life: acoustic & amplified

in the fray

❤

~ The Call

 

I have heard it all my life,

A voice calling a name I recognized as my own.

Sometimes it comes as a soft-bellied whisper.

Sometimes it holds an edge of urgency.

But always it says: Wake up my

Love. You are walking asleep.

There’s no safety in that!

Remember what you are and let this knowing

take you home to the Beloved with every breath.

Hold tenderly who you are and let a deeper knowing

colour the shape of your humanness.

There is no where to go. What you

are looking for is right here.

Open the fist clenched in wanting and

see what you already hold in your hand.

There is no waiting for something to happen,

no point in the future to get to.

All you have ever longed for is here

in this moment, right now.

You are wearing yourself out

with all this searching.

Come home and rest.

How much longer can

you live like this?

Your hungry spirit is gaunt, your heart

stumbles. All this trying.

Give it up!

Let yourself be one of the God-mad,

faithful only to the Beauty you are.

Let the Lover pull you to your

feet and hold you close,

dancing even when fear urges you to sit this one out.

Remember- there is one word

you are here to say with your whole being.

When it finds you, give your life to it.

Don’t be tight-lipped and stingy.

Spend yourself completely on the saying.

Be one word in this great love

poem we are writing together.

————————–

~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer

a few remenants of time remaining

whiskers and sweat are a lifestyle choice

ashes and rust are a way to rough up the shiny Venetian plaster

scraping razors uncover behind the blood red

layers of years, of jobs, of actions done wrong

smokey two-chains of battle-scars and emphysema

gravelly voices fighting their way through to explore love

laughter leveled at consistent foolishness and aggravation

wisdom rides securely on the broad shoulders of rough and ready

careless broken pieces of windowed ledges hang by threads of cheap silcone

flash fires suddenly stormy weathered downpours

powder kegs are a mile a minute strewn along sidewalks

life must be lived with honest appreciation of all the possibilities

better walk in the middle of the street in the early morning hours

it’s hard to change directions when all you know are guilty pleasures

looking for moments of light breaking through

is that a cat on his neck?

yyyuuup…

even after the third time of asking the question to yourself

not trusting your own eyes

saying it out loud for someone to confirm it’s strange truth

it ALWAYS is what it is…

Lightning 13 miles from thunder moving closer with that crazy-eyed sky

hearts are, as usual, are our least/most vulnerable spot

even after the eclipse shows us how to start over step by step…

Prize fighters never forget how to clench fists

hard getting harder with each blow

unless desperado chooses to open that gate

practical life changers have seen some business,

leading to…

“you gotta get up early in the morning to try to get me…

and all you’ll get is tired”

at some point you gotta rest from the never ending battles

I was here for a minute

then flew into the deep blue yonder

while you play games you’re sure to win

knowing my life has completely changed

in ways beyond this moment of knowing

beyond the lingering smell of cigars I can’t outrun

destiny takes no prisoners

freedom rides the hot delta winds right outside the open prison door

love always wins no matter the surprising shape it takes

suddenly the simplest spoken truth shifts all perspective of the weeks behind

{changing nothing and everything simultaneously}

I breathe again released from my illusive, nagging, self doubt and confusion

please remember – no more trickery allowed when the truth will serve better

there in the clouds of heaven

Atlas finally takes the world off his shoulders for good

and lays down to rest

🌹😘

Amy Lloyd

This is what life is really like.

This is what life is really like.

This is what life is really like every day.

—Gray Parrot, Vienna, 1943.

In the circus animals’ diary: “And all this was destroyed in ninety minutes.”

Makeshift forests flaming to high heavens, metal bent bars.

Siberian tigers, black panthers, jaguars, pumas,

bears, hyenas and wolves, and all the lion pit saved from burning

by the keepers’ own hands. By bullets. Only so much can be said.

Herbage will be scarce. Nature will gather like sleeping poppies

over the craters and lost species.

The African wart-hog will be cooked over an open fire in the garden.

One thinks of one’s restlessness, Faustian—

in the minutes-before-dawn dark

with the devil cry of black crows, the miry skull

of the half-eaten rabbit, then gold grimy hills

and light-making jewels and hand mirrors among the trees.

Why are you here? It dawns. All this will never be again.

The circus can’t be locked.

🤡

Circus City by Carol Frost