Green Absent Black

Sticky green, lush
spirals on woody stems
that barely move
in the coast winds.

We called them black
for the pods, the way
they cast seeds
dirt imprinting stone
dark with dust.

I swallow silence, taste the tea
as you hand me fresh cuttings.
And all this time
I thought the leaves oozed
shadowed things, absence.

Great grandmother knew well
you say, moving memories from
fingers to apron in sage stains.
The bees know too.

Tara Linda © 2017

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BlackSage8684

Secret Garden~ 36:52

What she planted
at dawn bloomed only at dusk
You show me her…

secret gardenSource   Lisa Falzon

Secret Garden

What she planted
at dawn bloomed only     at dusk
You show me      her

photo     and

we put stick to dirt
connect all stars to
sirens      birds to
ghosts of salamanders   that

now rule       rivers    flowing empty
beneath us.

© & P. Copyright~ Tara Linda
Inspiration:   The salamanders we used to find, when digging in the garden. I refuse to think they’ve gone extinct for lack of water, preferring their new place of residence to be a secret garden deep below us, near the water table.  Here is one of my Sage gardens filled with young CA Native sages, succulents, flowers.  😉

SageChula2014_2299[1]

Prompt:  Weekly Poems/52

Bailiff 35:52

Bailiff
you scan the room eyes travel wide
and land long
as I pick up my badge And later
after lunch again your eyes lock mine…

Bailiff

you scan the hall           eyes travel wide
and land         long
as I pick up my badge   beside 300 others   And later

phase II  after lunch this time your eyes      lock
mine as you announce      full volume  Ladies and gentlemen
no gum in the courtroom please       watching as I  slowly

swallow

And later          when we all get lost    taking sides
piecing together     what ifs    with how whys         I hear
my name      gather my things to

approach

the bench      turn to find       you suddenly              
smiling taking the badge from my hand       here let me help
            as someone says

Dismissed!

copyright: Tara Linda

Prompt: Lunch Poems~Frank O’Hara

Today, I begin, again, my poem-a-week challenge PoemX:52. I did it last year, but I’ve no idea how many I’ve written, posted, or not posted this year before today. So I’ll start with as many weeks are there are left (17) of the year of 52 weeks. If my math is right. Just one poem a week; how hard can that be? And lots of tiny ones on Twitter in between.  Join me!! Post a link to one of your own poems here, in a comment, and on every post with a poem in it so we can encourage each other.   And to my 110 followers~~ thank you! 😉

Missing Maya~ Poem Piece from: On the Pulse of Morning

If there is one thing that Maya Angelou’s poetry says to me, it is ‘Be brave…’ Her words and poems paint worlds so so real, so honest- it hurts.

il_fullxfull.388121919_rps9from On the Pulse of Morning

By Maya Angelou

A Rock, A River, A Tree

Hosts to species long since departed,   

Marked the mastodon,

The dinosaur, who left dried tokens   

Of their sojourn here

On our planet floor,

Any broad alarm of their hastening doom   

Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,   

Come, you may stand upon my

Back and face your distant destiny,

But seek no haven in my shadow,

I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than

The angels, have crouched too long in   

The bruising darkness

Have lain too long

Facedown in ignorance,

Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today,   

You may stand upon me,   

But do not hide your face.

[…]

Maya Angelou, “On the Pulse of Morning” (excerpt) from On the Pulse of Morning. Copyright © 1993 by Maya Angelou. [from PoetryFoundation website: “Used by permission of Random House Audio Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.”]
Source: The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Random House Inc., 1994)

If there is one thing that Maya Angelou’s poetry says to me, it is ‘Be brave. Summon your courage and keep it close. Always.’  Her words and poems paint worlds so so real, so honest- it hurts.  Like the movement of eras in the piece above, I often feel emotions on so many levels when I read her work. But her courage always has the last word- on the page, in my heart, and with a voice that says ‘child, if it can’t be real, don’t bother.”  Thank you Ms. Maya Angelou, for all the fire, courage, and bravery in your poetry and life’s work. We will miss you.

Offering

Awakening
is our first offering
praise…

Awakening
is our first offering
praise, an open eye taking in
first light, space, color ~
A stretch, body’s first gift of
movement, vibration, cells alighting,
muscles expand, remembering~ Gratitude.
Warm contentment, Freedom before thought
weightless presence, first breath,
Joy ~ our ultimate prayer.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

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Fishscale Stasis

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching…

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching a swell, a strait, the dunes of your cheeks, hope and fog swirling

cumulus above       hurt. These are the vistas you will forget by
morning, as you place each scale like a sequin on the bare skin of your
shoulders, filling in blanks, erasing vulnerable, to become or shed, a counterbalance mended in

dreamtime, where only the fish know, pelagic ones drinking down your tears each
night, swimming into bays, spits, coves, to shed more scales to help you
cover, mend, soothe that pale membrane, the cool damp of your exposed
back, where raven’s wings have stopped     just shy of          whole, full,
metamorphosis fettered, that stasis where truth
shivers itself warm.

    Tara Linda c. 2014

il_570xN.415703459_pmyoSource: Nicolas of MyAntarctica

Stasis:  A state of stability in which all forces are equal and opposing, therefore they cancel out each other.

:a state or period of stability during which little or no evolutionary change in a lineage occurs.

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Fixer Elixir

Breathe-
she says IN all these sparks
I scatter your way …

Here we are, 13 days into National Poetry Month, and I’ve posted far less poetry than usual. I’m writing lots; incubating, exploring characters, dreams, forms, rhythms- but not feeling like anything is finished enough to post.  What’s so different this time?

Breathe

she says   IN    all these sparks 

    I          scatter    your way             

just stop         thinking,           start

drinking  it all      down a little   

deeper, this juice, this                tincture,  salve

for the       soul.   You  want          the final fixer,    

Elixir, here I am-

Breathe. 

Actually, writing is feeling really good now- and I’m thrilled April is here, I’m making more time for poetry.  Lots of inspiration, joy when I write, hunger for it all… but I have too many balls in the air to court my Muses properly. (Anyone else feel like this?) Feels like I need to submerge with the  Muses for awhile, a day (at least an hour! 😉  and not just quickie exercises or posts.

But one good thing- I’m writing song lyrics all over the place. No problem there. Our new project- Fistful of Stars, has about 12 new songs, and we wrote another 2 last week.  I love it when I get to write the lyrics to fit the emotional, energetic, kinetic feel of a song.  Mine or anyone else’s- pure joy.

Funny, what I posted about this time 2 years ago is spot on for me now as well:  A feeling that Muses are impatient with m–, all while I book gigs, plan a Summer Europe tour, cater to the Lyric Muses, plant my garden, and try to finish taxes… Ha!

——————————————————————

Nothing kills Muses like taxes.

But there were so many great things about this week…. the Europe tour is coming together nicely; we’re working on videos. My garden is growing; and the hunter moon is lighting the skies.

“Jealous Muse 

Time for a million
& none for me- gives zero
to the bossa waiting patiently.
We could sip wine & light a fuse
taxes & death are no excuse.