The Quirky Word Smith

Sometimes I come

UP with little poems…

Rapping in my head

To mitigate boredom.

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Dreams Do Escape

Perhaps,

I’m EARTHPOET–

With words buried

In mushrooms…

Deep in the forest

Amongst colonies of trees.

..

Tied to their roots

By delicate INTENTION,

My thoughts leak to the surface,

Dangling as leaves…

….

Or maybe,

I’m MERMUSE–

Hiding in the shadows,

Diving in the moonlight.

Singing songs of the wave.

..

My MYTH dances

As bubbles…

The daydreams of dolphins,

The pearl of an oyster…

One day.

….

*This little poetic expression was inspired by my friend Andrea who posted the poem “As for Poets” by Gary Snyder on Facebook today asking all her friends “what kind of poet are you?”.  My poem is my answer…

Stormy Sunday

Simon you are

Like sunlight to me.

Penetrating, wild

And definitely free.

 

I love how you shine–

How you move and dance.

Together we’ve entered

A compelling trance.

 

But our love–it’s unstable,

A warm, stormy cloud…

Lightening and thunder

That’s deafeningly loud.

 

Together we SOAR

But also we dive.

It’s elating and painful.

There’s nowhere to hide.

 

I can’t trust my feelings

And just open to love.

It’s rocky…and wobbly,

Too confusing…I’m stuck.

 

I never thought I’d be

In such an unsteady state.

But what did I expect?

You mirror my face.

 

My true name is NISCHALA

Said a guru in the sky.

I must learn to live it–

Look fear in the eye.

 

“Steadiness, unwavering…”

This is who I am,

Said Satchidananda, the guru.

I can be it.  I can.

 

Hold tight to a fixed point,

And float in the abyss.

My heart is an anchor

When the dragon’s fire hits.

 

I always have a still point

Inside I can trust.

God is within me.

I do know this much.

 

My love is a light

So infinite and free.

If steady in myself

I am completed by me.

 

You are a gift, dear Simon

To show me once again

That the source of true love

Is inside my own skin.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I don’t usually publish my more personal or “shadow-side” poems, but I realize by only offering the lighter side of myself, I am keeping my shadow in the darkness.  And one of my commitments, being the consciously evolving Scorpio that I am (or try to be), is to bring darkness to light and experience transformation through the depths.  I also really believe that creativity or the Muse can help us gain insights and heal parts of ourselves that are stuck or confused.  Writing poetry is one of the best ways I’ve found to work through difficult or painful situations and emotions.  Drawing or dancing can (also) really help, but there is a special power in words…Don’t you think?

Today a samurai.  Tomorrow a butterfly.  And so it goes…

Note:  Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga, gave me the spiritual name Nischala upon completion of my yoga teacher’s training certification in 2004.  The name was “channeled” for me through his principal lineage holder Swami Dyananda, as Satchidananda is no longer in the body.  Dyananda taught us that spiritual names can sometimes reflect the light and truth that we already are, but in other cases they reflect what we are destined to become through learning and growth.

Living up to this name has become a goal of my life…  OM OM.

Ode to Lemon

Lemon custard

Lemon pie

Better in my belly

Than my eye.

 

In my water

In my mouth

You cleanse my blood

Improving health.

 

I love your yellow–

So cheery and bright

My own little piece

Of sunshine’s light.

 

Round and firm

Juicy and fresh

You’re a tangy gift

Of deliciousness!

 

 

I’m living on a beautiful Hawaiian farm right now with lots and lots of lemon trees.  I’ve been cooking with lemons, meditating with lemons, juggling lemons, admiring lemons, and drinking lemon water every single day.  The lemons have been an inspiring and healing addition to my life!  They have helped me have more energy, a stronger immune system, a cheerful mood, and they have even shrunk a cyst I have had for years on my wrist!  I have been feeling so grateful to the lemons in my life lately, I decided to write this little poem.

 

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.)

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…)

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!)

Muladhara

(I wrote this poem a few years ago for a poetry class at the U of Arizona.  Was looking for something else on my computer this morning and came across it.  Seemed appropriate for today–the first day of Scorpio, the sign of my birth.  Muladhara, for those who do not know, is the “root chakra” in yoga (Sanscrit).  This poem is about my symbolic associations to that energy center.)

…             …            …

Warm snakes in black caldron

Their broth, my blood…

…             …            …

Red fire dances madly–

Ignites orange wheels of passion

Obsidian stakes dive deep

Into the ground.

…             …            …

Root channel, source of all energy

Fierce Goddess Power

Dark, darker, darkness

…             …            …

Persephone’s Journey

Begins with you–

Serpent Mother Magic

…             …            …

Kali Pele Shiva Shakti

Dance of DEATH before CREATION

Mystery Keeper’s Secret Weaver–

Dragon grows in deepest lair…

…             …            …

IMG_2687_2

(acrylic panting “Muladhara Chakra” by the author–original canvas has black feathers hanging on black satin ribbon along the bottom edge.)

Soggy Dreams

This is a funny little poem I wrote tonight, actually for my other blog (that’s going to be a narrative account of my past 15 months on sabbatical, looking for my next home).  I thought I’d post it over here, too.  Gives a little added texture to my gypsy’s journey…

 

There’s some kind of mysterious

Recipe I’m seeking…

For a magical home

In a dream I’m dreaming….

*

Nature and people

And beauty and climate.

Work prospects, culture,

Politics, excitement.

*

There are so many elements

I’m trying to consider–

When planning for home

In Hither or Thither…

*

I no longer believe

That perfection exists.

Everywhere has compromise;

Reality persists.

*

I’m really not sure

Which conditions I’ll choose,

But I must find home soon…

I can sure feel the fuse

*

Lit in my heart,

Burning through my body…

“Make a choice now,” it says,

Or your dreams will get soggy.