these wings

higher.

higher.

higher.

in tandem or alone. little machines.

things of fairytales -glass like starches and intricate veins deliver mosaics, light and thin as a crisp. strong.

dreams spill out in wisps.

elevate. hover. move in any direction you like – special mechanisms take you the highest.

tiniest of helicopters, majesty of insects – you cruised earth before she birthed t- rex.

there are kingdoms in you … belief in unseen realms.

#raiseyourfrequency #dragonfly #beauty #poetry

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the angels are preening

I wrote this (and a few others) years ago after my brother died when I was in a lot of physical pain (a separate journey altogether).  We, as a family, were fortunate to be with him -by his side, though many constraints were placed on us before this day.  Constraints that still inspire anger in me.  I’ve never been one to protect and shield. The requests to “not cry” around my brother were not only ridiculous, they were vain and inauthentic.  I will never do that again.  Never.  Finally, the day came when David took his last breath; I’ve never experienced something so significant (except the day my son took his first; that’s another story).  I cried.  I still cry.  It was an honor though to be there.  I will be lucky to sit at the bedside of every loved one I know who dies before me.

it slips in and consumes me.

i thought it was over.

but, it’s a tight grip that wants me to be true.

what’s true is unclear and deep feeling.  it’s overwhelming and constant.

i’m reeling – if my mind turns it off, my body takes it on.

i have limited space inside me.

confining,

the pressure builds, i can’t seem to break a new dawn.

i reach the crest and see the path, but my footing won’t hold – i’m gripping the past.

no longer upright, along come crows – they swoop and caw.

the awe of it distracts me.

a quiet unfolds.

and steeps in me, wisdom behold.

it’s not the end, it’s the beginning.

i am a newborn to death.

the angels are preening.

already the heart

poem and bird


More alchemy than words …

raw & tender – they enter.

Gently forward, gently in, gently back.

I tilt towards the place in my chest.

Letter, then syllable – they slide – mixing in with the airy stuff around me & the gooey stuff inside.


To this day, I think this poem – “already the heart” by A.V. Christie- is one of the most beautiful and well crafted I’ve ever read (the poem is to the left of the green bird and my response -in a few words- is below it).

#alreadytheheart on Instagram 


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