I took two totems
and held them to
myself
one in my right pocket
and one in my left
for clenching
tight in reminder
while walking about
of what's really
important
​

a brass bull
keychain strung
to the keys
that opened my home
and made it mine
​
​
for prosperity
and material health
and weighing down
to the ground
​
​
and a little hunk
of lapis lazuli
speckled through
with golden
glitters
​

for keeping
bright blue and
buoyant
my spirit


the bull broke off
its chain and
left a dangling void
a superfluous
jangle
wiggling on old
keys turned in
to an old landlord


the stone
slipped out of my
jacket pocket
in a cab to the
airport to a plane
to the other side
of the world
​

now of my totems
but a short refrain
and a
memory's glitter
remain
​



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

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festival hums incoming lust becoming dust muffs spending ungodly honey dismounts chariot\
dismantling wives involving hives manhandling dead ends revolving lives reclusive evolutions\     revolutions dharma ballistic infusion in spite of invites bellows profusion of the Trinity Beast Hulk\
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up in the mountains
in a place called Lincoln
15 degrees cooler where I sit

where sweet raindrops fall
an cascade on the leaves here
an monarch butterflies flit

this is a place
that is so otherworldly
everywhere something for me
when lo and behold
above on a lantern
what do you think that I see?

my loveliest Luna
the moth of my moon
sent to me,
this I am sure

my beautiful Luna
feminine lady
I am astounded at her

if you don't know her
you really should
she only lives here to love

Luna my Luna
thank you grandmother
sent to me from up above,

she is a totem of time from before
sacred of sacred is she
Luna my Luna thank you for coming
thank you for rescuing me,

I will remember your sacrifices
given unselfish for free
I will be looking for all other signs too
I will be looking to see

exactly how beautiful
this great big experience is here,
so that I can retell it
in all its true
glory an splendor
undebted to the past
to you again one day.

Ma Cherie © 2017

And when I lay dying on floorboards
Totems planked like Tetris
I, liver, gut, blood
Cried my psyche spare me
We all glow like embers
When we start to burn from the inside

And when I lay dying on floorboards
What did we talk about?
Lazarus, you black angel
Why do you linger so
Painful on the edge
Of death and the veil?

Talk to me
It’s just me, it’s just me
It’s just me, it’s just me
And all the awful things you say
It’s just me
It’s just me
It’s just me
It's just me

The first time
I heard them
I swear,
I was to listening
to the most beautiful choir
in four-part harmony,
swaying
or angles wings rubbing,
& perfectly, playing
a common file instrument
angled, such a unique sound
symphonic & splendorous
they are all around
this free concert
an offering of
Mother Nature
chiming at once
uncaged,
& calling on the ladies
in perfect unison  
sounding like church
telling one another
of sunlit hours
say the flowers
fending off evil spirits
allowing me to travel
into the dark again
leaping over obstacles,
alerting me to danger,
still in their silence
  I am protected
by this harbinger of luck
a most powerful portent,
of coming things
they sit silently in the quiet,
like a copper cricket weathervane,
as the poor man's thermometer
spinning tales effortlessly,
in the wind calmly
  watching over us
a shivering in the night
save you, are mine
my Native American totem
or God's Cricket Chorus
foretelling of Sorrow
of coming rains tomorrow
ex-lovers and death
a shrill creaking
stridulating in song

Oh, I fear that day,
your music should go away
please dear uncaged cricket choir
  I truly ....
   hope you'll stay.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

Gitano yawned,
stretching out under
the shrine of Öli.

Here he plotted
and hid a mouthful
of secrets; and the Lord
watched over him
as he slept.

He plotted,
for coyote wisdom
is disguised by folly
and cunning
and guile.

All about, the vermilion
stain of Mars. The coyote
chuckled mischievously,
dreaming at the feet
of the Master and Judge.

Above,
a ziggurat raised
to the Goddess.

Two great black eagles
circled in a sky
of dry roses and lilacs.

La Santisima Muerte
stood at a distance,
yet bore Gitano
in Her *****.

His mischiefs were scribed
upon a cartouche
to amuse gods
and teach men;

Yet men are not
so easily taught
as gods are amused;

For men have not yet
learned to believe
what makes them laugh.

And so Gitano sleeps,
and talks while he sleeps;
wherefore the Ways
of mischief and trickery
were laid bare.

The secret is to teach
at the expense
of innocence.

Certain illusions persist;
they must be shattered,
but their thrall
can only be broken
by design.

Whether bitterness
takes root in the wake
of the shattering
is not Gitano's concern.

Because sometimes
realization can only come
through being made a fool,
revealed to ourselves
as absurd.

Angry at our own foolishness,
we blame the one
who denudes it.
The coyote, too, is a Fool.

A Fool can learn,
shaping destiny
by taking responsibility.
Through death a Fool
becomes wise,
seeing the joke.

The burden of karma
is left to those
who cannot laugh.

Man grits his teeth,
his brow furrowed.
He despairs.

Gitano chuckles,
unperturbed.

When we met,
you made my heart wet.
Like morning dew of hope,
from Heaven, chemistry crept,
with hope and regret
of everything you may
and may not get.
Your faculties tasted me
in anticipation...
How my eyes' light
might look in your bed,
how my words ringing
swam in your head.
You perked me up like sweet grass,
onto my taste buds you bled.
Our souls danced
and sang in embrace.
When we parted they said,
Well if that's that,
mission accomplished.
Whether covert or conscious,
whether or not
she even calls him,
we have loved once again.
Less a natural reaction,
more an inexplicable combustion.
From that day on it was destined,
from admiration swapped and accepted,
We could never return
to who we'd been.

I lay atop the grass with Cecily,
taking in the sun anew.
He calls down,
Come see what I've done now,
come see this new tattoo!
   Eh.
I'm rather proud!  
   Not now cuz, I'm busy.
Oh come now, it's profound!
A portrait of Edgar Allen Poe!
   Speaking of poets,
   I'm quite in the middle
   of an epic something...
   DO YOU MIND?!  
It's realllllly good though!  
   Oh, fine.
I plod my *** up the stairs
in the heat and reach the balcony.
I'm blown out of the water.
He's right, it's a masterpiece!
Edgar's soul ringing out
through skin to me!  
   Oh, wow.
   You know,
   he owns my favorite poem.
Which is that?  
   A dream within a dream.
Ah yes,
the canvas muses,
reciting a verse,
just like music.
Well isn't this canvas kindred!  
The length of his cigarette
the duration of time we quip.
Back and forth, our own prose.
He says not to kiss your ***,
but you are quite moving my soul.  
You are inspiring me,
the way you tie emotions to paper,
in utter splendor.  
Smoke break over,
to return to mechanical buzzing.
His eyes sincere,
I'd like to share,
hear more your words.
   And I yours! I descend stairs,
with Godson in towe.
Are you of this town?
   Yes, for now.
As am I, you should take my digits.
   OK!  
I'm still descending.
   Oh, right..
pulling out my phone.
    I'm a stickler for full names,
   what are you called?
   Oh, I'm Italian too!  
Well, I'm Sicilian, it's quite a difference.
   Oh is it now?
******* elitist.
Handsome though.
We'll see where this goes...