Beaming Down

Shining Light,

                                              I look up to you...

Missing you girl,

don't stop 

smiling and shining like you do!!

Eight Birds

                                  Mother God,

                                  Thank you for the earth.

                                  Thank you for making me

                                            need to breathe it in,

                                       and need to breathe it out:

                                            forced to give back

                                            or die,                                  

                                       in order to live.

- a prayer, a return.

{At least 8 birds sang to me this morning,

and my untrained ears probably miscounted the rest.}

Whisper

{For you-know-who,
through the storms,
listen for the Whisper.
Keep shining like you do :),
we need it.
- C}


"shhh...

Seek to grow from the smallness..."

Like the seed that's alive before it shows;
     like I can't get out of bed this morning.
Like a flower faces the sun;
     like I can choose to rise.
Like a breeze nods and waves the leaves;
     like I will smile back.

Like petals reviving the air you breathe;

     like I will exhale life with words and silence with eyes that meet.

Like a flower passed from hand to hand to hand;
     like I can choose to love.
Like a single stem can stand to protect, to guide:
     despite the rain -
     because of the rain.

Moment by moment by moment:
     she rises;
          she receives;
               she steps;
                    she turns;
                         she looks;
                              she gives;
                                   she receives;
                                        they smile;
                                                  they leave;
                                                  protected by 
                                                  the delicate,
                                                  the strong:
                                                  a symbol of them.

"shhh...

Like a rose grows more beautiful after the storm,

you are even more 

beautiful than this."

Nesting

                                            "When are you gonna settle down?" 
          "100 Camels!"
                                     "You need to find a 'Sugar Daddy.'"
          "400 Camels!!!!"
                                           "...And then you can do whatever you want..."
          "I offer you 500 Camels!!!!!"

*speechless* 

"And what say you, good Sir?"

"Hmm...   

     well,

     I've got half a bottle x 2

     {1 for me and 1 for you},

     1 helmet,

     1 tree to climb and an apple from it

     - oh, and a thought or 3 or 2..."

"Yup,

that'll do."

Tip the Scale {5 of 5}

Caterpillar; A War Cry {5 of 5}

{i.e. get the caterpillars out of

Palestine,

out of Canada,

unless you are building together

a garden where the only accidental casualties are

caterpillars eating your cilantro.

We will together dance on their graves,

and harvest life

on their burial site.}

Silly poem:

   A war cry...

...Heaven is almost gone.

Grrrr... the Caterpillar

    grinds:

    built for mass destruction,

    a weapon well certified with a license -

    “safety first”

    their trainers will say -

    in order to

    to kill at will, and

    harvest life

    from a burial site.

"Is the road to heaven really paved with hell?"

Paving a road

    over a graveyard... 
    The souls

    of these children 
    {casualties of war} are
    stifled, unable to

    sprout up and bring

    life from death...
    Souls stifled
    in life, and 
    in death...
But of course, 

    their sins

    are revealed by the 

    impure skin 

    of their kin.

    Their sins 

    are sealed by the

    white man's skin

    tarred over the earth:

    a black, hard, lifeless, road.

The road 

    to heaven paved with 

    blackened gold...
    hell on earth.

    The converted 

    children's muffled cries

    scream beneath the green, beneath the black,   

    "Is the road to heaven really paved with hell?"

No life

    harvested from this 
    burial site.
    The converted
    consumers ask politely,
    "Caterpillar, please pave over the casualties,
    for the road to gold is paved... 
    thank goodness they were saved."

"Is the road to heaven really paved with hell?"

To destroy or not

    is not the question,

    but how much?
Do a jig

    for the soul

    of cilantro;

A rain dance with

    prayers to produce

    much more than what was taken
    by the killer in the mirror;

A sun dance for 
    silly poems
    to no longer be

    destroyed by seriousness;
A brave dance for 
    Caterpillars
    to be released from 
    captivity, and allowed 
    to blossom, 
    to beautify, and 
    to bring life 
    from this burial site.

"Is the road to heaven really paved with hell?"

Heaven is almost gone.

{not my photo}

Drive-By Shooting {4 of 5}

Caterpillar, A War Cry 

{4 of 5}

Drive-By Shooting

    photos of

    big, beautiful homes -

    some draped in vines and

    poking out from

    blossoming magnolias

    {givers and takers},
    sucking nutrients -

    beautiful as they are in our eyes.

    Some shiny and new with a matching Volvo,

    “Safest car on the road,”

    their signs sometimes say;

    protectors of life

    {for those inside},
    sucking nutrients -

    beautiful in the eye of the beholder.

It all makes sense -

    they’d kill themselves

    {more than they already are}

    if they saw the

    killer in the mirror.
    If they saw past their own smile...

A smile, still.

     ...

     ...breathe in = kill.

A battle cry
     ...
     ...against you and I.

Her song

    makes my heart

    sing along 
    through the

    speakers made from

    oil-soaked birds and

    little fingers,

    hidden behind

    locked doors and

    thick forests and

    endless deserts

    in the most

    picturesque countries

    I will one day fly to 
    {while they still exist} and

    capture on camera...

Drive-by Shooting.

The Soul of Cilantro {3 of 5}

Caterpillar, A War Cry

{part 3 of 5}

 

a.k.a. help your Caterpillars transform
ugly to beautiful,
not
beautiful to ugly.
Link: It's you, Canada - not just them over there
{not my photo}

Silly poem,

    a war cry.

 

Dear cilantro,

    I am sorry

    but thanks.
 

One day I’ll resurrect you

    with my body, and

    harvest life

    from a burial site.

Life and death

   do a jig for the

   soul of

   cilantro.

The Caterpillar bulldozed

    their garden,

    their home,

    while weeding out

    lesser beings -

    spraying pesticides and

    building fences

    that kill the gardener,

    and the garden.

Caterpillar bulldozing

    their farms,

    their towns -

    to weed out

    lesser beings -

    consuming

    earth and people

    simply to plant a city
    to consume in...

    simply
    harvesting life

    from a burial site.
 

Guts of

    their house,

    their life blood:

    the olive tree roots,

    the maple’s blood,

    stuck in the

    Caterpillar’s claw...
Disguised by a name
    symbolizing beauty transformed,
    the Caterpillar transforms
    life into death, and

    digs a grave,

    to harvest life.

Where even a
    silly poem

    is transformed into
    a war cry.

 

 http://www.internationalrivers.org/resources/acting-up-for-climate-change-1729

Colonization,

Climate Change, All that Jazz

{not my photo}