Gypsy Muse Dancing

Crouching

In a misty moment–

Blanketed by dawn

(and a purple velvet cloak).

I peer

Between flared fingers

At nothing, nothing at all.

My chin tilts to the side,

Eyes down, coy,

Like I like them.

It’s a look of mystery,

And even I don’t know what it really means.

What if, who is, could be?

No.

Just

S P A C E

In which I may e x p a n d and contract,

Be whatever I choose:

A spider thinking,
A tree laughing,
A fairy dining on the finest dew…
A bat lurking, sleeping, hanging, hung.

Emotions real

Because I believe in my dream of them.

N O W.

Tomorrow—will be another

Place or time.

Another emotion,
Another me.

Nothing to hold onto.

Change.

All I really have is my love…

And the magic that I make.

Image

(Embodying the Gypsy Muse essence at a NYE party shortly after the poem was crafted.  Photo credit: Kyer Wiltshire)

(I wrote this poem several years ago, but thought I’d post it today for my BIRTHDAY.  Writing this poem ushered in a kind of spiritual birthday for me–the birth of my “Gypsy Muse”!  At that point, it was sort of an alter ego part of my personality.  Since then I’ve done much to integrate this essence into my regular, waking life and reality.  No longer an alter, she is me!  But, this poem is yet another example of the gifts creativity can give us.  I’m so grateful for the role poetry has played in my self-development and evolution.)

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Moksha

One day this world’s

Gonna come to an end.

I’ll be released….

“Home Journey” begins.

For I’ll be born

Into the land of GOD–

A spirit realm

Where creation starts.

While I’m there

Don’t know what I’ll do.

Probably dream up

A world or two.

I hope to use

The gift of Light

To help my brothers

Escape their plight:

Endless cycles

Of birth and death…

The hope’s that moksha

Will bring some rest…

 

(For any who do not know, “moksha” is a Sanscrit word that means “liberation” and usually specifically refers to liberation from cycles of death and rebirth.  I took a “Religions of Asia” class in college and learned the word then.  I became a yoga instructor some years later and revisited the concept.  Ever since, I have been fascinated by it.  “Moksha”–it’s a beautiful word.  I do tend to believe in multiple lives, though I am not fixed in my perspective about this or any belief.  One day recently I came across “moksha” in something I was reading and thought “that would make a nice poem”.  So, I sat down and wrote this.  Most of my poems just “happen” kind of like that.  Inspiration and a few moments later, if I follow the inspiration, = poem.)

Healing Muse (aka Rap P-P-P-Poem)

Sometimes it’s right to bend & give.

Other times it seems good to defend (maybe):

Be strong but not rigid, soft but not smushed.

Love yourself when your buttons are pushed!

The truth is out.  The Muse is in.

If you are lost, remember your friend–

Inside your heart, waiting for you

Just show up and love; she’ll pass you a clue.

A little spontaneous blurb of Truth

Will appear to you while pondering the…

Roof of your head, the wisdom inside:

How to live life with nothing to hide…

C’mon now–Get going!  USE this sweet chance:

Jump up and create.  Sing!  Dance!

Open your heart, spread joy to those friends

Who turn to you when needing a mend.

Look IN here.  Look UP!  Your own love will heal

That wound in your SELF you’re afraid to feel.

Thank goodness, this GIFT! … Bless the Muse in me…

Without her,  I’m simply

………………………. . . .  Asleep in the Dream!

 

(I wrote this poem a few months ago, but I think of it often.  It came to me kind of “all at once” as many of my poems do.  I was thinking about what a gift creativity or “The Muse” is in life and especially in the growth-and-healing process.  She really can help us find BALANCE.  And also remind us that love, especially for one’s self, is the key to whole game…)

Mystic Eyes…

Mystic, mystic

“Journey of Souls”…

How will we ever

Find our roles?

Wandering the earth

Trying to awaken–

Looking for amrit

In a DREAM we’re making.

We each have a purpose…

We each have a path…

Some reason we came,

But it’s so hard to grasp!  

The Mystery, she knows:

Our purpose, our reason.

For circling the sun…

Each year, each season.

I’m impatient, however!

I want to know NOW.

I search at each turn–

For a secret to “HOW?”

But the answer’s inside.

It’s only in ME.

You can help me to look…

…But never to see.

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(“Mystic Eyes” – part of a larger acrylic on wood painting by the author)

Raccoon

How will I know…

Which way to go?

Which step is next?

Say yes or no?

I try to listen

To my “Inner Voice”–

Let this dear body

Guide my choice.

One thing feels better–

A little more right.

But still it’s hard,

I want some LIGHT

To shine on in,

Brighten up this quest

With clear guidance

So I can rest!

Which light is that?

The “ME” who knows–

“Higher Self” in the sky

Or in my toes…

Learning to live

I n t u i t i v e l y

Seems a crucial step

In becoming FREE.

An open heart

In life’s big game,

Will help us learn

From whence we came.

I wish it was

An easier task,

But I guess step one

Is “remove the MASK

Be fully myself,

Wide open and true,

Revealed to the world…

....And born anew.

raccoon-300x225

(These past few months of my nomadic journey I’ve been seeing a LOT of raccoons.  I decided to write a poem in honor of what I thought was raccoon’s symbolic message for me…)

Dreams that BLOOM

IMG_0937

GROW your garden…

(YEAH!)

Grow it TALL…

The flowers and the creatures

And the fairies a l l

Want you to prosper,

Want you to THRIVE…

With a sweet garden

Where you can dive

Under the bushes

And inside the trees–

The energies will embrace you:

Birds, plants, and bees!

When you are struggling

And when HAPPY, too,

The garden’s a place

Of healing for you.

So…don’t delay now:

Find a piece of earth!

Connect with the mother

Who wants to give BIRTH

To a very special spot

Just perfect for you–

A garden for growing

Dreams that BLOOM.

 

(“Inspired Garden” painting – acrylic on wood panel – by the author)

Sasquatch?

“Who ate my apple?’

Was the first thing I said

When I woke up that morning

With camper’s head.

I’d put trash in a bag

Up in a tall tree

And in it an apple

Too mealy to eat.

At dawn, I awoke

And the whole bag was GONE!

No noise, mess, or snaggle–

Just a branch that was torn

Straight off the tree

As if it were twisted…

Could a bear do that?

If so, I’ve missed it…

Years as a camper

And never I’ve seen

A bear steal food

So neatly, so clean.

This job was perfect.

I pondered who’d done it.

Racoon, bear, or skunk…

Or Sasquatch?

        Dream on it….

 

(I wrote this poem a few months ago while thinking about the very curious experience {described in the poem} that I had on a 5 day solo “Vision Quest” in the Chiracahua mountains in Arizona several years ago.  I love a good MYSTERY!)