A Mote Surrounds His Heart NAPO #19

In the morning;
It’s calm and quiet
everything’s covered in white,
colour of the gloria.
A hoop’s no longer tethered by its strings
It hangs lifeless, broken and disconnected.

In the afternoon;
The sun and me — I wait,
I try to speak to
shoveling men shoveling
forever dirt, where neglected plants
die in their frequency.
A dimension with mysterious energies.

At night,
stars swim like fish
endless in a cloudless sky,
a train derails between the dandelions and grass fields.
Where are the principles of peace?
Sureallism surrounds my heart,
woven in filament silk.

Shore, sand, and water creased by waves.
A kingdom with souls that vibrate.

Love is Never Liberal NAPO #11

I remember my moment and our
surprise as we rotated between what you assumed were
derisory drawings, bad poems and loves that were rotten.
Travelling from one side of an immovable leaning on the table.

The Sweetness of a Mango NAPO #10

Many varieties of orchids
climbed trunks, hanging like grapes from the highest branches,
clouds of white butterflies covered the ground and
the birds of iridescent feathers filled the air.
Your voice was a delicious mango’s juice; a pulp infusion of herbs,
it refreshed me,
it made me smile,
it made me laugh,
a serenade under my window
wandering in the four winds of the heart’s home.
My dream hides faithful to the wind, sun, clouds and stars of my heart.

Dedicated to Michael.

* I used two words from the whirlgig. Thanks for the words MMT.

April Speaks NAPO #9

With my hand at my waist
the outside is compact and light
bitterness flies; words lost in the air become fruit,
the clear sun for flight,
a circle of images highlight the hour’s slow pace
burnt in rhythm to find the heart
where secret spaces make dreams.
To touch wings
locked together,
to  see joy in the deep water
illuminated with colour,
salty eyes and fire,
the wind fluttering,
the highest flight
light as birds,
April speaks; her lips a young naked sound through the air.

The Lure of Beauty NAPO #8

Terra cotta tiled roofs descend into view,
wasted white on an egg-yolked sun

rising on homes, carrying tales of bells
with distinct rings; I turn my back
so death won’t take my soul … like those

old abandoned buses lying in a caressing,
cold crevasse, watched over by

a stream of crosses resurrected on
mountainsides, playing tag as you
pass by.

El Diablo sinking his limbs and horns into red clay,
ready to give a slight nudge into
unforgiving, but loving arms of trees.

When no-one wants to claim you, only to
keep you as a trophy for their lost day,

landscapes can embody space, giving
it life, a personality.

*Excerpt from Diario Despertar de Oaxaca
El “Espinazo del Diablo”, leyenda mixteca:
Indeed, they found the wounded dying, and a bus turned over the precipice, over three thousand meters, with more than 30 people dead and at least two seriously injured, who testified that a beautiful woman with long hair made the driver stop and caused him distress.
Thus began the accident in the “Devil’s Backbone,” unquantifiable in all forms.
You can still see the remains of some buses overturned and traces of where they tried to cross the road to inform people and Mixtec communities.
On top of the hill is a chapel of the Virgen de Guadalupe, there are pictures of the Virgin of Juquila and a number of crosses, witnessing the misfortunes that occurred in the “Devil’s Backbone.”

Carretera Huajuapan Juxtlahuaca

Grateful NAPO #6

Jasmines peek at me from
the neighbour’s garden,
my heart is given this moment,
it’s an opportunity — a gift.

Summoning Joy NAPO#5

Music resonates
it moves and exalts us
encourages and summons joy.
Eyes smile and
bodies swing to the beat.
It’s glorious
perennial, strong and
clear in the air.

A Naked Rose Flows into the Sea NAPO #1

Begin with light like a diadem growing,
the edges transparent
but raised in everything
that’s not situated
to fly more than a wing.
See the tree that captures sound
surrounding the soul’s wish
whose arms extend into the clear air,
a heart only in its rays.
It’s multi-faceted.

Process notes: I will be posting over at https://1sojournal.wordpress.com
Elizabeth is kind enough to be offering us writers a homebase this month.

Please consider looking at what Elizabeth has to offer

A Change in Spirit

I enter origin’s darkness closing my eyelids,
footprints of the day in a monotone channel.
No sound; it keeps away doubtful movements.
I get comfortable with the discomfort of my grey area,
I understand the glory of angels
where the reflections of monsters are real.
It’s complicated, it’s amethyst, it’s ancient.
I acknowledge that I love and am inspired
even though my landscape has changed.

I Only Wanted to Pray in Peace The Sunday Whirl #234

The last window,
the last eyes light night’s fire,
surrounding the trees are my soul’s wishes.
I go out the door
looking for a revenant;
ink that has the power to enchant
soulful voices of dialogue in emotional synthesis.
Pouring slow into these hours
souls sigh in the clear air
branches reaching to engage the sunrise.