Are we all just dead? I mean really dead
Humankind lying around on this great big battlefield called earth
Why can’t we get up?
Why can’t we wake up?
Our wounds so deep that they stretch down into the crusted depths of our Earth Mother
Do the anchors to which we have been tethered have real power anymore?
We are attached to this death by a wounded umbilical cord; damaged, dark And fathomless suffering
The wounded cord
Breathing in, we begin to rock
Breathing out, we release the darkening pain
Until we are lying face down on this hallowed ground
This is a whole new level of pain…of fuckedupness. This made up phrase fuckedupness Feels so right yet pushes the pain aside It turns into a dull ache. Between my legs In my lower belly. An ache and a need that I can’t seem to release or satisfy or whatever…FUCK, what does this mean? I need to accept it…maybe, hmmm. Naked, sitting at the edge of yet another tub filled With water, salt and oil. Baptism Anointed I will anoint my body in this water tonight. I will feel it and love it and treat it tenderly because I long…
Fucked up sisterhood, of cultural bondage proximity, shared despair, 2 dumb kids hiding, or running, or freezing, or cumming, with numb the drug that got us there,
smokey connection, truth, innocence gone, I peer, straining to see, no body detected, shadow mist where your face used to be,
substance between us, ancient fatherly decay, pride and spit, the men that grew us, they glued us, this way,
pursing my lips to make wind, can’t, hand itches to move, and swipe it away, won’t, not now
perhaps more on a different day.
©Annine Massaro 2021
Thank you J.D. Harms for this…
Did you think it would destroy us
when you left the blackened toilets
during that selfish and filthy time?
It really only served to ignite
an ancient sisterly bond
One that united us to rise together
in overcoming your nasty crimes.
Did you know that crimes of the past have a peculiarly bitter taste? Your stirring of these old, familial ghosts that are better left to their eternal rest Instead you…
Oh, dearest Covid
May I count you as my friend?
What are you here to teach us
And where will your lessons end?
For so many I love
Your touch has been brutal
Mask, social distancing, gloves
Are they really more than futile?
All this time spent being apart
A challenge pure and true
Could this be an opportunity to see
All that we have taken for granted through you?
Your insidious gaze
has undoubtedly left its mark
Many countries, many nations
And perhaps most of all
On every human heart
This simple poem is not meant to be divisive…
flashes of crashes
children in caches
These places I must go.
Wanting her to come
who will watch for her
if not me?
but she is gone —
As I hitch a ride
on a darkened slide
Twisting and turning
squeezing eyes tight
letting go into the night
surprised by a gentle landing
There is a stillness
a gathering of senses
for a moment
enveloped in the softest of places
in this room full of graces
On a stinging breath
and gasping with fear
eyes open wide
releasing the air
My shadowy vision becomes…
good orderly direction
Is that it?
For such a big word
Can I really reduce GOD to this simple phrase. A possible new definition suggested to me by an “old timer” in my early years of recovery.
Yes. Upon further reflection. The answer is yes. This is an absolutely acceptable definition especially given the HUGE resistance my ego had at the time to living my life from the simplicity that this new definition seemed to suggest.
GOOD ORDERLY DIRECTION
This actually feels ok. Pretty neutral.
My spirit replaced the word God with the word…