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I stood there like a shadowed dancer,
Dancing to the brink of time,
The wind in my hair,
The tide washing ashore, soft as the grains of sand,
beneath my feet.

Nothing would stop me from raising my thoughts
To the soul of the sea,
That shone against a violet sky.
Gentle in its outbursts, almost a sigh.

I am the wind,
I am the tide,
I am the rain of salt,
In a salted sky.

I am the girl who danced
To the windless breeze,
I am the child,
I am the woman.

Listen,
I am but a dancer,
Dancing to the tune of a world that sings,
Taking nimble steps across the oceans,
And believing that,
My soulmate lives somewhere through ageless horizons.

-shobana-

Way out in Gluckominivie, there stands a lonely hall,
Though once a year it comes to life, for the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball.
The walls are cleaned of possum pee, the stove is cleared of mice.
The curtains washed; the windows wiped – it all looks very nice!
Crockery is taken out, chairs prop up the wall,
Spit and polish here and there, it’s now a “Ballroom Hall”!
Sannies made and tea cake cooked, the mums are trying hard
To make the night a special treat; there’s scones made by the yard!

Glowing with lust and pawing the dust, they’d come from far and wide,
Utes all stacked with Bundy Rum, a testosterone-fuelled tide.
Jack Johnson was a canny lad, who went through girls like water.
Each father swore he’d have Jack’s hide, if he went near his daughter.

Now, Angie fancied Brendan and Daisy yearned for Jack,
But Jack had made arrangements to meet Angie out the back.
This didn’t suit the girls at all, they pouted for a while,
Then plotted an alternative which gave them cause to smile.
So, the girls exchanged ID – they did it for a lark –
They had to be discreet because their dads patrolled the dark.

The sun arose upon the scene, the carnage was horrendous.
Bods and bottles strewn around – the fun had been tremendous!
Jack awoke to face the dawn, but his memory was quite hazy.
It wasn’t ‘til he wiped his eyes, he saw he’d played with Daisy.
Then they found his confidence had got them into strife –
Her father came to name the day and now she is his wife.
This sorry tale I tell, to warn you one and all –
It pays to be more circumspect, at the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball.
******

The rain stopped an hour ago.
Cadmium crimson and black
flood my rearview mirror
while orange hues
wash over my shoulders from behind.
The burgeoning color is bright
and no longer can I see
vanishing lines behind me.
Black empyrean
gives way to azure holes
between the grey mottled mantle
that only moments before
hid billions of stars.
Outside,
blurring by
tall golden grass succumbs
to patches of bright cerulean green,
spring’s calling card.
Ahead,
disappearing distance
the horizon
a backlit profile of snow-capped prominence,
comforting containment.

Cruise Control on Route 83,
heartland, Idaho.
Underneath my feet,
the staccato beat
of undulating pavement
perfectly timed
to diminishing power pole lines.
I’ve been driving all night.
In search of the past
still clinging on till now.
In the distance
a dark object lists in the night,
a building soon to be exposed
at first light.
I have seen so many,
like cattle dotting the landscape.
It’s an old barn and instinctively I swerve
pulling off to the right.
Gravel meets rubber,
scratching
like a stylus bumped across vinyl
silencing the song in my head.
I jump out of the car, iPhone in hand,
too tired to grab the camera bag and stand.
This will be quick,
a snapshot of the lives
of those passed on.

I walk the half mile or so
through grass
covered in kaleidoscopic
water droplets
a gift of the early morning rain.
A creature of habit,
maybe just seeking guidance
from left over recordings
etched in aging wood,
I lay hands on the grey weathered grain
searching for vibrations from another time,
and gaze towards sunrise
silhouetting a failing, split rail fence.
The kind Abraham built
a yarn from our sixth-grade storybooks.
The light is quickly filling the prairie,
exposing the building’s sensual senescence.
It is not a barn,
this plains cenotaph
a homestead, maybe
whose windows held no glass,
only shutters to keep out “them critters”
and the icy cold Mariah.

Grey and scared
the wooden floor creaks
warning its ghosts of my presence.
As I step over gnarled planks,
barley bound,
most likely the door,
held together with rusting ore
I need to duck
to pass through this hand hewn
buckling and splitting timber jamb.
Before me, barren walls and empty, dust laden shelves
succumb to the forces of gravity and time,
whilst a gleam of light
beckons my eye to the dark corner
where I can feel, surreal
the beds that at one time sheltered
my lingering hosts.
One of many sparkling cobwebs
leads me down
toward a clump of wood with painted face,
a doll I guess,
sitting, waiting
arms and legs still held in place by baling wire.
Bending down close I touch my screen
“click”
preserving this princess’s once vivid dream.

I knew they,
the ghosts would approve,
to be remembered that way,
way out here
so far from the homes
they left so many miles ago.
They came despite the odds,
building roads, creating jobs
yearning for a better life,
free from political and religious strife
filled with hopes and dreams
of owning their own.
It is innate, within us, you know;
the need to find our own way.
We will, human beings, leave
our home to seek what others won’t.
Leaving behind on alien worlds
someday to find,
curiosities and treasures for
inquiring minds like mine,
remnants of our peregrination
to the planets out there,
like Kepler-186f
sitting comfortably in what we now call
the habitable zone.

– G.Thomas Edwards

1. The world is wondrous and new.
It may not always seem that way, but it is.
You are too young to be so cynical.
2. Do not try to pry Tom Kitten’s eyeball out.
It is not a marble.
You can buy new marbles,
but you can’t buy new eyeballs.
His scratched and vacant stare will haunt you.
3. No, beautiful child,
You will never grow a penis.
You will learn to love your curves.
You will learn that women are not the enemy.
You will learn that “all the other girls” do not exist.
4. You will never be an astronaut.
You are afraid of heights and space.
You will find better dreams.
You will never stop searching for new worlds.
Going to the planetarium will always make you cry.
5. Don’t fall in love with married men.
Especially if they’re married to your cousin.
Especially if he is twenty years older than you.
6. Get excited over tiny things,
especially tiny turtles.
The tinier, the better.
7. If you are seven years old,
do not form your definition of what “lesbian” means based on Friends.
Furthermore, do not call your mother a lesbian at a dinner party
unless she is one.
She is not.
8. Don’t lend shoes to unscrupulous people.
9. Do not cut your hair in class.
It will not impress boys.
It will not impress anyone.
a. Do not cut your friend’s hair in class.
b. Do not cut anybody’s hair in class.
c. Seriously, just don’t.
They will send you to the guidance office
and ask you if you are schizophrenic.
10. Do not google search the word “hentai.”
If for any reason you do choose to google search the word “hentai,”
and you still live at home,
delete your browsing history,
(for the love of god, delete your browsing history),
or prepare yourself for a very uncomfortable conversation.
11. Watch movies with old people.
12. Things you should not discuss with classmates:
a. The superiority of your old hometown to their hometown
b. The 2007 World Series
c. How goddamn lonely you are
d. Used beach condoms
13. Do not tell people you talk to ghosts
or God.
It’s not worth the disapproving looks.
14. Never ever walk barefoot in the snow
unless you know what you’re getting into
which you don’t.
15. Do not laugh at your boyfriend’s penis,
and do not be too hard on yourself for laughing out of panic.
16. It’s okay if you can’t scream.
It’s okay if you can’t cry.
It’s okay if you don’t feel what you are supposed to.
17. If the idea of kissing someone
anyone
makes you feel sick
for a good long time,
do not kiss someone.
Do not kiss anyone.
You are not broken.
18. Be proud of the fact
that the best orgasms you’ve ever had
have come from yourself.
19. Do not drink that much wine over Seder dinner.
20. Do not climb buildings when drunk
(but if you do end up atop a building while drunk
and it’s well past midnight
and the stars are falling out of the sky,
enjoy it while it lasts).
21. You have always been told not to talk to strangers.
Talk to strangers.
22. Be honest.
Be honest.
Be honest
(but not cruel).
23. Remember that “good advice”
is not always good advice.

Out of the blue
You came to me
a sign of love
mine is the choice
to try again
we do have scars
leftover doubts
in heavy clouds
I lost my sun
I felt undone
but than you came
out of the blue
and killed the fear
all tiggers seem to disappear
until the lazy day arrived
a splutter hit us once again
we do discuss the where and when
we made us feel the blues

I put my hands
Into the waters of desire
Instantaneously wet with possibilities
A mix of feelings, goals,
achievements, and tangible possessions
Swirl around, in and through
my fingers and grasping hands

I attain what I want,
not because I see it in my hands
But in the lack of not having it
My intentions are sharp, focus and refined
The reasons for wanting are sincere

A strange observation,
determination replaces fear
The act of trying is enchanting
The push-pull game is conjuring
whatever it is
To a state of IS

Until it is
Real and concrete
Manifested, malleable, and tactile
In my hands
In my life
For all to see
What it was I desired

The spirit of our Heavenly Father,
Floats forever,
The air reflects the vibrations there,
Walking everywhere.

The soul be eternal perfection,
While our mind is crushed and warped,
Our bodies maybe tall and strong,
Or crippled, mangled and twisted.

The spirit of our Heavenly Father,
Floats forever,

Are we a mirror?
Can we reflect?
Do we want to?
Do we dare?

Perfection is there, it floats forever,
It is Our Heavenly Father.

http://www.Mary-Barr.com

the morning sun
and its singular
purpose
of love
calls for you
to find me

so grab your things
and run
I’m somewhere
you don’t know
awakening
towards you
every second

Once upon a morning mist
A vision came to me
A vision of what’s yet to come
Not done but yet to be

I wondered if the visions true
If what will be will be
If fate will be the ruling hand
And not left up to me

Man lives for his tomorrows
And great may be his name
He searches for fulfillment
So as not to die in vain

But if there’s no tomorrow
And fate has closed the door
Wander through the once upon
The times that are no more

For there you’ll see your yesterday
Today that was tomorrow
Man is but yesterday’s child
And time’s not his to borrow

Man was born for greatness
Born for things to come
Yet man has died in sorrow
His life’s work left undone.

Essential to the life force.
In paintings depicted as violent, serene, sparkling,
Why then wasted?

Needed by mankind to mature the harvest of the earth,
Allowed to soothe the soul, but many times
Permitted only to be a liquid trickle.

Essential to the lives of animals
Who know my true value
As maintenance of life.

So why reduce my essence to commercialism?
You celebrate my existence until the rains come again,
Then you forget, once more, that I am life itself!

Gushing through the downpipes of skyscrapers
Humanity perceives me as infinite,
Available for all eternity.

So now that I am scarce,
Often a stagnant green,
Fear of loss makes me valuable.

It is never surer,
That when the pipes dry out,
And rusting coats the metal
Then you, mankind, will be become aware –

That I am finite
And you cannot live on air.