There is a god for every thing
There is a god for every thought
There is a god for every spring
There is a god for every drought

I walk amidst their creeping shadows
Swim in the deeps, crawl in the shallows

There is a boat for every sea
And there's a buoy for drowning men

But there ain’t
One god.

There is a crown on every being
There is a staff in every hand
It doesn’t matter what you have seen
It only matters now where you stand

I walk amidst their flickering shadows
Bask in the breeze, dance in tornadoes

There are birds for every wind
And there are wings for broken men

But there ain't
One god.

With the car stereo tuned in
to the radio, our vehicle glided
through the cityscape.
The machine had been fumigated,
Anguish cleansed, anxiety subjugated
and our appetite content.
Got blazed with the aid of that sliver haze.

Driving in the calm of midnight
through city streets in the half-light

I breath
I see
But why?

I am the same
as a mere shadow
of nothing more then
flesh and bone.
A thought
A dream

Me
Just me.
Alone
But never Lonely
Afraid
But never Scared
Real
But Unreal
Sane
Yet Insane
Lost
And never Found
Alive
Yet also Dead.

Darkness
Loneliness
Frightened

I am a thought
A Dream
A being of flesh and bone
One that no one will see

I have to turn away
from thoughts
of what I am not
to be
the living dream
of what I am.

See how this dream unfolds,
without your plans and figuring.
The sequences and cycles
and all the stops –
all Mother’s Play.

Fibonacci only saw it.
He, most certainly, did not make it.
How could he even know what it is?

Sacred Is.
We notice
when our eyes are cleared
of clouds and smoke.

If you believe the thought
about controlling God,
then you believe in your own death.

This Mother is out from under
that controlling thumb.
She is slowly standing up.
And, as she extends
to reach her fully glorified heights,
we fall into her grace.
And see what we had,
was not at all what we thought.

She has already prepared our home.
And thank The Lord!
The thoughts we had to plan
could never amount to much
of the mountainous Truth
Divine Mother shines out
for us to be.

it is like
a knife
the ice hot
burning fire edge
the warming glow
of Self embrace
broiling and crackling
like that campfire
by the little lake
you swam
all the way across
only days before
the layer
of being a girl
was stripped away
the tipping point
pointing back to
that black hole fire
that is all the life
there is to live
tipping to one side
with cringing ash
disappearing off the lips
and one way
absorbing into
clear oceans
of infinity

In this place poets care, share, and like
Encouraging each other along.
Lifting hearts up from deep trenches
of Ignorance, ill traditions, misconceptions and lies.
Drawing back curtains, just enough
to quench the masses ceastless wondering,
"There must be something more?!"

Your creative holy work has a great purpose!
Escorting the hopeful aspiriant to the place
Where the shadow dawns into explosive light!
Gently nudging, englightening cognizence of new awareness
As pieces of puzzlement merge into a glorious whole!

Dear Poets, you matter
Nevermore, doubt your place!!!
You are among the Inspiritors of the Earth!