| | Patchworking lines for the BrothersPage 14 of 32 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32) | And this one from Lyriclovers stanza songs.
Thorb left the first line, challenges us he does...
Then watch the dance of dust reduction
drumming the earth with our soul
wave the rhythms with body instruction
and dance the dance in it’s whole
lovers of Gaia give back of your heat
and dance her delighted tonight
The stars are aligned and the fever is high
For dancing the blue moonlight | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 5/31/2007 8:15:23 PM | It belongs in the Mothers thread too. It was her I was thinking of.
The storm has passed leaving brightened greenery
Charged with lightning.
Lady bugs landing lightly upon the limbs of grace
score their red dice with patterns from a foreign land.
Cherry blossoms send their secrets to the wind
Who has finally learned the language,
from the Trade winds off Africa’s coast.
Land washed Clean.
Like after a sweatlodge.
White mans footsteps,
we called plantain,
but use it’s medicine anyway.
Good for Poison ivy,
If you’ve been trespassing.
Roadsides and gardens,
Manicured and pristine
Poisoned to keep the natives out.
Fill it in with loosestrife and English Ivy,
The other kind, the warriors,
They do their best
To stop the destruction.
Some people are immune to it still.
If not,
There’s plantain.
Timothy hay seed smothers the land
With its monocropping ignorance,
And the sacred sisters have been desecrated.
They’ve spliced the genes of the corn maidens gift.
Onata. The golden one.
Forgive us our lack of courage
For we did not speak out
And became weak
With the acceptance
Of apathy.
Asian beetles
Will take care of what’s left of the forests
And bird flu the rest.
Fish are dying
And even the protesting sacrifices of the whales
Cannot reach our compassion.
I fear, we did not keep stewardship here.
We became afraid, and forgot our power,
Forgot, that this is our paradise
And no one can own it.
Forgot how to hold our focus and intent without wavering
No matter what illusions are presented.
Like the Tibetans are showing us.
And the Mohawks.
And the New Yorkers
And South Americans
Where our greatest hope
Keeps strong
And alive.
We forgot our birthright
And it’s killing us. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 5/31/2007 9:31:52 PM |
I fear, we did not keep stewardship here.
We became afraid, and forgot our power,
Forgot, that this is our paradise
And no one can own it.
Forgot how to hold our focus and intent without wavering
No matter what illusions are presented.
Like the Tibetans are showing us.
And the Mohawks.
And the New Yorkers
And South Americans
Where our greatest hope
Keeps strong
And alive.
We forgot our birthright
And it’s killing us.
Every day it breaks my heart. Some days, I have some hope. . . .
 | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 5/31/2007 9:37:59 PM | Sometimes, on some moonlight nights, I know how she feels. The deep, deep sadness at the betrayal, of all she loved. Us. It breaks my heart into a thousand landscapes.
But there are other places where I know cell division is going on, on a very cosmic level. And we cannot, ever settle for less than bliss. For all. We have to change the world.
We have to change ourselves. We have to continue to love, and not grow old and bitter and lost of hope.
That is our only chance.
On such nights, I know this. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 5/31/2007 9:41:08 PM | She says it so much better. Gillian Welch- One Little Song
There’s gotta be a song let to sing
Cause everybody can’t of thought of everything
One little song that ain’t been sung
One little rag that ain’t been wrung out completely yet
Gotta a little left
One little drop of fallin rain
One little chance to try again
One little bird that makes it every now and then
One little piece of endless sky
One little taste of cherry pie
One little week in paradise and I start thinkin’
There’s gotta be a song left to sing
Cause everybody can’t of thought of everything
One little note that ain’t been used
One little word ain’t been abused a thousand times
In a thousand rhythms
One little drop of fallin rain
One little chance to try again
One little bird that makes it every now and then
One little piece of endless sky
One little taste of cherry pie
One little week in paradise and I start thinkin’
Gotta be a song left to sing
Cause everybody can’t of thought of everything
One little song that ain’t been sung
One little rag that ain’t been wrung out completely yet
Till there’s nothing left | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 5/31/2007 9:41:33 PM | | tonight all signs point to a new reality...........it is not so far off.....all the effort will pay off.......I truely believe | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 4:35:25 PM | I gotta work on my moon-tan
This Celtic skin of mine
Has gone all pasty and bland
Neath the clothes I wear in the sunshine
I need to soak up some moon-beams
To sooth this summer burn
Let them flow like aloe vera streams
A balm born of pagan dreams
Tonight,when the neighbors are sleeping
I'm dropping my robe on the lawn
Backyard leaping and streaking
Then I'll lay in the grassuntil dawn
How do I explain a moon-tan
To a hard-baked, bronze hard world?
It's the difference between practical flour
And luminesence of mother of pearl. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 4:41:34 PM |  I have three surrogate daughters, besides my birthed four. They grew up here, romping with my brown skinned girls, in their Celtic skin. I remember coming down the stairs one night where they were all sleeping with their Mom on the pull out couch. 4 pairs of bright red cheeks in a row in varying sizes from 2-36. After that, they had to wear clothes for the rest of the summer.
I am going to read them your moon tan poem. thank you. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 4:52:26 PM | Glad you likedit--I'm working on a longer "serious" version.
Its been a good day-productive, I've just been a poetry writing fool!
I've had a few dark nights of the soul lately-self-destructive -- considering
some demeaning compromises just to get alittle human contact. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 5:00:11 PM | Write poetry.
You know.
There are threads here for every mood,
and actual support too.
Good people here. Glad you joined us.
Love your stuff girl,
and I think....
it is the ability to go that deep, that makes a good poet.
Landscapers of the soul,
Cartographers of spirit and will,
We have to know these places in ourselves,
so we can begin to share all those places with each other.
Bring a little light in.
I am convinced,
utterly convinced,
that as we bring consciousness into the dark,
abandoned
places within ourselves,
stuff in the bigger picture begins to come to light,
and Gapped places here in the every day world
begin to heal,
in exact co-relation,
to each persons deep work.
Go there.
Just don't forget that it is only part of you in there.
Go there,
and get her out. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 6:05:56 PM | Mother earth I beseech you to consider the consequences of such naked display of
free spirit. Of course I agree with most of those thoughts - perhaps dreams at times but blackbird soul we cannot go skinny dipping in the neighbours pool!! Now the twins of tender years and bikinis are always welcome for a swim in fact they have been adopted by the neighbour to adorn his pool with hot chicks but those of us who at times must pretend that we are in charge well if it was my old pool I could be free to do what I wanted and enjoy every minute of it and in fact did many times. Plan B - think plan B. Deck surrounded by trees under the umbrella and twinkling fairy lights every where with lanterns too - perhaps music and wine go back in time to the same people as we were at 17 - that is expected. Kids would understand that. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 6:14:35 PM | K, I'll leave my hat on. Just tell your neighbors it's your long lost sister from the country, and she has no city manners. What will they think when I pee on their grass?  | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 6:56:56 PM | ^^^^^^^
when my neighbors moved in beside me I was used to living by her old mother, who was wheelchair bound and seldom came outside. My first thought was, "Dang, now I have to go inside when I'm mowing the lawn." Before I just hopped off and went behind the house..... | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 7:44:59 PM | | I'm getting far too domesticated in my tender years - out in the woods is one thing without a soul in sight especially in the snow but Ravin you forget I was born in your neck of the woods so I still have some of the country in the city. I don't doubt Brizo and Ravin we all could survive if we went back in time. Just have to substitute the bubble baths by candlelight to a dip in the pond at night.hehehe | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 7:58:38 PM | All this bathroom talk, and me with mine still under renovation. The outhouse is out in the vegetable fields, a few minutes walk. We shower at friends and relatives, and yea YMCA gym passes!
I'm dreaming bathtubs...one more week.
But I do love outdoor baths the best.
Cast iron tub in the moonlight
Hot rocks added to steam
Set in the sand by the water
In a sweet scented bath of my dream
Cedar is added for purity
Lavender added for ease
Sweet almond oil for softness
And ylangylang for tease
The breeze from the ocean is warming
The stars overhead align
I soak in the peaceful bath waters
In the sweet scented bath in my mind. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 8:44:58 PM | Going back in time when youth was daring and free
I remember the rolling waves and teasing breeze
of a deserted beach under the full moon
where a few of us shed our clothes
and let the waves wash all our sins away
we played as children
innocent to any danger
feet touching the murky bottom
as we bathed in the true expression of a spirit's flight
into ecstasy of a perfect light
smelling of nature's breath. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 11:06:26 PM | i'm loving the moon poetry sisters
beauty beyond compare
moon tan
moon bath
blue moon
goddess of the moon
when the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie
calling down the moon
to my lap
and holding her tenderly
for one night a month
as she cradles me always.
earth mom - i'd love to read your 'more serious' version of your moon tan poem... | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 11:11:02 PM | | there's a tree in our neighbourhood that's bigger than all the others. a douglas fir. it towers over the hemlocks, cedars and maples nearby. I love that tree. two years ago it used to be surrounded by others - some even taller. but then the subdivisions began appearing. behind us, beside us, across the street, down the road and up the hill. we no longer live on a narrow dead-end road surrounded by forested acreages. progress has introduced sidewalks, street lights and four bath retirement homes. we still have the old claw foot tub in the back yard and bathe under the rays of the moon... | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/5/2007 11:21:12 PM | from favourite colour.....
laundry off the line
slight scent of lime
on the vine
whitest golden green
so pale it can hardly be seen
like newly arrived
wings.
linens sweetened with bloom
of wisteria perfume
and rustling leaves.
A hologram
of sun, sky and air
really more like a prayer
creates a melee
of true energy.
a warm yellow hue
with a fond touch of blue
quickens the flow
that sweetens my pillow
with fragrance of willow,
newly scythed lawn
and
fleeting joy of dawn,
fresh breeze and sea spume
fills my lover’s room
with aroma of saints
and baby’s breath faint.
slight presence of
fern fronds greenly sweep
while naïvely we sleep
for this clement
and heaven sent
moment. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/6/2007 12:01:39 PM | | I was admiring the flow of that in eyeguys colour therapy. Glad you stuck it in here too. Ya Red Earth Momma has us all thinking moonbaths. Got really cold here though. I need a warmer place to hang out at night. Less mosquitoes would be nice too. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/7/2007 8:01:47 AM | Waiting by the river
Sitting on the shore
Been waiting by the river
But he don’t come no more
I see the osprey fishing
And watch the eagles fly
Sun now in the zenith
Will be setting by and by
Wasted time spent hoping
That dreams could all come true
Get in my boat and sail away
And make my own dreams do
Been waiting by the river
Sitting on the shore
Done with Edens apple
I toss away the core. | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/7/2007 8:08:47 AM | I toss away the core
But I saved the rest.
To feed my flock
Still in the nest
Not wasting time
I soar the sky
I see it all
Thru eagle’s eye | |
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| Patchworking lives for the Mother
Posted: 6/7/2007 8:17:26 AM | Thru Eagle's eye I'm looking
The landscape spread below
Creators hands are forming
In ways I do not know
Past and future interweave
As centuries provide
Abstract possibilities
Amoung the turns of tide
Life is such a wonder
When you let mystery unfold
Dreams await discovery
The best stories yet to be told. | |
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