~feathers from the muse's wings~: 2016

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

April the Cruelest Month - Senryū and Cinquains

creative commons license

for an understanding of men who have no clue about women

the April days move | slow in snow wanting to be | rain blessing the ground

she cries about corn | how now it's being monsterized | how it is her flesh

wears more

than protective

vest, she wears a tough flesh

overcoat. Not bullet proof, no.

it serves

keeps men

away, you know

the kind that prey, and stalk

women slight of stature, or off

balance

wearing

stand 'em up shoes

those kind that make you lose.

ones that say come fuck me ~ pumps so

untrue

the coat's

gotten too long

she wants to give it up

donate it to Goodwill ~ it's ov-

er kill

when men's

eyes turn to her

they slide over the hill

her latest disguise is close to

salty

couldn't hug her | enough to leave her there | sun child in the land of snow

she thinks

his mouth on hers.

how good it makes her feel

knowing that morning, she did brush ~

her teeth

your days are overcast skies | your heart bursts like clouds | it rains from your eyes

everyday we shake our heads | because we can't believe | you in body are gone | we search for you on shorelines | in the songs of spirit birds

used to jump at shadows | inclined to take flight | now never afraid | to take on a just struggle | a battle of ideas

all her hopes and dreams | born a reality | his life her salvation

she speaks oracle | no one knows how to feel it | a flower opened

slanderings scurry | up and down the shoreline sure | I think of your mouth

winter reminder | driving rain from the Valley | golfball sized hailstones | April when corn is greening | foggy storms turn turbulent

you = happy | at times my greatest sadness | it's an up - down thang

She says let's dream on it | she no longer thinks | thinking has no heart

we celebrate | national sibling day | mourn our lost ones | and our parents gone long to land | of ancestors they've become

sun broke through grey days | a walk in the snowmelt | April showers frozen

the hawk is wind | razor sharp its insistence | to stay the course

snow in April | winter holds spring in its grip | everyone looks for sun

Spring rain spills in ropes | hopes for another green day | tomorrow today

I could

write abuela's

hair braids, her bun~

but what fun would that be?

rather write about her high tops

red dreams

she wore

them in the Spring

garden, planting her seeds ~

calabacitas born darkest

lime green

she grew

corn much taller

than her, barely five foot ~

sweet, abundant that tenderest

golden

green corn

masa for best

tamales of the year

everyone helped shuck, newly born

heaven

because

it is April

her almost birthday month

we sing her las mañanitas

she cries

man gave her lemons | she made lemonade before | she bashed in his head | not really his head you know | but she visioned it in her own

women bleed so much | in so many ways | then become bad daughters | to mothers that don't mean them | no harm only the best good

Friday, April 08, 2016

March Senryū 2016

"Crows in the Hood" by Comrade Foot. Creative Commons.

for the ability to live up to challenges

we visit you here | in this place we can't fathom | with beautiful flowers

grand love

fathers \ daughters.

some, almost perfect, no?

there are those who could tell you truths --

to shame.

when you're proud to know | the boy you raised who grew wise | way beyond his years

that kiss was kismet | some past life holdover | now to get over it

wild blackbird warning | then car's back door flies open | wallet on the ground |

Good Samaritan noticed | comes to your rescue saves day

old Havana | has her secrets hidden deep | in layers of paint

mysticwoman | she who sees beyond eyes | who hears the longtime voices

there are don't ride trains | ones that are going down wrong | sidetracked forever

the eyes have it | true windows to the heart/soul | what do yours say

she works in the dark | hands need no light to create | smooth and soothe the lines

people block the hate | with their bodies and prayers | close down the clown's cars |

until the streets can be safe | once more from this war on us

ancestral knowledge | sure as sunshine and moon rise | we are all welcomed

my dream peeps | are keepers and are not me | have their own lives to live

in shackles and chained | no respect for human beings | illegal they're not

kindness of strangers | takes you by the arm | welcomes you like family

sad for that hurt feeling | don't know why people hate | ocean bottom deep

in the morning | she will give thanks for being | for one more day |

to become a better human | to pray for health and kindness

tongues for justice | will never be silenced | from ashes rises fire

we geography | the maps and myths of our lives | places and people

beauty of the blush | of new flower bud just born | of sacred promise

new flood warnings | morning woke late and foggy | turned off her alarm

thunder beings roar | gulf waters jump up the shore | downpour on the brink

going inward | to reflect on no reflection | mirror the darkness |

seeking out those specks of stars | your love that's become so small

hair clip

on the sidewalk~

rusty as the years long,

held up some beautiful tresses

back when.

so we dis-agree | about presidents and such | aren't we family |

we're not that divided | we both want peace and justice

land where you were made | where ancestors lived and died | a full life circle |

you piece together the songs | the wrongs no longer matter

a book is a world | enter its doors and go | journeying the unknown

the mother in her | makes them feel comfortable | is what makes them talk |

they open up like windows | on a bright sunny day

so much love is soup | simmered steamy with good will | veggies and chicken

hunger food for thought | and a quiet place in woods | where the raven calls

denial does no good | in friendship one must see | their own shortcomings

January and February Senryū 2016

Super Moon, July 12, 2014, courtesy Marie-Marthe Gagnon, Flickr Creative Commons.

February

for staying in the present todays, and for those sweet yesterdays that will never come again

lazy day Sunday | breakfast with a new friend | end and beginning

cool evening | sleeps and wakes a windy day | with gulf waves raging

descarrilado | en medio de su mundo | tiniebla duro

derailed | in the middle of his world | hard darkness

torrential rains one minute | then hot sun barking | loudly on the street

full snow moon | this is not June it’s winter | the false Spring’s singing |

songs of fireflies and ladybugs | it’s certainly not summer

full hunger moon | a desire for flowers | ready to spread wings

what you could have had | but decided to pass up | took love for granted

you know what’s missing | are torn apart by grief | can’t figure out why

a warriors heart | bigger than their whole body | often full of ache |

the force of convictions | motivated by deep love

your good face forward | there’s no place for grief | so lead with a smile |

think of your tears as wings | that fly over the gulf searching

your big sun smile | loves every minute of joy | this work has brought |

and Spring’s wanting to be sprung | you in every flower

love not a one day affair | it’s three-hundred-sixty five | twenty-four-seven |

like you crave sun in winter | cool water in the spring

you are a love | from time before time mattered | you will always be

we are witnesses | to the injustice | world of greed and hate

you’ve become a saint | a prophet to remember | your teachings humble

there are trees that speak | skin’s related to bark | you listen content |

always knew they are relatives | guarding you since you were young

his skin on yours silk | your young bodies seamless | no begin or end just two

you are everywhere | in every living being | it does my heart good

of ghosts and spirits | we dream each other’s stories | that ignore borders

imagining | a better world to leave | for future

when all the stars stared | down to find you in the midst | there you were in trees |

a wind song kissing leaves | you always wanting verde

story of her life | the best ones choose others | her picker broken

she is leaking grief | leaving its blue trickle trail | everywhere she goes

the road gives you time | to know you are from there | home is where you are

she shakes her head | knowing it’s not really true | you have not gone on

they hang out their shingle | sell pretty new age snake oil | so buyer beware

only her medicine | words that can’t be spoken | but sung aloud |

can save her from sadness | that place of despair

speak in fiery tongues | from our mouths encantations | fly forth in love

you here in the wind | in the trees where black birds sleep | in the deepest song

January

when you love without | an agenda about you | thinking you are it

dark misty coastline | driving rain and loving it | missing the unseen

those who make medicine | with their good words no lies | with their good hearts

the imposters masks | shall be ripped from their faces | take no places |

that do not belong to you | your lies become the crows call

we try to understand | what can never be | how to move on

with the snow moon full | you say your final goodbyes | fly into the light

rest in peace | sweetest Rose of the valley | mother to so many

worn out your machine | called a body a temple | and you want to dream

beyond borders | you fly home to ancestors | who wait with open arms

hermano mio | fly home to the ancestors | to their resplendent arms |

In Xochitl In Cuicatl

we worry in vain | about much we can't control | better to have glee

it's a new year | a chance at beginnings | give thanks every day

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Journey Home

For FXA, February 21, 1954 - January 15, 2015

our mother water | cleared this day a greener path | came down in thick ropes

ayer rituales | from that cradle where you grew | all your traditions

rooted in some strong | long ago red earth pregnant | possibilities

of that son you are | true to all you have become | in this world of spines

that would sooner pierce | than heal soul bodies with food | sacrificed from flesh

and the heart of it | is that life is just like that | thorny to shield soft

and vulnerable | though we mimic the strongest | ones rooted firme

deep in the forest | of our lives that don’t last long | we make our own way

don't regret the turns | taken to get to ends | that always come too soon

watch you breathe ragged | breaths from their shallow nests | you eye me and see

my soul reaching out | to soothe you hermano | as you struggle through

a warriors death | you are present for it all | strong in your resolve

to experience | your passing like your life | to the fullest

now you have taught me | one more thing eye didn’t know | to die with courage

worn out your machine | called a body a temple | and you want to dream

we demand dreaming | to take you into next world | light to guide your way

we pray for comfort | want no fear for your journey | in that place that calls you

near or far not gone | now the people want to flock | to your side to touch

that flame before it goes out | but not everyone | can be invited

to witness your flight | only the very dearest | for it’s your journey

eye am close but far | or a little distant | for fear of trampling

yesterday as you slept | eye read you Snake Poems | your eyes flew open

you recognized | your own incantations | spilling into the room

like watercolors | of our mother blue | splashing the walls

with our laughter | we chased away the shadows | tears became happy

eye am writing this | how we communicate | curando con palabra

changing their lead | into spun golden prayers | showers of pollen

to sprinkle hope | onto the heads of this world | some so hard can’t see

you take your book | out of my hands and recite | you channel from there

body in flames | a different sort of burning | you down to ashes

| waiting to fly out of them | resplendent in your journey

eye can’t imagine | a world without you in it | brother born of word

you a love warrior | fighting to stay present | to your last breath

eye struggle to know | what to say now that words | no longer matter

| except as prayers | except as incantations

we communicate by breaths | each one marks pain and promise | you still here with us

when eye read your words | tears spring to my eyes and fall | silently streaming

we are about the word | a business that is not one | blessings upon all

you’ve left Francisco | body that housed your spirit | now you’re all angel

beyond borders | you fly home to ancestors | who wait with open arms

Davis, CA 12 - 15, Enero