She Lay With Thunder

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She Lay
With Thunder
When She lay with Thunder
She comes with Her heart on fire
Burning Blue in the light of Her truth
Renewed by the fury of waking
When She lay with Thunder
The storm of Her Wildness
Unfolds in euphoric prophecy
as She Comes into Union
With the Lightning of Her Rapture
When She lay with Thunder
Every inch of Her turns to stars
adorning the cool breath of night
Pouring through Her as rivers of luminescence
In the mirror of sky
When She lay with Thunder
Her heart quakes with the shaking
Of a thousand years of rose petals
Tumbling from Her chalice well
Anointing the Heavens in her Ruby Rain
When She lay with Thunder
the northern lights dance across hearts
as ancient songs of Love rise
in lightning threads of souls echoing
hurricane symphonies of the Beloved
When She lay with Thunder
All that was once held captive
In the sleep of Her soul
Dances ferocious and free
amidst the ceremony of wet dust



Is It Riches You Want?


is it riches you want?
then come my friend, and may i introduce to you
the sun
whose generosity is such to throw
countless diamonds across the sea
for your collection
if you go, and watch carefully
you may feel them fill your heart
and pour their indestructible wisdom
satisfying this sweet and precious yearning
to capacity


is it fame you desire?
then come sweet soul
stand with me upon the stage of earth
set before you awaits there a thirsty crowd of countless stars
enlightened angels
waiting to catch a glimpse of your perfect face
to hear a single note of the harmony of your being-ness
as you play to your hearts delight
and they sparkle in standing ovation


is it pleasure you seek?
please then, oh beloved, and look no further
than to sit upon the side of the mountain
as countless winged ones glide across your holy skin
as the winds of the nectars move through and around you
tantilizing your senses
with the passion of every illuminated heart
feasting in the pleasure of knowing their love for you


for when this borrowed vessel of flesh
this vehicle to learn of our true mind
crumbles at the touch of saturns mighty ticking hands
chopping away the moments of our searching
may this field of fortune
be forever in your pockets
their riches overflowing from your heart
to rain upon countless other beings of yearning
desperate to touch the face of the angel
that is their own


I am rich in wanting
rich in the insatiable craving
and i offer this yearning heart to you
that you may be filled with the currency of bliss wisdom
pouring out from the sun
raining down from the stars
and caressing us in the breeze
as we walk together
to the sacred bank of holy together
to cash in everything we’ve got
and bet it all on love



Courting The Muse

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Songs are such dynamic creatures. I was connecting with a friend last night over a midnight cup of star talk, and he asked how songs came to be.

to which i replied each song has its own unique birthing process, as if they were different species all together, some born from egg, some born from live, hard labor, some dropped off by the stork, some grown from seed sprouts which blossom over time, each season having a new wave.

some songs come all words first, in one fast poetic downpour, and the melody is later encouraged. sometimes its the reverse, a melody is heard, with pieces of words or sounds or images that flow with, and the rest of the poetry is uncovered- an archeologist brushing away dirt from the bone.

some songs come all as one, a poetic gift of muse song, transcribed in the moment complete and polished from start to finish. all that is asked is to pick up the pen at the first sign of a whisper- but if i miss it, it passes by like a hum on the wind- here one moment, gone the next.

some songs feel very contrived, my own hands craft at work- sometimes i love these songs, sometimes i never play them more than once. though these songs often clear the path for the ones which come as if the song was completed before it arrived at the door of my subconscious

there are some songs which start out as images, a vision or dream which gestates over months or years and bursts forth like a desert bloom waiting for the unexpected downpour of inspiration to crack the dry crust of a thirsty land. others come out half baked, and take several months of rest and contemplation to be understood, or for the muse to return.

some songs are strung together like constellations of collected moments of inspiration- gathered phrases of silver in my word jar, cracked open when its time to spend it all on a musing or two.

some songs, the muse is a hovering presence, a spirit demanding hours of sitting and crafting till its dream has been actualized. other muses need offerings, coaxing, skillful teasing, devotion- they want to dance. each creation a gift, and each requiring of me more openness and trust, patience and curiosity, surrender, letting go.