Tag Archives: spring

Strange Easter

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From soil amended with death 
of Empire by Compost Christ,
revolutionary freedom farmer, 
an egg worth cracking emerges. 

Here the Buffalo Revolution 
and Dandelion Revolt.

Here the wild flowers raging free 
under the always-begotten Sun.

Here the Grand Water Ceremony  
and Fire Rebellion
inaugurated with Butterfly’s dream
and lichen’s lustful longing.

These are not answers—but finally 
the conditions for the queerest 
of questions to come calling us:

Do you want to be here?
Are you willing to accept your worthiness?

What if…?

What if it is enough?
What if you really belong?
What if your fear was fed to the chickens?

What if you were pregnant with Cosmos?

What if your heart-eggs were broken open 
and stories hatched 
that are worth hatching?

LIKE SUNFLOWERS BURSTING THROUGH CONCRETE

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I’m not much for drawing, but I was inspired by the 4 year old in my life to pick up the colored pencils…and I had fun with this image that emerged during a visualization activity last week with a prompt about our feeling of empowerment and the impulse towards our growing edge. With lines from the poem ‘Trust the Shimmerings’.
It’d be cool to find someone or multiple artists to draw images to accompany my next poetry collection.

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TRUST THE SHIMMERINGS

Did you crack yourself open 
at dawn or at dusk?

Or did you slip away again?

How much beauty 
must the world wash over you
for you to break open 
onto the wet rocks?

How much for you 
to reach a conclusion?

I’m talking about the shimmering
the gleam and glittering

pure press of guttural uttering
in you like the first vibration

Your footprints, where are they?

Your bellyprints and moonburnt eyeballs?

You outrageous fire, dancing, burning, licking at the world?

I’m talking about that fabulous blast
your sea-storm at last 

that high terrible power
blue and vital

your silver scream 
on the pummelled shoreline

The beasts are far? No—the beasts 
are within.

What clawed out of you 
at first light?

I’m talking about foraged 
and furry creatures
scurrying down the stream 
of your marrow

Slit your self down the middle
pull your skin to the horizon
and drip like a mountain.

Come to your senses,
cum in broad daylight
body lit with love.

I’m talking Big Trust
like screaming thistles
surprised at their own purpling

the sunflowers bursting 
through concrete.

Now tell me, 
will you crack yourself open
at dawn or at dusk?

Or will you slip away again?

10 EARTH DAY-IS-EVERY-MOMENT ACTIONS 

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🌏Anchor in an unshakable ecospirituality (deep time, reciprocity, gratitude, animism, sacred pause, honor the seasons)

🌏Chip away at inherited maps and stories, Dismantle supremist scripts, Divest from Empire (the most ecological thing we can do is compost white modernity)

🌏Befriend your watershed, get to know your plant kin, praise the soil, listen to the river 

🌏Build your capacity for discomfort (and discern the difference between danger and discomfort) 

🌏Slow down. Practice skills for building spaciousness within (regulating your nervous system) 

🌏Support indigenous sovereignty, frontline water and earth protectors, and #Landback campaigns.

🌏Listen deeply for your particular callings and follow them with the commitment of a monarch butterfly’s pilgrimage, ridiculously, beautifully, and like a sacred fool (what is yours to do and discerning when and how you get pulled off center)

🌏Celebrate your senses, revel in ecosensual pleasure, embrace your shadow, and tend your grief and that of others.

🌏For the love of Gaia, give up on hope and hopelessness. Rather, become intimate with butterflies and the seasons, the pace of the moon, the sacred wounds, parts of you that you’ve neglected still flitting about inside your Meadow. Let even the most disturbing questions and daring dreams drip down the canyons of you. Then, you’ll let go of bringing your silly little head to the game of hope and despair, But will be Life living through you and from there, the Wild and Wingéd Way will emerge like the butterfly from the cocoon, which not even the mightiest empire can withstand.

🌿FLUENT IN FERN

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Oh my, your unfurling looks so gorgeous on you. I love seeing you reveal ever-deeper layers of your becoming. Unfurling your unbridled truth. Unfurling the tendrils of remembering towards elaborate eco-erotic landscapes of liberation. Unfurling your tremendous cunning onwardness. Let’s join the cult of the sun, warming the ground, our skin, the seeds of our dreams wet with morning impulse. Crawl like the viper, the caterpillar, the fresh and thirsty spring eager to sprout. Listen closely: I think I hear the seedlings pop through the soil of you. I think I hear your spores singing—such a succulent symphony!