick slip of their hillside,
A bed to lie sorrow down with,
Cover me in yellow daisies,
In ocher pallor of sadness strewn,
For we quiet queens lined,
and tombed lead by,
Weave your fish skin to my tendrils,
that I shall be enshroud dread,
Hiding my face from this brutal care,
Which your loss has pierced so,
In my Niecely heart of love and woe.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

For My Uncle Leo Edward Hayes, Jr. :

My Uncle Junior passed away Feb. 3, of this year. His death affected me very deeply. The process of acceptance both took something very precious away and gave another indescribable measure of determination to my journey. I stayed home so my parents could attend the funeral downstate. This poems was my closure of sorts. He taught me of Peace and the higher callings of Love. I owe so much of who I am to him. We still mourn him though we celebrate him more and more each day. He would have insisted on it. I am sure he enjoys our laughter. 

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Grab the thread ...

Irish Crochet Collar and Cuffs
Photo Credit:  http://patternila.info/irish-crochet-lace-patterns/  patternila.info

How is it when your mind is so full you can't think another thought ... that is when it hits? Inspiration, I mean. Inspiration of the heart. I am less then 16 hours out from an important meeting which will change the lives of generations of young people. My chance to give back as others have given to me. In the meantime, my people are passing away from me and I can't find the thread to grasp to keep it all from unraveling. No, at a time like this, when we just lost him and now she has stage 4 cancer in her hip, her lungs, her liver ... one does not think of their Self ... except I can hear him in the back logs of my mind saying, "This is some bullshit ! That's what this is !" Heaven is passing out swear points tonight but he was always our angel so they'll turn to cake anyway. 
I try to focus and tell myself that I have no right to be angry or hurt. I held my Mam's hand and her head while she cried after she got the news. "It's not fair. I thought she'd have sometime after taking care of him for so long ...", that trailing off to tears again. Her hair is soft nowadays and loosing only the blackness we can recall. I touch her curls and am filled with my Grandma Thomas and My Grandmother, her daughter, my Mother's Mother they are all about me. Their arms holding me up so I can hold her. It's not my time to cry. It's my time to be a daughter. It's my time to be the rock and braid her hair to whiteness. 
The work is always waiting though and she pushes me away. "Go. Do. I am fine." She is. We are. She has my sisters and my father. I gather my work about me again, the light won't come on and I am always so far behind. There is only one of me and a million dots to connect to everyday. As I unscrew the coiled contemporary contraption from the socket of my drawing lamp l am glad to see it go. What happened to light bulbs? Round glass fragile eggs which illuminated our nights. Filament~ed dragonflies you could hum to if you closed your eyes and swallowed hard once to clear your gills. I fetch one of those magical orbs from my secret stash of "What used to be" and impregnate us both with anticipation. Yet, the switch yields nothing more than the same emptiness I have been feeling since my mother got that phone call. I go through the usual human stages of denial that the modern age has ask me to abide without every convenience we have been so very spoiled by. It is automatic when your head is full and your heart is searching.
Then I stop and realize it's not the bulb. It is the lamp itself. I am five years old again in the home my parents made. The only real place that was ever home because they were there. Her brothers. He has brought his new girlfriend home to meet his eldest sister. She has three girls of her own. She talks funny, with a deeper Southern accent than even their Missouri you'all and we all fall in love with her instantly. She has blonde bleached hair and never leaves the bedroom with out her makeup on. 
She and I end up somehow in the dining room with a crochet hook and yarn. "Grab the thread," she tells me and I do. She would teach me to make my first Granny Square that night. She would teach my Grandmother to crochet and many others. I still Grab that thread when things go wrong to find the connection to what is right. To find the rhythm again. To build the fabric back into all the pieces upon the field which have frayed with time. It is an unfortunate practice in this human race not to honor and gather back to ourselves both our purest light and those who have led us to it, while they are still with us. This practice should go the way of all other destruction and violence, to the desolation of false illuminations. 
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Seeds of Light



One

The Flow of Stardust …

We are created of the dust of the stars when they die. Their fragmented bodies called back together by a need the universe has come to realize it cannot do without. When they touch our celestial boundaries melding into the Earth’s consciousness … It is then stardust takes the form of the human soul and we begin the journey Home once again.

The Lamp Girl sat by the seedling pool as she has everyday of her existence. Before she was a human being, she had been one half of each reason ask to come together in the name of her very own creation. She knew the story by heart before it was ever realized in her Mother’s and Father’s journeys of self willed though often blinded fate and chosen destinies. Some souls come to this field of perceptive possibility seeking to play such a significant part in culling the clock hands of conscious compassion they are confused as to why they are truly here and yet, they never realize in timely countenance their pain is, in truth, the greatest blessing they will ever receive.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved