DAY 28: Where My Feet Find No Purchase

suspension bridge in clouds

Where My Feet Find No Purchase

I call across the abyss.

You do not hear

as you scurry

hither and yon,

wiping kitchen counters,

grasping at hope,

cleaning toilets,

pursuing vague intuition,

the endless pursuit

of internet healing.

If I build a bridge,

I will need your help.

A suspension bridge

that will sway as we yearn

our bodiesto press

flesh to flesh.

Where are you now,

weeping in the night?

I reach out.

There is no bridge

above the raging waters

of concern, the boiling

lesions that consume.

I have no tears

to stir cement,

only dry fire to

forge steel,

a limited amount

of chi to set

girders, raise

pylons.  Do you

know we need a

a bridge to the

beyond?   I go there

often, visiting

the unseen.

The bridge across

our bed grows

wider.

You disappear

beneath down

comforters.

I feel no comfort,

just a jawbone

rigid as an abutment.

In the muddle of mind

I tiptoe, suspended

between the desire

and the reality, a suspension

that holds nothing.

Strings of a silent harp.

I walk toward

your sighs, my hands

open should you

tolerate touch.

I will fly over the chasm,

touch you when you are ready.

Wherever you go, go safely,

go with guidance

from your Oversoul,

go with the axis

of my love, symmetry

of lifetimes.  When rivers

overflow with tears,

you will sail above the bridge

in moonlight.

I will be there.

~C.J. Prince

`2015

DAY 26: Taken for Granted

Close-up of granite rock. Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, USA.

Taken for Granted

You want to put me in a sling,

think I am worthless,

cast me away.

Some days you fondle

me, rub your thumb pad

against

my earth worn face.

Do you wish me

to wound or heal?

I can draw blood

or lead to the pavilion

of meditation.

Within me, find ancient

truths, long tales

of travel, covert

messages.  You

skip me.

A shallow toss,

and you forget.

My ancestors

are your foundations.

Take me to bed.

When you cannot

sleep,

touch me.

I soothe you.

Slip me

in your pocket.

I protect, balance,

encourage.

I am pre-historic,

collecting archeology

in my veins.

We are allies.

Remember,

a stone is a mountain.

A rock is all that is.

C.J. Prince

©2015

DAY 23: Temperance

GT-14-Temperance

Temperance

I temper things as I will.

A silver cup of water,

a gold cup of fire,

I temper into an elixir

you wait to taste.

Sunrise bursts below my feet.

I wear swathes of sunset

and midnight skies.

The moon catches fire,

reflects back to earth.

Walk with me.

See the possibilities

of opposition.

Breathe in clean air,

exhale expectations.

See my right and left sides

blend as sunbeams

race along earth,

yet stars still glitter.

What will you facet today

from that which

will not mix?

I don my jewels,

twirl my veils.

Hold my hand, beloved.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

DAY 22: Pastoral Memories

Fiona

Pastoral Memories

 

The mail-order hickory shepherd’s crook

hangs on a low Ponderosa branch.

I don’t know how to sink my weight

like a sumo wrestler.  I run as

fast as the Karakul ewe Fiona,

Thrust the hook around her wooly neck.

She back tracks, dumps me hard

in the paddock.  But it is the big

brown ram Chops

who broke my arm.

Billy, the cashmere buck,

nailed me, leaving hoof-shaped

bruises along my torso.

When spring grass jumps up,

lambs frolic, kids cavort.

The donkey, Carmen Burranda,

eases, nudges, pushes

her way to forbidden pasture,

munches hot green grass, founders.

The wee angora kid, too weak

to suckle his dam’s teat,

the bleating four pounder

I took to bed with a bottle,

dies at two months.

Edgar Rice Burro, the newly castrated donkey,

bleeds to death.

Be aware, those who yearn

for pastoral harmony.

It is a fast track cycle,

digging graves

at midnight, life and death

a daily possibility.

~C.J. Prince

©2015