"droplet" poems
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets
Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire
Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet
Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song bird's chorus
And the blissful sun
Bask in it
And relax
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Out here there are no hearthstones,
Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry.
And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly
On the mind's eye erecting a line
Of poplars in the middle distance, the only
Object beside the mad, straight road
One can remember men and houses by.
A cool wind should inhabit these leaves
And a dew collect on them, dearer than money,
In the blue hour before sunup.
Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow,
Or those glittery fictions of spilt water
That glide ahead of the very thirsty.
I think of the lizards airing their tongues
In the crevice of an extremely small shadow
And the toad guarding his heart's droplet.
The desert is white as a blind man's eye,
Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird
Doze behind the old maskss of fury.
We swelter like firedogs in the wind.
The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie
The heat-cracked crickets congregate
In their black armorplate and cry.
The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother,
And the crickets come creeping into our hair
To fiddle the short night away.
30.8k
.
It's here again...
Heavy downpour...
I inhaled the rain,
cloying with petrichor.
Standing at my window,
looking out...
Street lamps struggled aglow.
People with brollies walking about.
My eyes reached out to the heavens,
tracing these glassy beads
as they'd free fall...
Falling by the sheets,
the pattering hastens,
periodically punctuated
by the thunder's call.
Mind is drifting and floating,
intently listening to a
million love wishes...
Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
In light entrapped splashes.
Raindrops descend and come,
into my still life tonight...
Won't you will me numb,
with your chilly bite...
Wide-eyed enamour...
Catching a stray droplet or two.
Riding the tail of a zephyr,
finding a place where
no trouble could ensue.
An errant gust blew
to meet with me.
The refreshing moist
meets my parted lips...
Inhaling deep in this reverie...
Into a sea of tranquillity,
my mind slowly dips...
Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
I would savour each and every one.
If the moist wind came and caresses
I would meet it in a tight embrace
till the break of sun.
What a sight...
Almost surreal it seems...
As the light from the surrounding
lamps dances playfully...
Dispersing and exploding into a
barrage of shattered beams.
Before it gets subdued in the drops
caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...
The drops would trickle
and fall before merging,
forming stranded puddles
unable to flow...
Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
An image...
Borne out of a fantastic show.
An image of beating hearts,
overlapping one another...
Speaking of consequential love
and feelings so true
Intertwined...
in the promise of forever...
Slowly retrieving itself into an...
image of you...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
A bit off the heel and a bit off the toe,
It won't hurt very much, and they're pretty, you know.
I've got the perfect pair of shoes for you,
All you need is some fitting- an inch off or two.
A slice of skin here and a little blood there,
These are the most beautiful shoes you could wear.
Let you go? Heavens no!
I admire you so
With your perfect physique
And your delicate feet.
Oh it's only a smidgen, a droplet of blood!
Come now dear, no one's fond of a stick in the mud.
Come- rush to the ball and we'll all have such fun!
On second thought, maybe you, ah... shouldn't run...
It's worth it, though, isn't it? These beautiful shoes.
And darling, they look so exquisite on you.
There now, not so bad, and they fit perfectly,
All you needed was just a little surgery.
Now let's off to the ball and you'll dance all night long.
No silly, don't cry, you've got it all wrong!
I told you- you're beautiful just how you are,
Now come on and stop whining, you don't have to walk far.
But you see, there's no daughter, or stepmom, or shoes.
There's none of those things- there is me and there's you.
And you've got this idea of what I'm s'posed to be,
And as hard as I try, I'm not her, love, I'm me.
I'm afraid that no matter how much pain I bear,
I just don't fit in the shoes you are making me wear.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Outside of a bar in a North Carolina strip mall, stone cold sober because I am scared to use my fake, I feel drunk as you sit next to me. Perhaps I am. I'd have to be to think maybe, maybe, maybe, when I know, I know, I know.
Your hand brushes against mine, and you're saying the most beautiful words I've ever heard, and the fire in my heart spreads up, down, left, right. But it cannot spread just four inches outside of my body. It cannot set you on fire, too.
We listen to each other and hear two very different things. You are birdsong outside of my window that I am eager to hear; I am traffic outside of your window you've learned to tune out at bedtime.
If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, then Beijing is my insides and bicycles are your name, because it is written on my insides nine million times. But there are no bicycles on Antarctica. There is no use for them there, just as there's no use for my name to be perched on a straight girl's ribs.
You tell me my weird hobby of listening to French rap music is awesome, that it's so cool that I'm teaching myself three languages, and that you want to be me when you grow up - I laugh, because you're several years older than me. Selfishly I catch every droplet of your praise. I ruminate on it for hours, for days. It means more to me than it should.
My name sounds like a compliment from your mouth. I try not to say yours too often, so you don't grow tired of me being around. If I can't set your insides on fire, I want you to want to be my friend. Even that feels like I ask for too much.
In every scene, I see you in the foreground of the narrative. For me, it would be on honor to be one of your background characters. Narratives are richer with them anyway.
I look at you and you are the Harry Potter movie marathon I wait months for. For you, I am the 2 am infomercial you fell asleep to. But I don't mind half as much as I should. Even white noise has its place in someone's life.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
^
Be
Bliss
Beseech
Sensual healing
Remote vibrations
Contemporary beliefs
Dissolve within a great force
Of electro magnetic Sun's charge
Fantasy ride over the ridge on the horizon's
Flickering tales and there aware beauty satiates long lost
Trust in human kindness which is unmasked is a true longing
Immense need borne into a trembling moment revealing thy
Love energy is dancing as one giant leap in the realms of
Levitation on my shy sound wings as they soar magnificent
Wondering why thy tiny serene particles open
Everlasting desire to be as one luminous
Mandelbrot's rainbow reflection on
Edges of a pure cosmic droplet
Effervescent dark magic is
This darkest intelligent
Deep pertinet gaze
Absolutly free
Yearnin'
For
I
°
***E
A
R
T
H
Di
vine
To
Bl
os
s
om
A
***
N***
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
A normal kind of guy
Just the guy
No cosmologist
Sans Christian
********* the droplet suns
Distant in the blackened sky
Gotta 'and'er some
The bristled gristle
The cryogenic iris
Steel teeth gnashing
Right-toe left
Ardent in an autobiography
Good man
Soft man
Locomoted his GMC
to the Sea
Thought maybe
With precise aim he
could undertow away
paradise.
No pick-me-ups
In copper-channels
That Ionized the pick-up-truck
With archaea iron
that ugly duck
Reminiscent of the man
In all but--
A castaway
Stowaway
The man who never hesitates
Bop upon the interstate
Lost within
concritical maze
Shoring up
Going home
Giving up
Turned to stone
Marble chin
Solumn grin
Chlidren sing
Seeking wings
How'd he know
Where to go
Will he see
What it means?
He's the guy
The one with the lollipop lap
Licking the syrup off the lip
Of a sweet polished sapphire
Gin
And the kids
My god
They think he
ODYSSEUS
And his dog not yet
Dead but depressive in the gloom
Howling into the midnight grass
And the creatures that stalk
With their ******* youth
Soon their weight will hit the deck
And like a noose,
Break the joints
The planks of which would stress
And bend his eyes upon his head.
God willing
Should he be exhumed
His energies excape to the river
And float,
Penultimate,
into the sea.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
The snow glimmers like diamonds, each falling flake sparkling in its own array of prismatic colors. The sky, clear and blue, is sprinkled with these small gems.
breathe in.
The air is cool and crisp, stinging her nose on every intake, but filling her lungs with clean fresh air.
breathe out.
Little puffs of steam flow from her mouth and into the world, each little droplet tumbling over another as they scramble to explore this new universe, until they vanish completely from sight.
breathe in.
The soft breeze drifts carelessly over the snow, leaving an icy touch in its wake.
breathe out.
The thumps of her heart increase and fill her ears as she approaches the gate.
breathe in.
The thumps become steady, a rhythmic beat to keep the time.
breathe out.
Three. The hand goes up.
breathe in.
Two.
silence.
One. It drops.
breathe out
She is gone.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.
* * *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?
* * *
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.
* * *
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.
* * *
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.
* * *
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.
* * *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
*
The fume
A thick dark fumy cloud
Dormant it lies, but often loud
Precariously overhead, it flowed
The sunshine of the life, it swallowed
It rained, challenged by the mighty peak
In the heart, It pained, to see it weak
The cloud was small but heavy
However dusty and floaty.
The doom and gloom
Embracing in its shadow
In desert, plains and meadow
Eclipsing the days, sunny bright
Dreadful, with the darkening night
With me, always hanging around
When noticed, nearby it's found
Haunting me with a sadness
Flaunting its darkness
A lot in the cloud explored
Then consciously, It was ignored
But dancing at the back of the mind
Past hurts and pains, it put to rewind
The boom and bloom
And then, letting it flow across, I got immersed,
In fine tiny droplets, the cloud
dispersed,
Now each droplet addressed
separately
Was dried in the shiny sun
completely
All of the cloud, dripped to
evaporate
Condensed eventually, as
distillate
My pains, by that elixir,
cured,
Alchemised me
into
24 carat gold
*
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
*The world where I stood was a desert
thirsty for a pint of rain;
longing for a kiss that never came.*
Not until you did.
Everything started with a droplet of your essence,
Out of nowhere. Unexpected.
YOU... yes you MANIFESTED.
*Without notice, you took me by surprise.
A beautiful surprise I say.
For the first time in a while I felt,
my worries washed away by your presence.
Hot sand turned mud where then I lay.
In those moments I lost,
all anxieties brought by drought.
When through the years I thought
I'd never touch the rain I ought
to ardently pray for every night.
Imbued I was with your* "love".
clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk.
*your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle.
This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle.
Moments passed faster than it seemed.
I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.*
I slurped. I gulped. I glugged.
*as much as I could, never thinking of
what I would drink in the latter.
When the land runs dry;
when then again,* I'm deprived of water.
*So then, what caught me by surprise,
left without a word... woah,* SURPRISE!
everything turned back the way it was;
an arid heart in a blink of an eye.
*But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense,
of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;*
I smell–
*Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour.
My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck.
A waft that distorts the senses of this* consumed man.
Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone...
Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
I like to stare listlessly
At the night sky for long
Durations of time, as if my
Gaze will compel the stars
To align to breathtaking ends.
Alas, they stay put,budge they
Don’t, a sneer streaks my
Face as my pride’s hurt.
And a tear droplet materializes
On the corner of my eye.
Maybe the moon prefers her
Star friends to remain as they’re.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
for Alyssa Underwood
~~~
my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!
yet, they do not die
they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday
somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words
I like this
when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance
these statements are neither boastful or illusory,
*yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,*
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me
all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,
Holy Crap! did I write that?
copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
It’s the kind of subtle trickle
That turns the asphalt into a glassy mirror
Ripples, ripples, ripples
Over it like a black pond
The silver lining of each little droplet
Streaking the sky with shades of gray
The streetlights cast an amber glow
Upon the shimmering mist
Hiss, hiss, hiss
Against your stinging flesh
Turn your face up towards the darkened sky
Let the rainfall and streetlights wash away the dust
The dust of the souls you carry on your lips and cheeks
Etched into your back and palms
Their burdens may cause you aches and pains
Let the rainfall and streetlights wash them away
Rainfall and streetlights
Rainfall and streetlights
An urban confessional
Where the sky leans in to listen
As every perfect drop of water hits your skin
It’s the sound of a cleansing
Only you can comprehend
And although the hope of purity may have been swept away
by the wind of unfixable mistakes
It’s still the belief alone in possible redemption
That keeps you from relenting to temptation
Drink up the tears of the sky, child
You are forgiven
You were always forgiven
After all
Paths were made to be strayed from
Straight lines are mundane, they all look the same
And never give a little boy glass when you haven’t taught him
how to grasp what’s right in front of him
When he drops it
It’s a dangerous job
Picking up the sharp shattered pieces
Do not make him do it all alone
Yes, inevitably you will cut yourself
On the broken shards
Crimson teardrops
If they tumble from you
Do not distrust your calluses
You made them through your own hard work and suffering
But they can only do so much for you
Remember your skin is a shell not impenetrable armor
So it’s best to avoid the things you know will cut unnecessarily deep
Bleeding is just another way your body assures you that your heart is still beating
Looking up from the gutter the universe awaits you child
Do you not realize what’s at your fingertips?
Infinity
So don’t give in just yet
Let the rainfall and streetlights heal you
Drip drop, drip drop
Let them bathe you in warmth
Radiating
Let the rainfall and streetlights take you away
To a better place
Wherever that may be
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.
Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.
The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.
Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.
Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.
Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.
The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal
sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.
Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
You are the wilted flower in the sea of the dead…
The last beautiful sign of a world forgot –
Your beauty stretches beyond the words,
Tipping over the cliffs of tongues,
Crashing into the abyss and swallowed –
Eaten whole,
Forgotten…
You are the last droplet of sun,
Kissing the horizon as you asunder from the day –
Leaving your taste in the sky,
Painted with the colors of your soul…
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
*coloured flames and fireflies dance mischievously around our heads
to the tiny trumpetsong of bees Joyous songs of love lulling all in revery yet silent to
mere mortals as We only hear the hush of whispered sighs stood beneath the dappled canopy of
ancient fair oak spread As sweet twilight greets us again swathing our Ianthe in milky moonlight
as she rests upon a dew jewelled knoll still dreaming of fae Unaware of the cold (or the warmth
you hold in your heart for her) She smiles as you cover her shoulders with a elven~made
blanket of gossamer wisp whilst estivating toads blink wide in the coolness of hidden
mossy beds Gently,
sweep the droplet
of Au from her eye, Deva,
as we cough etheric dust from our lungs,
sparkles floating
in the paper-
lantern light
scattering across
the midnight sky,
illuminating fates,
as those fire-flies hearts
twinkle like falling stars unseen*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Here come Jupiter child,
You can hear the flowers crying as they plead for her to stay a while,
She just collided with and intergalactic asteroid,
But things were only created never destroyed,
In the dark cool tunnels she found some pretty moon shrooms,
sheltering growing seahorses wrapped in loose water droplet cocoons,
Now towards earth you hear her come,
Within the clouds she beats her tribal drums,
The ocean sways and swells to the time of her rhythm and sound,
Reaching deep into the sea forest to whales traveling homebound,
She wears stars framed in turquoise,
Like the kokopelli she gives birth to planets with grace and poise,
Here comes Jupiter child, dread locks wound with comets,
extracts from the universe, she mixes matter-less tonics,
Recipes rooted deep in wizardry,
she borrows knowledge from indians and aztecs to cure all misery,
Her meteor showers made of her salty tears,
Are earth's dream catcher, snaring all nighttime fears.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
I trace her swollen lips with my fingers, feeling the slick warmth as her wetness drips, thick and inviting. Each delicate droplet clings to her soft, plump curves, her body ripe with unspoken need. My touch lingers, savoring the weight and the heat, grounding me in the raw intimacy of the moment. Every nerve in my body hums with desire, my **** hard and aching, desperate for the warmth that only she can provide—a blanket of pure ecstasy.
Her **** glistens, kissed by my spit, a delicate pearl shimmering in the dim light. My tongue dances around her sensitive tip, teasing, tracing tiny circles that spark pleasure through her body like waves crashing against the shore. She moves with me, riding the rhythm, each flick of my tongue sending her hips into a frenzy. The heat between us is magnetic, every breath and motion charged, tantalizing and electric.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 4:55 PM UTC
The rain resembles the pitter-patter of your words.
Each droplet— a syllable.
The chill— your breath.
I trace the streams of water
trickling down the windowpane
the same way I yearn
to run my fingers
down your skin.
I breathe in the scent wafting off the soil
and my insides warm.
The grey skies are calming,
yet electric,
as your gaze.
The drumming on the rooftop
whispers me to sleep,
gently,
as I allow my mouth to form around
the precipice of your name.
I can almost taste you.
I'm flooded with my longing to bury myself in you.
*Drown me in your storm.
Drench me with your words*.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 4:30 AM UTC
The impetus
Of being
Always on the run
Through pinwheel eyes
Those standing by
The mystic roadway : River
Blues yet to be brushed
or in blush
Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockfull O'
Wonder
Then ponder
Yonder "window breaks"
Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
Umber earth
Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself / a soundtrack
Listen now
Pedestrian be
Mindful of the cautionary whales
Old Ahab’s yell
Obsessions
Fears
Or loathing.
If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
widely
Blithely
Down river
Or up there beyond finger's point
Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
Now only a line
Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
Evanescent
Effervescent
Ever after
River. Life.
Here we are
And proud
The free spirit is fluent
With the rapid rivers loud
Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
How then,
When or why
does it end ?
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
Will lead to the high art /
love's deep oceans...
We often forget to seek
And mind
the sublimations/
d¬¬rift wood.
So then,
Begin with a dot .
A speck of dusk
A burst of light
A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
Raging fragility of water
Liquid undulations
Folding itself in / volumes
Or falling from on high
A droplet cry
Then the lightning
(crash or bloom)
From the heavens
like electric rivers
So brilliantly
Festoons
Where do we go (so low)
There and here / underfoot /
Over north / southern sleep
To oceans twilight deep?
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no.
Up
Way
Up yonder
There up there
Everywhere
All without fear...
My heart like the river yearns
To go toward the sun
A flow /
the beating drum
Always on the run
And
Yet
Still
Here.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
something stirred and alive came forth
out of my own heart it spoke
*all creation is of equalities
sister brother relations
here is truth*
not to let it pass untested
i made an agreement
with belief
*blade of summer grass
teach me
dust speck
gold starshine
water droplet
prisms
fortuitous spider
i hear your messages*
spider moved in her sun-sparkled circle
she threw me spider kisses
but when i gave her kisses back
some voice came booming
*humanity is the golden crown
of god's achievement*
and the spirit of these words then took flight,
transversed my landscape,
crossed an ocean's width of time
and dropped under the waves
with the natural weight
its distorted truth
practices of superiority
of ********** of killing exploitation
rose from the collective--
flashed their white lightening
but struck counter--
diluting dissolving disarming
greediness and favoritism
manipulation and lies
expectation of privilege
so called divine right
a voice it came again
so that greater love
may have heard itself
*all creation is conscious
all is alive all are equal*
*none is better or worse
than another*
remember this
to practice
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 3:48 PM UTC