Mother Is A Song**

I was born on the wind
swirling through tall trees,
downstream fed valleys
into open, high grass plains
where nights twinkle stars
and days are a warm yellow
because Mother is a song.

I was raised on her voice,
carried by wrens’ wings,
spoken in blue jay chatter
that told of black soil
giving life to African Violets
sprinkled neath tall Sequoia
as each word whispered her name,
cause Mother was a song
and I was born
to be her singer.

She often spoke in violins
sounding like a fast-moving rill
cascading over smooth rock
and deep cello metaphor
dancing gleefully through
the eons old gorge
while oboeing calmly
toward the delta’s sea.
Her seas, symphonies of blue-green
waves playing with whale pod sonatas,
dolphin leaping concertos
as clown fish nestle among coral
listening to tides and meter
where all life began
and now witnessing death.

Mother is a song
and I am born on her cymbals,
loud and angry like thunder;
raised to be her lightning singer.

Mother is a song
no one listens to anymore.

Aztec Warrior/redzone  11.30.16
(NOTE: an ode to the large death of coral in Australia’s Great Barrier Reef due to rising sea temperatures and pollution)

Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote

I read each one
as I write my own

Now the quiet settles upon the plains
Whereas the saddened heart no longer remains
You fought your ancestors fight for freedom rights
inundated in baptismal water in freezing nights
Even braved the growling hounds
Feared not the shielded men of so-called law
You danced your chants and danced so ever tall
and saved the water for us all
for Came the Ancestors To The Call...

For all warriors at standing rock...

Please.
Avert thy gaze
lest you want me
to place my eyes
    upon your very soul
           ******* you down
                 to the sparks
             in your bones    
Stripped bare,
      your cells will unravel,
           the very tectonic plates
                              of your being
       shifting and tripping
under
           the ripe dew of my lashes
Please, do not spread your
silken milky way
of treasures,
all of your precious jewels
exposed to the light
of the darkest night
in mysterious pleasures
For they will reflect
in the blues of my retinas
You will be speechless
for the lack of need
                        for words
I will only handle them
               with utmost care
unless, of course
you want it rough
    and flung out into the ether
           dashed upon rocks of our
                                      liquid beings
                                           in the mewing
                                   writhing wild
                 of the dark hours
And I
will take the delicacy
of your petalsilk
and ****** it into
planes of healing
It might hurt,
just by pure release of pain
but I will rock you
after your skin has
sloughed off
to reveal earthen wombs
and ***** and scars
that are only made of the
           fibers of our stars
I will rock your
            tender vibrations
                          until your very soul
                               quakes and crumbles
                   trembling into the bright
      the exposure of darkness
mixed together with light
So let me
gather you up
into the fragile sinews
of my very layers
of flesh
          of heartstrings
                          of broken
                                  and holy
                       incantations
let me pull you to me
in a whirlwind
of sacred and
blushing
          spells
that roll, like
silent thunder
into the potency
     of night

narrow potholed roads
long winding switchbacks
blind corners that lead
the chosen to heaven

the rest of us
sinners

rotting slash piles
in a clear cut
fireweed rising
from raw earth

in this land of trees
the forest is forgotten