Rising Out of Ashes: A Cinderella Story

“…beginning anew once again…”

Slivered moon
on horizon’s breast
resigns yielding easily
to dawn splitting skies of
blue velvety night
bringing consciousness
to graceful mindfullness
and slow, easy breaths from her soft warm thinning shell

Shaking off worn cotton pillow impressions
on warm rosy  cheeks
Wiley tendrils of tussled hair
Shift now reluctantly from their lazy ways position

Catching dreams
webbed but spider free glimpses begin catching onto
her soul’s awakening
a brief flash of fears
gives way as
her eyes adjust
to light again ever so slowly

Mist spills over the leaves scattering upon the ground by canyon birds’ stretching wings then twirling into breezes gentle with hope of the new day

Light tripping into fantastic melding into mother nature’s dancing beyond window pane and glory is this new day

Determined and bound no more to spinning mind the rabbit hole backfilled or a rabid nest of thoughts wing clipped
where once prior with treacled brimstone weighing her down, its hold briefly relinquished now lifting wing in currents free

setting her momentarily able
to exhale in a
deep, deep sigh and reaching upward within a drifting splitting cloud she finds her soul
reaquanting with relief
recognizing,

remembering

recalling


she is worthy of wings that soar.

Gathering up her bones
once more again
to look past self-induced paradigms and prophecies
her mode of survival having been what once
all too familiar, has shorted her sight in hindsight now her eyes wide shut now see

Beginning anew once again putting on rose colored glasses, once shattered and lost, that she
once had upon a time
not too long ago,
adorning them strong, proud, sparkling easily in falsehoods she sees absolute truth absolutely

Hence, another eeking out visions of
the good
in life
in her life
in herself
despite circumstances

Reminding herself
her inner fortitude
Oh
No
oh no one will give her what she needs but herself
Being strong is not un-wise nor weak

her gentle inner nature emerges

cracking through shell.


Slowly seeing clearly
the writing on the wall now on this early days’ break
Tells the truth of the story

in whole not just sum of parts

Waiting no more for the knights in shining armor riding high on white stallions
To save her from herself
Oh, seeing
The charm has fallen from the bloom yet remains a rose as sweet thorns and all


Oh, yes, ’tis sweetly fallen that the lift begins

Where once she sought this white horse saviour to challenge her dragons,
now seeks herself hoping still they ride side by side
into twilights beyond equal measure

Or not


Regardless she will ride, ride, ride

Riding out of the dark forest and into fields of wild lilies she may even see the light is from within
Without doubt
With true herself

As Rome burns in her heart,
Leaving scars so deep you could taste them
The knife now pulled from her back

as it was once said……

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer

Realizing now herself as her own worst enemy

As a large gypsy moth flutters in the breaking light the world now disturbed and unsettled
She relates

Change is constant
Best not to resist
With dew lagging behind as heat of sun approaches
And yearning for cloak of night’s return both realize
Fate’s finger may have been fickle but has a pleasant surprise for them both

Just the eve before
dawnswings danced around  lamp light burning low but steady set carefree, unfettered unaware of burning light

Realizing she has been drawn in, a shift begins to occur

Seeing challenges, more than most could bear, around every flickering beam of candle’s glow, she resists the temptation to crash and burn like she almost did

She offers solace and a soft place for to land in the palm of her hand and ponders a proclivity to suffer though she need not to
Letting the flutters into the underside of sheltering leaves

Whatever happens in this world is of her own devices

Seeing that there may limits only they are up to her

Though at first early dawn tears woke and startled her from slumber a certain peace and ease begins to emerge.

Nothing new under the sun this crazy feeling of maybes and per chances.
To redirect and rise above the danger triumphant is her renewed motto.

Love, of self, will save her from the shackles set up like moats once dreary and dank, she tells herself

Love, of self,  like you have never been hurt, is tatamount to thriving beyond surviving, she tells herself

Love, of self, and others will follow, she tells herself

Take it easy and breathe.
Stay away from the flame yet seek the light, she tells herself. Offer solace with your own hand, she tells herself.

Find the road less travelled, the one that brings you towards yourself, she tells herself.

Stand up for and with yourself and hold your head up high, she repeats over and over and over and again over again until it becomes more than familiar but real

Holding her heart open
She leaps with faith willingly reluctant but earnestly resisting the urge to crash and burn again

Allowing her heart cycles to resign to ash then yearn repair is simply no longer an option

Shifting thoughts like burning campfire coals now slowly, she begins trusting, knowing, faithfully believing her soul is her best guide away from the embers and settling ashes

she sees that she won even in losing

Big Minded Little Town

“…patience is generally not my virtue…”

Dwelling along the river town with some like minded bohemians, dreamers and little fish with grand hopes I find human behavior curious

Regarding various out-of-town gadabout’s minor cruelty and indifference to the size of ponds they come to splash about in disredarding efforts of hospitality slightly shocking

Patience is generally not my virtue

but here among the kindly locals

standing in queue at the local market, shifting from leg to leg

doesn’t ever really hassle me in this land of revolving open doors

Calmly staying in the moment watching people and keeping my cool

when most submit tenaciously puffing themselves up

to the me, me, me, me-ness

of this crazy world now-ness

clamoring to claim the day their own huffing

Mine mine mine

Me me me

Gimme gimme gimme

Now, now, now

wielding steady breaths instead I surrender to the serenity that can be found in the

How it is

There it is

What it is

And just breathe

Relating to the cashier

Her mundane day after day after day

Along with the callous contact from others

Their confusion between service and servitude

As if she is but a shadow

Rendering her a cash cow, if you will

Dismissing her humanity for sake of their rush-rush-rushing

Her eyes hold a certain bored sadness now

Resigning to her condition once vibrant

Fathoms from her ballerina princess dreams

Complacent now talking of paper or plastic

Hindering her true calling of dancing on a stage

Musing of what life she may endure after closing

Perhaps a mother of three with one in her future

Wondering where the shoes will come from

Or maybe an ex-con just trying to

Make it out of the game……….barely

Waiting on you while during your search for exact change

She asks if you found everything alright as the manager

Hovers near by with keys and a quasi dead smile

Knowing not of her true calling during the night after the day-to-day

Wielding a clipboard with lunch breaks and sales ploys

Maybe her days off are spent as an aspiring artist

Reconstructing her life out of the boxes

From long lost loves’ letters

Rekindling her soul inspiring a fire

Moving the dust bunnies to the back burner for now

Until just yesterday it seemed

She wandered unfettered

Alive then fate thrust her into the first job she could find

And damn, she wishes it were different

Understanding that this her reality now

We stand en masse with whine and complaints

Tapping our heels and staring at our watches

Chattering on our cellphones without consideration

Declaring: This Is Long ENOUGH

Why don’t they open up another checkstand for us to stand???

Easily overlooking the humanity of this human before us

We cannot ever see her broken heart

When time is of our essence

And she is of no real concern save giving us change and the proper receipt

Each of us should really

Decidely

Slow

The

Fuck

Down

Let us for a moment with benefit of no doubt

Imagine it were you in her uncomfortable shoes

Clamoring for a life just this side of existing

Beyond basically surviving, yearning to connect

Longing for a life beyond making change and small talk

Possibly, to truly have a happy day, reach out a bit

Stand calmly in line gratefully knowing you’re closer to out the door than she

Take time out of your way and look in her eyes

Empathize with her involuntary human bondage

Ask that clerk, “So, how is your day? Really?” waiting for her answer

You may even not only really brighten her day, but yours

Really.

The Storm Before the Calm

“…the tears begin to dry…”


Falling like a house of cards under thumb of gentle breeze
From murderous crows spanning talon and wing
Flocked from nests once nigh on high now low
The Red Queen saw heart and soul scatter to the floor
Shattering up pieces of her distant past
Her blood begins to boil as the tears begin to dry
Through thick and thin she cursed the days blessed and sweet
Was a upon a time a man, a prince among men once
now straddled upon a tarnished throne
Where once thought sage of tried and true
Near a hearth once warm and safe
She found him now mere mortal man
As she adjusted her crown

Fully a Woman

“…edges once ruffled up by life…”

The thick cool winter is deep, slow and steady

and like it,

she is becoming the woman 

she’s always desired.

Weathering inner

storms that once resembled tornado alleys

delighted now by new touch

feathery and softening

edges once ruffled up by life 

gently easing and into a smoothed out version

by laughter that’s known bitter

but simply got better.

Content with Rapunzel hair

greying at the temples,

with no longer need for towers,

enjoying an acquired taste for her body’s new softness in places where once firm enough to bounce any quarter 

quickly flipping

her embodiment of woman 

thriving now beyond survival

Embracing the embroidery of scars running across finely freckled sunkissed skin

as merely tattoos, 

only with better stories

of a deeper meaning

worn gently badges in testimony

to being well worn but alive

She is becoming a woman who

knows she’s a warrior 

not a worrier

fully pledged standing in allegiance in fact,

that whatever comes,

she will endure.

She is becoming a deep worn

weathered basket

handled well, willing to carry anything with grace and gratitude despite how heavy

She is becoming the woman she’s longed for;

the comforting lover 

strong and tender,

unyielding and unconditional 

The grown up daughter

who still blushes at surprises

that tumble from her own lips on occasion but stands by what was said with conviction despite minor tettering on occasion

She, becoming illuminated, brighter with each full moon

and sunrise with each cycle of the days knowing that every moment has at the very least an inkling of light despite darkness

She is becoming,

this woman she’s wanted,  yearned for,

who knows she’ll continue growing

who knows she’s more than sufficient

who knows she’s precious,

and knows she’s rare 

who knows she is plenty,

plenty enough to handle but refuses to be handled with any unnecessary roughness

who knows that her kindness will never again be mistaken for weakness,

that she is a glittering warrior queen and despite falling will always again rise 

she is becoming the woman that is plenty enough just as she is.

Fallen Venus

“…loving and bare dancing naked…”

Stop piling it on, he said in cloak of shallow insecurities in obvious attempt to find his own needle in her haystack

all the while the threat of a breakdown grew in her like wildfire in her belly holding back tears with a Cheshire grin

Hot and cold, he was

One moment loving and bare dancing naked in silvery headlights of a waning moon

Holding her close against the furnace of a body sheltering her from the crisp winter’s cool air

the next shuttering out her light with a wearing down worded just so and digging deep and salty in to wounds yet to heal

creating darkness for fear of blind faith and truth that she may die of broken heart and misgivings

Stop being so sensitive, he said while her nerves frayed like an old sailors rope tangled as she scrambled for a lifeline of empathy and compassion

Stop feeling so deeply, he implied as he slipped into the next room quietly

as if her fear of death towards doom really isn’t that big of a deal as he fluffed up the pillows

Calm down, he said

As the postdiggers bore their holes

Spitting out chunks of a wounded heart and reflections of wasted time

I’ll leave these promised treats here upon the woodpile forgotten to taunt you in your discovery, he implied, with promises of love burning within her while she whirled and spun in an emotional stew rare, raw and naked real getting closer to going home to god as a wounded goddess

As darkness consumed the light she scrambled for the resonant peace of mind she sought hoping he’d see clearly while he fell into slumber oblivious and angry at her fears and wounds that were clearly not his to judge

The Fade of Magic

“…blazing light blinding on…”

sometimes magic fades from places we once found profoundly mystical
spanning spaces of the heart
treating nostalgia like
once-upon-a-time gods

….rabbit pulled out of a hat
…. magician’s wand cracks
….picking the wrong card
….merlin trips on his robes

….the saw blade actually draws blood

forest for the trees slowly reveal
themselves breaking the spell of
enchantment with inferno opus
blazing light blinding on

gatherings from recent

long agos
still lingering in air

but losing ground
just as leaves cling with fortitude,
hopeful for just a bit longer,
eventually, we learn to let go

and in our falling we realize we can fly

Anger Under Toe

“…working on the inside…”

pulling in like a snail to shell
wet, sticky, dark cool and safe
harbored resentment built from pain cringing in salt

to the wound
stinging all over

working on the inside
melting and waiting to burst with beautifying release and liquidation of pent-up emotions gathered over years of sliding among nettle fields
staggered by the broken paths lagging pauses linger just before jumping
in towards tomorrow’s hope for solace and retribution

Light Show Offs

“…earth watched patiently…”

War of sun and moon
Arguing over light
Who was brighter
In comparison.

I, says sun, am able to cast shadows deep and wide.
Aye, says moon, as can I on a snowy drift deep in winter’s dark.

Bluebirds sing melodies about I.
Aye, ’tis true, but owl lives for time with me alone in woods.

Flowers reach up to me seeking more of my casting.
Aye, true tho the night jasmine would not be as sweet without me.

People rise when first I wake the slumbering earth, utters sun
This be true as is they toast me at end of day, says moon.

Cloud comes open upon my command, declares sun.
Mist makes for magic under my spell, whispers moon.

All the while they argued over and over who held brightest, earth watched patiently, quietly and knew the truth.

Without the other there would be no light at all.

Apple of Thine Eye

oh no

he thinks it’s his to raise

what will i do

mother knows the truth

saying i had to deal with it

but it is meant to be

and i’m only settling in on sixteen

and have yet to gadabout the world and fall in love

beyond our bucolic backyard with apple trees

and a worn out tire swing hidden beyond a hill

the faded roses trampled now under grass

by an old grey dog biting at the thorns left over from his romp

I yearn to see more life than just within these four walls

rendering more or less sorrow from dazed wine and cheese gatherings

Hung along the banisters like wilting grapes in early winter

wallpaper walls softly fade waiting for repair and a stroke of fresh paint

like the old carriage out on the neighbor’s lawn along the way i yearn for more

how will i let daddy know that this growing being within my walls carrying high

will not just fade nor go away

it will bloom soon manifesting steady true as the rising sun

i just hope he understands

that what happened that one night beyond his watchful eye

and saltpeter filled bebe gun denied

my clandestine lover slipped in one night

in through the window battenburg curtains billowed and adjusted

then his slipping under covers speaking in whispers

Recapitulation rendering seed into blossom

this girl emerging into woman wise far beyond her years

now climbing the rungs to heaven holding soon my own bundle of joy

he will teach my young as my youth slips away how to build another swing

out of another old tire and spin her around until she is dizzy with giggles

and flushed smooth cheeks as her emerald eyes twinkle in sunlight

i hope he finds with this child of mine his second youth

bathing in glorious laughter, love and light watching his kindred spirit grow

i may soon bring a little girl into the world but he will never lose his in me

i hope he knows that there will never be another love quite like him,

he will always and in all ways be the very first apple of my eye

only now soon, as I witness, he will have another one to cherish

well attended another apple of his eye

Removing the Mask

She missed the mornings when hello was the first thing on his mind

the soft dawn breaking just beyond the tall redwoods seemed so dark of late

With the shadows resting without dancing
in heart shattered left in pieces on the wormwood floor

overcoming the light temporarily

She thought of how in earlier days his hands could hardly get enough of her

Now, it seemed, he fumbled mumbling

and played a role wearing masks

Gentle good graces finding ways lost longing lasting

Crashing onto the forest floor like

shaken pine cones loose from thimbled gnarled branch

outstretched for something more than the less of late

Ebbing far and few between now

those hellos seemed empty and forced

She found sitting now on the deck of her abode alone

save for the birds and sleepy bees with wings pollen sticky

heavier among hum of season’s first pounding rain

her lover though laying near and resting

miles away drifted by the pushing of her erratic mood pining for balance

the way she once was before after beginnings honey and moonshine

riding this sea of sorrow with its steely coldness upon her skin though culpable in palpable discomfort though oh so familiar this boned handling cutting like a well forged buck knife with stains and divets

Taunting her happiness like a jester in court near curiously laughing to himself, a bluejay sits screeching and cackling watching over all of this just a joke of all jokes

Only she was no longer laughing

Piracy of the Heart

…the stinging honey of your piercing lips…

You talk when you walk with your swagger and depth

Speaking phrases with your boot flapping feet walking down the road

suggestive of another way of being with you

 

As if the chattering of the parrots above likely jealous of your walk

as they can only but fly away in a flurry of wings breathless

to the stinging honey shouldered from your piercing  lips

 

Dripping sweet nothings easing into my world ever-so-gently

coaxing into caring lying as if a treasure trove awaits

Your cadence is cacophony across my ears rendering false melody from my heart

 

The whole wide human race has never seen the likes of you

Getting on with your giddy-up gadabout ways and easy saunter

You think you pulled wool over eyes and created a safety net

But the piracy of your ways shines through the dark cloaked heart

from the cool wet darkness of where you truly dwell