It’s All My San Andreas Fault.

Currently I’ve been busy energetically re-contextualizing my landscape. When you move with purpose, you intimidate the surface. Learning to embrace your gifts, natural and honed, while delicately rowing against the subtle sea of conformity all whilst respectfully not giving a fuck what others may think, do or say creates a sustainable journey with bountiful lessons to feed your mind, body, and purpose. The higher the waves that come against, the shakier the ground moves only proves the marked magnitude of your cherished principals set in motion, all the stronger the force the more vital it is to honor the inertia you’ve set underfoot. Keep moving, keep shaking, keep notation, and keep inching forward.

Connect the Dots.

   My dear friend and amazing wordsmith Elaine Brown invited my son and I to go check out the Crockett, CA poetry scene with her a few months ago. Connie Post has been hosting a poetry open mic the second Sunday of every month at The Valona Delicatessen & Cafe in Crockett, CA for many years and it has developed quite the following. She invites featured guests to perform and then opens the stage to those who sign up. That chilly afternoon the place was packed, I was developing a cold and not feeling well, but was ready, willing and armed with an eight and a half by eleven sheet of paper folded four times and tucked in my sweater pocket. Once the sign-ups began a woman came up to me looking concerned while staring at my boy, she said “I have a disclaimer for what I am going to read is not my own, but is graphic.” I laughed and say, “no worries, I drop the f-bomb a number of times in what I am going to read, we’re cool, they’re just words.” She sighed with such relief and told me that what she’s to read isn’t explicit language, but written by a soldier with P.T.S.D. It was moving and my son soaked it in along with all the other poetry that emitted from the souls that swept the stage. He did get a bit bored and hungry, but nothing a shot of apple juice couldn’t fix momentarily. 
 Elaine Brown is a powerful poet, you can hear a pin drip when she speaks, all ears are on every syllable, verb and noun. She gave a powerful performance, and I was up next. 
This was the first poem I read aloud in front of a live audience those short months ago.
Connect the Dots.
When heart detected
Swallowing whole truths
And laying nothing but
Where the hole grows
A new kind of show
To reclaim again
No sense in knowing
Fuck subtext
Fuck closure
When it all finally feels
Now hard of healing
Mute from all the blaring
Pinpointing moments of discontent
Sick from all the swelling
Of a love long spent
Borrowed, blue, and now made new
Been clawing to get out
Fuck subtext
Fuck closure
My hippocampus detected
Heart disconnected
Swallowing whole truths
And laying nothing but
Deaf from not listening
Fitting in my own skin
Fuck subtext
Fuck closure
It’s all relative baby
You keep asking for it
And so it appears
Not magic
Just sadness
A silent confession
I still have my third eye
Wide open before I’m undone
Swing low, cut deep
Slash as you go
The ravine exists
Because you tell yourself so
Deep it plunges
Eroding the path
The canyons are narrow
Lateral recess of the past
Hard to get by
Limbic exposed
Over and over
The eye always show
Lessons unlearning
Progress is slow
Attempts of failure warnings
I told you so
Swing low, cut deep
Slash as you go
The ravine exists
Because that’s all you know
Fuck subtext
Fuck closure
A little re-wiring and system re-setting
No excuses now
Swallow the truth
And watch it glow
Cauterizing and repairing
Hippocampus restoring
Permanent fillings
Seeking detective
Don’t worry be happy now

Dots reconnected.

  My son was so proud of me, his face beamed the biggest smile while he and Elaine jumped up and down and clapped as I made my way back to our perch at the deli counter. “You did so good Mommy!” He took video of me with my phone but he was so excited he kept moving it around. It was so hard for me to speak for I ended up not having a voice the next day. Everyone at that open mic was so supportive, so many came up to me after it was over and had positive and kind things to say to me about not just my poem, but more to heart, it was the things they had to say about my son that filled me the most. A few folks said they admired me taking my eight year old son with me and couldn’t believe how well behaved and well mannered he was the entire time we were there. Some went out of their way to tell me to keep writing and performing. Elaine’s faith in my abilities and my beautiful boy’s spirit is what got me up on that warm stage under the Carquinez bridge. Even with a world full of sadness in my eyes at times, all I can do is smile. I am so fucking grateful for my beautiful boy, a hand full of superbly divine friends, and the words that I am able to articulate, voice, and write. Whatever it is that communicates, captivates, pushes, ignites, propels, and fills you, do it, and share it. Do it for those who haven’t yet, do it for those who have, do it for you.

Horse Drawn Laser Beam.

Fed on ADHD and chamomile tea
Norwegian rhubarb
And fiber optic peas
Nibble the tip tops
But not the latter
Space chipped and horehound are always in favor
Never to lesson bits into bites
See how the seams fold into flight
Horse drawn laser beam
Horse-less or not will make height
Hounded release
Pomp and circumstance deceased
Didn’t crack the tractor beamed
Horsing around with pillow talk
Dissolving full into hot air
Emitting too far
Out of this world
I make my flight
Stares led down and up
No services connected
No outsourcing
Some unsacred 
Mutual hope now only belief in what’s next
beam inside
diode just chillin
Too hot to trot
Don’t give a fuck cause we can
copy & paste
Galloping into homegrown glue
Neon coded nylon gelatin prose
Unraveling digital divine decent 
See how the seams fold into flight
Horse drawn laser beam
Horse-less or not will make height