Fully Loaded

“We drag expensive ghosts through memory’s unmade bed”    Paul Hoover

Fully Loaded

Coming, ‘fully loaded’
sporting this years options,
last years designs
illusions, gimmicks, tricks….
all previous short cuts
now eviscerated, overhauled, upgraded.

New thoughts, emotions,
technologies implanted and borne
on hands and knees moving
forward in darkness,
trusting, begging, opening,
blessing, praying for release.

Duality blends into
hope of wholeness,
Reuniting shards of
repressed memories,
rolling out the newest model
of one’s unlived lives.

No cherry picking of
options that appeal.
Movement forward to
one truth, this roll out
is all or nothing
large deposit, no refunds

or prerequisites.
Operation best suited
to those experienced
with similar models.
Not for beginners,
a ride you will never forget.

westcoastwoman 2019

YOUR CHANGES CAN STILL BE SAVED

bliss
credit Lordess Foudre

 

“All Compost Rots, but not all Rot is Compost”

Lower  to the ground.
Kneel and assume, ‘the position’
Reverence: earth, seed, soil
Spring’s sacred cathedral.

Born of winter’s promise
composed, decomposed, Composted
last year fades, surrenders, spirals
More becomes Less

Less formed in darkness,
turned and (re)turned to soil,
Seeds break open to
gamble on new life.

Will I submit to this process
Circle back around
gather lost and shattered bits,
the organic matter of my life

Compost intimate details
brokenness, unshed tears,
turn towards the fragility
not beyond, take the gamble

roots of estrangement
embraced with compassion
Circle back around again
nothing left behind, unattended

no longer in pieces I assume
‘the position’ (re)forming
this new life, this light
born in darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Purgatory on Parade (Street Photography 2)

DSC_1902
©photo credit westcoastwoman

 

A wandering agnostic amongst a sea of Easter hats

no hat to call my own, moments captured

hardly convey this half way house,

this purgatory on parade.

Turning, Turning…

I move through cobbled streets

and find no spot to settle

a restless dog rotating above it’s bed.

Salvation is offered

at the tip of a blue laced finger

I pass, move forward …

but give an upward glance

as Magic forms above

on this Louisiana morning.

© westcoastwoman 2019

 

 

Hand to Heart (Street Photography 1)

(while working on another piece this morning I found this in my drafts, I meant to go in to delete, but in the end my hand and heart pushed Publish)

I am going to try a short series of poetry inspired by (my second love) street photography, a series I took last year at the Easter Sunday Parade in the French Quarter, New Orleans.

 

DSC_1858
photo credit westcoastwoman

 

Each step you take, from here to there

each hand you hold, they’ll sometimes care

some filled with light some fighting dark

you’ll find what’s right, you’ll make your mark

your heart will break, can’t help you there

you’ll find one hand that let’s you care

but in the end, your hand to heart

is what will lead you home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost in Translation

DSC_2223 (2)photo credit westcoastwoman

We crawl paved arteries,
Protective metal shells
Inch their way forward
No bumper stickers here
Metal emblems shout our allegiances.

  “Oh Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz”

The City called last week….
should have let it go
to Voice Mail.
Screen all talk of departures,
Words that draw me back.

  “Dialing for dollars is trying to find me”

Retracing walkways now paved
with distant memories,
New eyes open to reveal
familiar tender traps
laid with immaculate precision.

  “Prove that you love me and buy the next round”

Early light… dust of snow
I walk as the city sleeps,
Soft footsteps join my path
Coyote and I share a gaze
Half domestic, half wild, still untamed

We stand, lost in translation.
Eyes unlock
heads turn
together the step
in the same direction.

  “I’m counting on you Lord, please don’t let me down” 

   “lyrics  Janis Joplin”

 

3 a.m. sentence(s)

DSC_1384 (1)
©photo credit westcoastwoman

“The only ones awake at 3:00 a.m. are the lonely and the loved.”

3 a.m. Sentence(s)

Dusk til Dawn
Shadow and Light
the veil is thin

The call goes out,
spiritual refugees
seeking a conscious oasis-
awaken
torrents of words
whisper past
we linger between
the threshold of
one world and another

in

out

Truth drifts on
shattered hearts
just beyond
the collective reach,
pluck what is close
mist envelops
pain, loss, love,
ephemeral words
3 a.m. sentence(s)
the puzzle solved
piece by piece
together, apart

We wait for dawn.

© westcoastwoman 2019

DSC_2178
©photo credit westcoastwoman

She let go……

unknown photographer

Searching for the right words to describe a ‘moment in time’ and you discover someone already found and assembled them for you…..

She Let Go
by Safire Rose

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of judgements.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around in her head.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the Prayer Line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good, and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her.

And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…..

lady-hands-with-full-of-sand (1)

 

 

 

 

Ripple in Still Waters

Walking and watching the River yesterday, the power of nature, constant movement, wearing away, giving in. Photographs and words hardly touch it, “there is the trying though”….

DSC_2221

River
Shapes stone, cuts stone,
Banks and bottoms
Nothing escapes the reach,
the filing down, the silky caress
water seeking touch, truth,
the constant Reveal
what is hidden, Exposed.

Three a.m.
thoughts, inspirations,
no escaping the raw Reveal,
comfort knowing others
are Awake
giving in
to the flow, tumbling,
releasing, realizing,
You Can’t Push the River

There is the trying though,
interior ache
screams it’s message
mouth and arms stretch open
breast exposed
All exposed
shape, cut, touch , caress
reveal, Allow

The Run of the River.

DSC_2225

OLD MAPS NO LONGER WORK

DSC_1680
©westcoastwoman 2016

Just this tonight, while I wait for the stars ………

a poem by Joyce Rupp

Old Maps No Longer Work  

I keep pulling it out –
the old map of my inner path
I squint closely at it,
trying to see some hidden road
that maybe I’ve missed,
but there’s nothing there now
except some well travelled paths.
they have seen my footsteps often,
held my laughter, caught my tears.

I keep going over the old map
but now the roads lead nowhere,
a meaningless wilderness
where life is dull and futile.

“toss away the old map,” she says
“you must be kidding!” I reply.
she looks at me with Sarah eyes
and repeats “toss it away.
It’s of no use where you’re going.”

“I have to have a map!” I cry,
“even if it takes me nowhere.
I can’t be without direction,”
“but you are without direction,”
she says, “so why not let go, be free?”

so there I am – tossing away the old map,
sadly fearfully, putting it behind me.
“whatever will I do?” wails my security
“trust me” says my midlife soul.

no map, no specific directions,
no “this way ahead” or “take a left”.
how will l know where to go?
how will I find my way? no map!
but then my midlife soul whispers
“there was a time before maps
when pilgrims travelled by the stars.”

It is time for the pilgrim in me
to travel in the dark,
to learn to read the stars
that shine in my soul.
I will walk deeper

into the dark of my night.
I will wait for the stars.
trust their guidance.
and let their light be enough for me.

by Joyce Rupp

https://womenofacertainagedotca.com/home