THE DAWN IS MINE

dawn is mineShifting, rising, waking

at the sound of song,

shuffling into slippers

to face another dawn.

One pup in her bed,

one out his window peering

as silver creeps across the lawn

that night is done with sharing.

Coffee poured and leashes latched –

a canine celebration!

And quietly we slip outside

to face a new creation.

Winged musicians yawn a song

as gold slides in their nest

“Of all the visits light has made

today will be the best!”

Palm boughs drip with diamond dew,

mist parts their leaves to rise,

grass flowers disrobe to bathe

in sunshine from the skies.

Green flash seekers line the beach

to search day’s end for a sign.

They can keep the burning sunset.

As for me, the dawn is mine.

 

BRAIN

There was a time when all I was was right brained – I lived to play the piano, danced and didn’t care who saw, wrote poetry well into the morning hours, believed in love, stripped down to underwear and ran and jumped into the sea, and thrived on meeting and connecting with new people.

And then I grew up.  Or that’s what I was told happened.  I began to analyze the shit out of everything, to pick apart the music for the inaccuracies, justify everything I did or wanted to do with evidence and reasons, calculate income less expenses in my head while walking my dogs in the morning.  Getting things right became more important than being beautiful.

But now… I’m gonna regress a little and wallow in the gorgeousness of my childhood.  I’m gonna spell stuff wrong, throw a tantrum here and there, wear big hats and dance in my comfortably round body and skip down the middle of the damn road thank you very much.  I will drink in the morning, laugh when I sneeze, and stare at gorgeous paintings for hours barely breathing.  I will clothe myself in colour, blast music until my car vibrates, speak with flowery words, and eat dessert first.

The right brain, the part of us that is being killed off by education and expectation, is where beauty lives.  It is where the purpose of life exists.  Time to reconnect.

The The Impotence Of Proofreading

I sent it to my staff and told them I never want to hear about errors in emails again.  And to Bushlette.  And to my mother.  And to my anal retentive English teacher.

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OonDPGwAyfQ&playnext=1&list=PL7A6309E73B10D0AD&feature=results_main]

Little Sister

Little Sister,

I pray to God that
you remain in a
beautiful
peaceful ignorance.

I will take care of you,
I will keep you under
the veil of my adamant protection.

I will carry you where
you need to go.
I will look left and right
before you cross the road,
cross the city,
cross the world.

If you cross too fast,
I will pull the imaginary
umbilical cord
between
your head
and
my heart,

And drag you back
maybe kicking, or screaming,
or crying, or smiling,
but for your own good.

I make myself the
tree – old, wise-
knowing and
with endless branches
of experience
that explode in
different directions.

My hope for you is
that you will be
strongly rooted: my little tree.

Grow beside me,
never leave. Imitate
my branches of success.
This is my gift to you.

But you don’t want this gift.

You say
you cannot grow strong
so close beside me.

You say that you are
dying in the damp dark.
You say I block you
from sunlight.

So instead you choose
to be my leaves.
Surrounding my dark
branches, growing from
their so called magic.

You are all around
inside me.
You receive
your much desired sunlight
from all angles.
You careen in the wind,
but every night
you rest,
on me.

Okay.

Little sister,
you rise
and sway with me
every afternoon, and

as much as this
connection warms me,
as much as I grow stronger
in your
presence,

I know that one day,
you’ll start to change
colour,

Slowly – and maybe even
behind my back.

And everyone sees how gorgeous you are.

People want
to take pieces of you
home

And you let them.

I pray to God that
winter never arrives.

I know that by then you
would have
completely fallen away,
blown away,
floated away.

Not only would I have
been stripped of my
beauty
and purpose
by your chilling departure.

I won’
t
know where
you are.
I won’
t

be able
to pull
you back
to me.
I won’
t be able
to
pro-
pro-
pro-
tect-
you.

If you ever do
come back,
You won’t be
the same.

I beg you not to
allow the elements of the world
to pick
and pull you
away from my dark security.

For if you do
I know
that the
mi
se
ry
will be so great…

that I will pray
for the beautiful,
peaceful ignorance
I
tried
to give
you.

xo
Bushlette

Losing My Blog Virginity

Hi Readers,

It’s a…coffee sipping, internally romantic, I-love-myself moment and have woken to the sweet sounds of my sister-love, Lady Day. We inhale our ordinary surroundings and the quietness, the stillness of this particular moment seems to serve as a reassurance that every wrong decision served it’s humble purpose and every right decision did just the same.

This morning….this type of morning comes only once a month or year or lifetime. It is the universe’s gift of self assurance, independence, and strength…but my mind is so clear and quiet that I am reminded of how easily this gift can slip away from me, through my lips, in the form of a debilitating, yet insignificant insecurity.

So I cradle my oversized coffee cup and smile as it scalds my fingertip. I kiss that same finger and use it to cover my lips. I let Billie Holiday do the talking and hope that this moment lasts long enough for me to remember it.

Here’s to my first post on the Singlestream and to everyone having a happy morning.

xo
Bushlette

Revolution

It began with the neck

twisting slightly to the left

following a sound

of a heart’s bugle call.

It wasn’t smart, this turn

but blindly seeking

a missed beat, a correction,

heartflow shouting,

purpose scouting.

And what began continued,

ears open wide

to the tide

of other things

the heart should know.

Once begun

it followed through,

straining for more

of the sound

the head turned round

just a little more,

eyes tear away from the goal

of what was once ahead

and now instead

the straight ahead shifts

leftward, inward, more and again.

Thoughts spin,

pivoting focus

out of the familiar

comfort zone

to walk alone…

Away from all teachings

guidance, and direction

stepping out in faith

without protection.

Knowing that the darkness brings

either a ledge to stand on

or lessons on how to fly,

always God-led

and grace fed.

A new vista

leftward leaning

turning more

till inward facing

bracing

into whence it came;

introspection,

home again.

Stirring deep

inside the Be

learning from the God

indwelling the soul

where He made Me whole.

Turning back to the dawn

of the self

lies wealth –

not of what was

left behind

but what I find

buried deep

in the honest purity

of naked being.

At one with

maker and creation lies

the truth

of Revolution.