Sometimes I see forever before knowing if I can make it. Sometimes life falls apart like clumps of dirt held tightly in my hands. Will I be scattered on the wind this time, like the spokes of a wishflower? The force of air and spit from a mouth thrusting me into the unknown? Or will … Continue reading Molting
I. The sun peeks through hazy sky and she looks beautiful in grey and gold. She is like that sun persisting through the blanket of clouds that threaten a distant storm but haven't gathered enough water yet, not today. She is not striving to rule the sky, and she can't see it yet, but she … Continue reading The Sleepy Sun and Her Starry Friend
Welcome to The Flipside, to The Upside Down. Here, everything is as it should be. Here, we live inside dark clouds. There is no sun in here, no days full of light. Here the shadows are more than echoes of a past we try to fight. Here there is no floor firm under your feet. … Continue reading The Upside Down
I. My body is a microcosm of the earth, raging against invasion, depletion, destruction. Scars are blocking my guts, like damming up the Amazon River when 70% of our medicines come from the jungle it feeds. Some things just need to flow or the world suffers. Tribes have survived deep inside the forest, keeping the … Continue reading Life Giver (Pacha Mamma Gives Birth)
Vultures pick the wounds clean. Clarity comes through whispering trees. I am still, and listening. Copyright © 2018, Sheyorah Aossi Art: Stillness by Joyce Huntington.
This image is a still from Becoming Who I Was, the film this poem is based on. It is a documentary about a child who was a Rinpoche in his previous lifetime, and is displaced from his home in Tibet due to reincarnating in a rural region of China. He must travel, with the help of his elderly guardian, from a village in wintering China, through India, to Tibet, in the hopes of being reunited with his disciples who must claim him in order for him to fulfill his purpose for reincarnating. But Tibetan borders, as we know, are blocked and heavily guarded. I highly recommend the film, for the moving story, and for the stunning photography. And now the poem.
Poet's Notes: This was written in response to a journal prompt by Pixie Lighthorse from her book, "Prayers of Honoring Grief." The question was: How can I honor what I've been through?
Poet's Notes: I rarely write rhyming poems, unless I'm writing song lyrics, and even then they are more loose and lyrical. This is not technically perfect rhyming or meter, I just wanted to try and express an idea this way. It's a good exercise, and sometimes the limitations of rhyme lead to more concise metaphor, or at least, to keeping one on a more defined track. Also, there is irony in this topic being expressed within the confines of an imposed 'meter', which is apropos, and somewhat amusing to my geeky brain.
Friends always say, "Of course!" when they promise to keep in touch, keep the friendship alive, when a new mate is found. But I know you. Your hunger is so big, you struggle often to be anything else, and it's hard to think when you're starving. I know starving. Her name is Diana, you said. … Continue reading A Blessing for The Hunters
Sometimes the jolts of pain in my guts feel like flashes of dying. Mortality and I are very close. I won't say we're friends but we respect each other. We know the power each of us has and the potential cost of playing. Lightning bolts in my capillaries and thunder in my soft tissues; A … Continue reading Dear Doulas
