it’s what I want
I want to write wild poems
I want to talk of passion and death
tell you of the short time we have here
the important things we must do
how to let go of the unimportant stuff
how to be patient and kind
how to get intimate and be honest
I want to write naked, vulnerable words
Words that undress you and I –
pull you deeply into me
I want to show you my flaming desire
feel yours burning from your side of the world
I want to run and feel and sing and tell 1,000 stories
I need to be all here
to be real
to see you
to be seen
to live through my senses
to love with my touch
there’s nothing else that is more valuable
there’s nothing else I want
there’s nothing else
❤️
Amy Lloyd
Some days I feel like a Pulitzer winning novelist
whose manuscript has been eaten by beetles
and whose typewriter has been thrown into the sea.
I feel like the greatest husband on earth
in the Alzheimer’s ward trying to pick out my wife.
A world class musician who’s just had a stroke.
A holy saint trapped in the body of—well, me.
A prima ballerina on crutches.
I feel extraordinarily gifted,
and unable to live it out.
Whether it’s luck or fault or fate matters not.
The crutches are real.
But I am a prima ballerina,
and I am resolved,
even with these damned crutches,
to carry myself with grace.
Some odd divine intent prevails.
I am still a saint; so I am resolved
to live with a shred of kindness showing.
In my corner of the world,
even if this is all in my head,
that’s a noble calling,
and, when I can pull it off,
God being in it,
something of a miracle.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net
Rest as original emptiness.
Be the mirror, not the image.
No fluttering wings
of opinion.
No old Summer stories
struggling in a silver web
the Autumn spider spins
across the night.
Be Ariadne,
the one who doesn’t get stuck
in her own silken theater.
Play the magical game
where beggars and kings,
warriors, lovers, witches, fools
cling to their threads of desire,
while you just witness
the glistening.
Don’t be a bead, a diamond,
a netted star.
Be the spider,
the darkness Herself.
Fred LaMotte
life: acoustic & amplified 