YOUR FEELING OF ABUNDANCE– LET THAT ABOUND

Where and when you feel abundance,
let that abound. . .

But, where and when you feel scarcity,
just notice it can be quite fierce,
but, make it scarce,
with due alacrity–
don’t let it
get you down. . .

And, when you have anger,
express it, honest,
and with due compassion,
understanding and intelligence
don’t hold it long,
nor let it linger. . .

And, when sadness floods your heart and eyes,
just let it flow. . .

and feel the tears
come from your gut
right out sad eyes
to moisten all your fingers,

and,
when comes fear
when paths roll unknown,
and leave unclear
your forward safety,
let ground rise up,
and hug itself
right to your ear,
so you can hear
your heart’s glub-dub,
to join with all your mental might,
so you dare embrace your chilling fright,
and thus, go on
to let it go. . .

for that will let
your true and deep vitality
as loose as it will need to be
to roam for you
and for posterity
and fill a sea of love and hope and light
to enough and ample height
so it will nourish an eternity
where future beings
have plenty room to prosper
and to grow.

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BE GOOD TO THAT LITTLE GAL

Be good
to that little gal
who is yourself. . .

she needs
a trusty pal
more steady
than the only sometimes coming
magic elf. . .

And you are
the best friend
that she has anywhere,
whether near
or whether far,
and she really, really, REALLY
needs your help. . .

And if
you are not ready for her,
the question then becomes
just when and where
you’ll be there for her–

for really, truly,
all the love and care
she needs
can’t wait–

and,
until you come,
she will stay stuck,
and lurk, quite cold,
outside the gate,

the time is now,
the way is do–
and do–
no matter how. . .

And the one to do
is you,
since, for this job,
there really isn’t
anybody else.

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INFINITY– PLEASE OSMOSE SLOW

A prayer–
may infinity
osmose slow
and thorough,
through to heal me. . .

May I stop a moment
so I may,
in each chamber,
cell and fiber
of my being,
feel me,

and may I ever
feel as though
I have a strong and gentle
steadfast friend
who cheers me on
to choose the way–
to prosper, grow
even when I feel
quite hopelessly far gone,

And may I pick up
each baton
I need to do
to relay on
and do my best
my time and space
to clear and claim
and run,

all day this day,
and after stars and night
have well restored me,

may I once more rise again
to move as one
with brand new light
that fills the day
up from the dawn.

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THE SUN COMES UP ANEW

When sun comes up
and stubborn sleeps you rub
out from your eyes,

and then,
you stretch,
your back you scratch. . .

and, after a few early breaths,
you sigh some long
and waking sighs,

and make a plan
of what to do
this day–
and also why,

in which you choose
your day’s priority to-do’s
and larger, grander plan.

It’s vital
in so doing
that you
both honor your steadfast routine,
and dare to dive, as best you can,
into some flowing, unknown place,
sight quite unseen. . .

For, though
you know
that to accept and be content
with how your life is now
is of the essence,

it’s also true
that,
when you walk a path
of fullest, conscious presence,

+++++you pause and breathe
+++++to honors olds
++++++++++with all their comfy
++++++++++hards and easies
++++++++++you go through

+++++while seeking also
++++++++++bright, though fearsome
++++++++++unknown news,

a crucial truth
slowly unfolds–

that,
if when you
work and play and rest,
you aim each day
to do a few things
brave and bold
that you do not do
everyday,
though it may feel like
a tough test,

you’re bound to reap
the many blessings
that roll in your way–
where all seemed dry,
abundantly they now do ooze–

and you’ll be
quite apt to see–
+++++if you peruse the telltale clues
+++++that your own
+++++new territory
+++++is clearing and reforming,
you’re absolutely right on track–

you really, truly
cannot lose.

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LEAVING YOUR BABY

Hard though it is,
sometimes you need
to leave
your baby
behind.

For it does not live,
and you have another
life to find.

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OLD, COLD, BOLD WOMAN

Old woman. . .
Cold woman. . .
Needs to be bold
but tail too oft
twixt legs
gets curled,

hiding secrets of the soul
that so need to be peeled away
like the layers of an onion. . .

So many angry
tantrums stuffed
that certain people
should have heard,
at the time
that they were felt,
but neither were they seen
nor hurled,

Too little,
or misguided,
love from them.

She wants

+++++her innards
++++++++++through to warm
+++++her heart
++++++++++to beat
+++++her belly fire
++++++++++</span>to ignite. . .

+++++And hope
++++++++++to glimmer through the storm. . .

And all that she can think
she needs
to do,
is sing a little tune or two,
and perhaps grab
one tall guitar in blue,
to warm and feed her spirit her through
as she begins to step, one-two,
to the airborne beat
and energy
of its pretty,
joyful strumming.

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LONELY ON THE JOURNEY

Loneliness. . .

as sad
as death,

or even more. . .

a restlessness,

and underlying
lack of comfort,

while being
in this single moment,
feeling
in this single breath,

yearning,
thinking
that to be
in company–
with just anyone,
or some one very special–
of all things,
would be the best.

That may be so,
in which case
to seek out
and find a friend,
and connect in harmony
would put that
bloody loneliness
straight to an end. .

But, if it doesn’t,
it just might be
it’s not so much
another being from humanity
you need,

But to find,
and tend
and revel in
yourself–

in exactly
your own style,
and exactly
at your speed.

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