Connection

The Sisters Play

The sisters play.
Lives unlived and unknown
But real to their imaginations.

We are at sea
Where mermaids race and swim
Greeted by friendly sea creatures.
Oh, what adventures they had!

Of course, there’s conflict.
Problems present themselves.
Solutions and ideas form.

The sisters play on.
The imagination lives
In each one of us.

It is known yet intangible.
The stories and ideas
Weave in and out.

Like the waves in the sea.
We marvel at their strength,
Shape and fierce force.

The sisters play.

We are goddesses of the sea.
We can shape that creative force
And wield the plot and characters.

A story unfolding,
Real and imagined.
Creative Fiction

The honeybee

The honeybee sets out each morning,
A sole worker with a craving
For the sweet nectar.
The hive can only thrive
When the collective work together.

Her day’s task is at hand
And she visits her first flower.
A rose.
Drunk on its sweet nectar,
She is seduced.
And the sweet rose is the only flower
She will visit on this day’s journey.

The rose’s branches entwine 
and climb up a pole.
Up and up.
The honeybee has found her bounty,
Her fill.

And whether conscious or drunk,
She has made her way back home
At the workday’s end.

Who knows the mystery of what 
Tomorrow’s flower may be.
Perhaps a dandelion, 
An azalea.

Tonight she is where she belongs.
Connection

BRICK BY BRICK

Brick by brick
Layer by layer
Hands wet and moist
Covered in clay and mud.

Layer upon layer
Up and up
I built a fortress.

It provided safety
And shelter from the elements.
It was cozy and a haven.

Mine all mine.
Built by my own sweat,
Tears, and physical strength.

Made by my own hand
It was shapened and formed,
Embellished and flawed.

Little did I realize,
As I was building a fortress
All around me,
I forgot to build a door.

Along with protection from the elements,
I was locked in,
Unable to express my truth
To another or to myself.

When the walls finally were torn down,
By time or willpower,
I set myself free.

It was safe to feel my feelings.
All my feelings.

Behind the clay and mud
I uncovered a temple.
A brightly lit hidden treasure.

Put there by my labor
And long forgotten.

A jewel that needed to be excavated
Once the walls came down.

Connection

ALL THE BLOOMS

All the blooms have paid their visit.
They fulfilled their roles to completion.
Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches.

All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree
Where the blooms easily identified the species.

Now they are a forest of trees
Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye.
One lone red maple stands out from the rest.

Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird
Tending to their fragile, precious young?

Maybe.
Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches
They call home.

I call it nature’s greenery.

Connection

Nature’s Symphony

Nature’s symphony is at my door.
All I have to do is listen.
Each unique birdcall an instrument
The dog bark the percussion.
Small songbirds the flute.
Each call a pattern,
A song, a melody that makes up the whole.

I am surrounded by sound.
Pleasant, not pleasant
My ears hear it all.

What do you hear when you step outside?

An occasional firework goes off
even at this early morning hour.
The time to celebrate is always in order.
I listen and smile.

Connection

Self-confidence

Being self-confident is hard.
I grew up in a culture that treated
Women’s bodies as objects.
Objects of men’s desires;
Objects in need of change:
Change in size,
Change to be fashionable
and contort my body to fit into current trends.

Women’s bodies were objects
That had to be managed
In how we moved,
How we behaved,
How we led our lives
And presented ourselves
To the outside world,
And how we treated our bodies
In private when no one was looking.

It is hard to be self-confident
When society bombards you
With messages that you are not enough,
You are falling short and failing
To an unrealistic standard.
(And who set up this system to begin with?)

I find my self-confidence gets easier the older I get.
Life experience and the inherent lessons that come with age
have taught me that acceptance is present and available
Only I hold the key to what is possible.

My reflection in the mirror is unique.
It is mine alone.
And I choose to love who I see in the mirror.

I choose to remind myself that
these negative messages 
do not reflect who I truly am.

I choose love.
Today and this day forward,
I choose to treat my mind, body and spirit
With gentle, loving acceptance.
abundance

CARPE DIEM

Life is meant to be enjoyed
And so are our things.

Saving them with the tags still on
Or in a box
Diminishes their value and ours.

I used to think something was too nice
Or too fancy to actually use.
But that’s a fallacy.

To get the most juice, to feel the most alive
Is to embody the present and
Use, wear, or consume our things

Before it expires,
Before fashion trends change,
Before my interests evolve
Or I forget I have it.

So today I light my beautiful new moon
Crystal-infused candle
Because carpe diem.

Connection

Summer in the ’90s

In the third floor apartment
Overlooking the street and cars below
With my notebook and pencil in hand,
I nestled in to meet the muse
And be inspired.

I had no space of my own.
Just a single-subject notebook,
Wire bound and lined,
With the words, “Oceanography”
or “Psychology 2” in large penned letters
On the pastel front cover.

It was my private, personal space
To journal, to explore my feelings,
Writing poetry
As a teenager with no money
And nowhere to go.

So I traveled in my mind.
I devoured books by VC Andrews
And Stephen King.
The stories and characters swirled around in my head.

I often dreamed of a tropical paradise,
An escape, a place of solitude and independence.
I adorned my wall with a huge poster
of an idyllic palm tree.
That poster became my view.

There is no breeze to be felt
From the window
When you’re on a top bunk
In a small room I shared
With my younger sister.

I took those bored, hot summers
And transformed them the best I could.
Looking back, I was laying the framework
on what it means to be inspired.
And now I’m never bored.
Connection

Inspiration and the Sacred

Where does inspiration come from?
It can be a fleeting idea,
A word or phrase that lights me up
And I want to become the explorer
of my own inner terrain.

[The Sacred]
It happens in solitude
And when I’m out in nature.
I feel most connected to
The wisdom of my heart.

Beauty always surrounds me,
Even in the mundane and hard times.
I just have to be willing
And open to see it.

When I connect to my heart and breath,
I feel I am taking an active role in my life.
I’m not getting carried away by the rushing tide
of emotions and circumstance.

In that moment, the magic happens.
I no longer have to struggle.
I can literally go with the flow.

Again, I return to the explorer within,
Who recognizes the difficulty in truly letting go
With surrender and vulnerability.

There is peace and ultimate freedom
To find creative solutions,
To take a beat before I react,
And to connect to my inner wisdom.

How does inspiration and the sacred come to you?



Connection

THE BODY

The body is a vessel
More than tracks of blood,
Veins, arteries, nerves,
Bone on tendon,
Synovial and cartilage.

It is a vessel that
Forever is learning.
It is not stagnant ever.
It holds my breath
And takes my breath away.

It mobilizes me to action,
To thought, to dream, to create.

The body is a vessel for love.
I can receive and freely give it.
I can hold another’s torso
And their secrets.

I can laugh and cry.
I can release and let go.
I can hold and embody.
Mine can twist and take shape
Intertwine with my lover.

I can stretch and realize
My edges are further than I thought.
I can smile and accept
This body that is mine.