I sit by the sea
it whispers to me,
secrets I’ve heard
a long time ago.
Between echo and wave,
glimmers I hold
of stories told.
In which Heroines,
alone, rode in the wind
their tale to be sung.
A long white veil
draped on my face.
The wild mist before
dancing on the shore.
Soaring the seagulls
call to the sea.
Their cry arcane
cuts through to my bone.
Swimming in a fish bowl
the poem whirling
caught on the rim of my tongue
set loose it lisps
as I sing, my heart is Celtic
a harp, a knot
a sail ballooning in the wind
the Isolde of my mind
on the sandy shore
scanning the pebbles for emeralds
green levigated glass
how many stories lie ensconced in a beach
the centuries piled
in interwoven intricacies
thicker than lace spun by nimble fingers
small pink hands
as I clap the sound echoes back
into the mind
its chambers deep
door after door opens
releasing the witness
to myself
in a branch bare from leaves
the October wind howls calling my name
in an arcane tongue
wooing my hair
smelling my body
the skin that shines of the years of my life
in this moment mine to keep
a cycle repeating within
a tidal wave led by the moon
in the answerless abyss that is creation
neverending, never stopping
only change to be embraced
for a longing
for a weltschmertz moment
in a glimpse of hope
a daisy–petals widespread
the toes of my feet heading earthward
as a downward facing dog to the sun
saluting the essence that is
my true self immortal
unique, ever changing
divine
one
Yesterday my name was mint leaf
Cool and crisp
An oasis in the turquoise stillness
The cries of the flycatcher above
In my pale green
Today my name is abyss
Wide and void over the wild expanse
A tornado cracking
Over the mouth of a volcano
Its molten center about to release
Destruction and creativity at the core
Tomorrow my name will be Shiva
Yellow in the noon hour
I cross the shadeless square
Holding the handle of my pistol cocked
Poised to take flight
My father called me Jesse
A bandit in making
Leaving me to unfurl
And shed the skins of experiences
Lives lived like indelible
Watermarks on the soles of my hide
My grandmother called me “gioia”
A joy to her heart
Her voice an echo in the sunny afternoon
Sometimes I was also the oximoric giant dwarf
An outgrown baby swathed in silly innocence
Today I look past the broken eggshell
At what lies ahead
Sifting seeds through my fingers
They are earthy and warm
The story is there to be told
Of the nameless mother who
Lost in time, forgot her story
And now it is ours to unravel
Through capsules of life
Ours and hers
In a mouthful of bliss and a tear of hope
oona's looking glass 