CPoetry

mother earth does not know barriers; mountains are shelter. rivers are highways. oceans are reaching hands. we; our fences separated communal pasture. our walls made loved ones shout over them. our colors painted ignorance over our eyes. fear banned Love to its conditions and fenced it off from its "Un-" prefix form. ::: something detonates within Her. crack--pop--boom! sand and smoke and decibels reaching high! pieces of Her unattached in the sky that must come down, and They come back to Her; all are Found (never lost) on Her sacred ground. ::: of it. with it. in it. fear is attached to closing prepositions, never fighting prepositions; against it. above it. through it. fear refuses to let us know we can apply defeat to itself.

its stem and bulb are heavy in weight, but its desire is weightless toward any type of light and any fraction of it; a lamp told me it was happy to be a surrogate sun for seven violet Tu's ::: 7 violet royals face 7 ways different. do they face what? ---cannot say distant. do they face why? ---immortals say i must not spy. ::: if you say it in tender breath, or whisper it in your head, I am in heaven on earth, all-of-the-sudden...it appears; you are living what you believed could only be reached in prayer.

 Life, meet Death. Death, meet Life. Oh, we already know each other. you've never met before? We never "met". We have always known each other. We created the Art of Exchange long before humans used it as a means of trade, truce, and trust. ::: Mr. Willow? Yes? why do you weep? Oh, is that what they call me, "weeping"? yeah. I have never wept in my life. you haven't? No, I lean over to see my reflection. you do? what do you see? It shows me what I am on the inside. what are you on the inside? A reaching willow. ::: travel the way of the rose; climb thorns and climb them more. if you reach the pedals, pull them all out; reveal your secrets. ::: Death is the patron you give your ticket to at the Cinema; hand the ticket to and pass through-over. go watch the film of the life your soul lived and walk out (with critiques) as you are r...

spring scent on a winter afternoon. dry leaves still clinging to the past create wave-sounds in the wind. a crow calls "False alarm!" a flock of geese, as surprised as i stop to orient themselves towards the sun. couples fall in love, again. friends are reminded of each others' company. all are not alone but free--- tasting sweetness before ripeness, ecstasy before existence, space before time, cause before effect, harmony before peace. ~ each other's company. company is that which comes before bonafide friendship and love; the value of Company's state is of survival; she hunts with us. she mourns with us. she sits around a fire. she sleeps next to our beds; she is a precious ancestor to us all. though instinctive, rarely is she felt as a miracle if what you seek from her is joy. ::: how do i love myself? It is quite simple. how? Tak...

compassion, you have been sleeping late, so wake up, wake up now! you are much too innate to be speaking without sound; you are the face of all that suffer and in life, no one suffers more severely than another. sometimes, i see you awaken; two strangers begin to cry--- and a hug between them is taken. ::: i see a canary coop; this car, is painted in a color easily unignored. its fenders, always in a bender with another car; a fender bent is another's discontent with how its presents on the outside; pink fender in the front, blue fender in the rear, and canary all around but the coop stands its ground. ::: do unto others as others do unto you; the Lesson of Gold is but the greatest mirror; you-do-unto-you; you are all of those whom you encounter in life; reflections of you are repeated over and over and over until you realize that  what you-do-unto-you is giving the most magnificent ...

is the child in us ever gone? how did we become stagnant, branchy-things when we used to be whimsical and wistful wind-fants? do not let your hands turn to wood; burn them in the innocence of a campfire song. scrape your knees. make imagination your north star, and heal by the direction you change; be a wind-fant again; go play. go where you                                 take yourself. ::: dear Ms. Blessings, thank you for being my techer who teched me when i did not like scool. you are nice. you are funny. you make scool fun. sinserly, scool-student ::: father: son, could you get me that rope in the garage? son: Yeah! father: thank you. son: oyu're welcome. what are you doing with the piano daddy? father: i've got to put a rope around it so i can pull it to a new spot in the house. it's very heavy, so i have to pull it ...

at night's closing eyes, i prayed to let You go; i prayed to be a sunflower without sun---a moonflower. You need what is not me. i hope You find more in someone else. ~ if by Fate's design and a soft collision, may it be us---one star. ---no...no. ~ if not one star, may night sling a rope to connect us together---in God's constellation. ::: breathing air that became not pure for her--- she waited and remained--- still enough to welcome a new air that came; to her pleasure each lung sung and inflated with It---synchronized--- with violet forgiveness. ::: how does a tree feel to be in a forest of mirrors? who is to say the oak tree was simply a tree?; did it learn to have oak-ness by seeing reflections of itself? or was the oak-ness always there, but it had to grow to become a tree?; i think of how it would be to see me in You and You in m...

watch under the rim of your coffee cup; at the café, lunch hour talks her usual tunes by way of clinks, tinks, words, chairs scarring wooden floor. if given the choice, birds orient their breasted feathers towards windows; unbeknownst to them flight patterns are innate; while eating, they are unaware of the beautiful exit. ::: friendship is continual intention; a contract is constructed and rewritten  at every encounter, and promises are kept  by the hour, and flaws are as visible as an opened flower.  every action is a reaction to an intent-- a reason that continuously relents, unless it is broken. continue with the other without accident because intention is what makes elegant  the bond between two---the mutual agreement  to maintain what currently exists. when a friend replies with intent, that is an act of love that cannot repent. ::: close to me, You ask Am I fire to you? smirki...

by body sick by body take; it thinks it can oh how mistaken it is. this face, worn and tired, but what mimics Death was never born; what is born is what stays--- what keeps close---untouched. by body sick by body take; a smile is what stays--what i make. ::: Your story, You write for me, is written in blades of grass, in specks of sand and mineral. butterflies quill with their wings. clouds check spelling and sprinkle in fate commas. may i not forget the boardwalks; the lines by which words lay and the ocean, whom whispers in additional paragraphs flowing through chapters. seasons are merely volumes. let this library become without ever opening a page. ::: You pray more when You want to give up on me; so many Hello's unanswered. i am sorry, but look around:      i will, through the mud, be      a lotus knocking soon.

unto the new grass she lay. unto the new stars she see. unto the new colors she paint. unto the new way she walk while the Past ---forgets to talk. ::: my heart and my hands are shaking; orange juice sitting still in the refrigerator aroused from having "No Pulp" to realizing it is the pulp kind again. ::: a real kiss is not felt in the lips. it is felt in the stomach; lovers do not experience pleasure---no---pleasure is a fleeting thing! both experience something that withstands; the tension of a 1000 rubber bands; a multiple-car-crash-pile-up at every touch; a falling-in that makes gravity tiredly sit down; a constant surge that tantalizes an ocean tsunami; an addiction so potent it catches Heroin's bluff; a grief of Self that gives birth to Us; a hunger felt that is longing. ...trying to describe it eliminates some of the starving appeal.