The last drops of rain
trickle down the roof tiles.
The washed morning does not rush,
much like those high-spirited stragglers,
who now and then play their pranks.
The night still struggles in vain.
The first ray of light dips a finger into the puddles—
a signal for the thrushes to strike up their tunes.
A sleepy street sweeper emerges
from an old, shabby gate.
His shoes creak beautifully.
I'm in love
To be in love
is to be
-- alive --
++ with God ++
is a life worth living
To be neither -
either - good or bad
is to just be.
Amore mio, is to
be free.
It is ongiing..Its in the spiritual places, its
On the living of a viable life, its on your freedom.? Its on your thought pattern, on
Your movement, its always been so' yet now its more visible, all is being revealed.'
Leading to a push to cut back regular
access, the Bible once was under lock and key, its always been like this, information control by some.? Do we
Wish to enlist? And fight our indivudual self.' Also do we recognise the scenery.?
I’m the piper man
Will you follow me
Let yourself go, let yourself be
The journey starts – but shan’t end – with me
O’er meadow, hill, cross streams we’ll flow
Deep down inside ‘tis your desire, you know
Imagine infinite possibility
Unlock dormant ability
I’m the piper man: Will you follow me
Vita brevis* ~ Life's meant to be free
_____________________________________________________
*Vita brevis means 'Life is short.' It's part of a Latin
phrase, 'Ars longa, vita brevis,' which means, 'Art
is long, life is short.'
I am a true rebel- for I question
the words of my catholic rigid rules.
And will rise up to claim my self-expression,
keeping the parts that are like precious jewels.
Spiritual freedom is my obsession . . .
I do not want to be like the mindless ghouls.
Forces of desiring things creates aversion,
and pushing these things away creates diversion.
So, I let go of all useless craving
and let go of the resistance and fears.
Stop the beliefs like old etched engraving,
I hang from stars that seem a chandelier.
Don't obey all the catholic ravings,
but hold what I consider to be dear.
Through meditation my focus is unbroken,
and I can hear my spiritual voice spoken.
I turn away from any cult-like faith
throwing away all the rigid mindset.
Discard all the bible verses that saith,
to find my inner song- I press reset.
I will seek a journey to interfaith,
and hum to my internal clarinet.
I am placing all those old teachings on a shelf,
to begin an amazing journey to myself.
Long breathes bred in lengths to escape stressssssss
unless the devil weighs us less
as he mocks us in jest
unless
we pray to the most high
as we sigh
me, my, thoughts and I
But he that lives above the sky
rules the minds of those who disguise
the lies
that lie in disguise
no longer in guise
the intuition that decides
whether we live or die
breathe or cry
so lets try
to keep our whits about us
you and I
the thoughts that lie beneath the mind
beneath the physical lines
where the soul resides
FANNING THE FLAMES
I was heavy
Weighed down
And buried by Judgment
Unintentional but hurtful just the same
Expectations of who I should be
As a daughter
As a Catholic
As a wife
As a colleague
By men
Fearful, yet domineering
Oh, the irony
That your insecurity has fueled my power
Fed the tiny coals that the women in my life
Have protected
Fanned them into flames
Fed the fire in my belly
Ignited my strength and resolve
Given birth to my voice
I am woman.
I liberate myself.
Hear me thunder!
And growl, and rage, and shout
I will no longer be judged, dismissed, hidden—
or silenced.
Finding a place to belong,
in childhood's lonely song,
up on grandma's swing,
I fly high and sing.
Sailing in the clouds of blue,
finding joy so true,
supported by a walnut tree,
I am finally free.
As my friendless soul escapes
by the tangerines and grapes,
I sail from earth to heaven,
a boy of only seven.
Birdy, please, a quill to pen,
for when I'm back on earth again.
An anchor forged of dust and bone,
we keep our footing on the stone.
The world demands a quiet weight,
a patient, unyielding state,
where hands stay rested on the wood
and do the things they always should.
Yet in the space behind the eyes,
the architecture starts to rise.
No heavy earth, no pulling line
can tame the sudden, bold design.
The walls fall back, the ceilings clear,
and distance simply disappears.
You step across an ocean shore,
unlatch a long-forgotten door,
or stand atop a wind-swept height
without a single fear of flight.
No rules of earth, no pull of stone—
you build a cosmos of your own.
And though the waking world will claim
the daily posture of your name,
it cannot reach, nor can it bind
the infinite map within the mind.
For when the heavy eyelids close,
the spirit goes where no one knows.
Of nectar, I never sing.
I only beat my wings.
As long as I'm alive,
I gather nectar for the hive.
I toil for a bountiful nectar crop.
I work until I drop.
So the colony will thrive,
I do it for the hive.
Lo, I hear something strange.
My brain begins to change.
It is a flower's voice.
She tells me I have choice.
I never lived until
I discovered I have free will.
Now, in nectar, I rejoice,
knowing I have choice.
“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version”
After rain, the burnt paddock smells of iron.
Rusted wire hums along the boundary,
teaching the grass its old obedience.
All my life, I mistook such lines
for safety.
I do not have to follow.
My mind is a dry, hot wind
stirring the ash;
a frantic moth beating
against the unyielding wire.
It is the sudden clawing of a frightened animal,
the bitter, ancient lure of being right,
the tide that pulls the old hymns from my throat.
I do not have to follow.
Instead, cold rain enters the ash-dark soil.
The run-off clears, stripping the blackened crust
until desire and aversion
loosen their old grip.
A single grey thrush resumes its quiet call,
and what was rigid loosens into breath,
unbound from the boundary I carried within.
I do not have to follow.
I walk away from the rusted wire,
humming no song I was given—
only the rain’s small rhythm
finding its way through me.
Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version.
Beyond the pull of grief or passion
Stillness becomes our single fashion
Old dogmas fade to illusory smoke
Thought refined in silent action
The quiet heart where truth resides
We drift beyond the shifting tides
Unbound by dogma, free from fear
Pure freedom where the self decides
No empty gods to now appease
No shadows crawling on their knees
The mind awakes to raw design
Unshackled from ancient decrees
We weave the light from inner flame
No longer playing in their game
Our sacred origin revealed
A holy song without a name
Free speech for me but not for thee
Is the Brave New World
Version of the 1st Amendment
Careful what you wish
It’s what you’ll vote for
And what you’ll get.
(9/17/26)
The eyes are the gateway to the soul
But hers was a hell I never expected
A tragedy so deep, I couldn't help but fall
A cut so deep, I couldn't pull the knife
A love story so tragic, it became bestseller
But I still couldn't stay away
I got so entranced that her name was synonymous with mine
I couldn't help but stay.
THE STAGE IS MY PAGE
I don’t write poems—
I live them/
Jazz is my heartbeat/
poetry my voice/
truth my purpose/
I don’t sing the words/
I paint them/
in sound, soul/
and hip-spoken stories/
Man, that’s the vibe/
I speak the music/
all day, every day/
words, beats, people, power/
Real voices change the world.
Dreams don’t work/
unless you do/
Speak it/
Live it/
Love it/
Every verse is a movement/
a music poster for the mind/
The mic is my pen/
The stage is my page/
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