Paragraph : Blue

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The sky was blue on April 16 at one minute before noon . It was to be my debut onto Avenue Magdalena , one street over from Clover Drive , the pale blue singing me into life , a life we are all born to die , the blue pushing me through onto earths keyboard , the blue stealing my heart , the blue separating the land and the sea by only a membrane . I’ve been watching , always watching , looking into a hued haze of violet swirling my days in New Mexico now , vast this country , nostalgic , old , fragile , faint with dark blue veins connecting canyons , cottonwood , cattle , antelope , crevices , plateau , juniper , tumbleweed  and the breath of sage sighing like dust clouds , moving ghosts over dry land , land the color of my body . Nothing is hidden here , here where melodies of wind bring forth imagination as if tears dropping from blue , drop compassion upon these hills of ivory skulls and bones .

I have been alive for sixty-five years today , today with the blue sky a circle . Those holes blue , drawn by the clouds becoming navels , the dark purple of the night are my east and west , the rising and falling of my nipples erect and exposed , the north and the south are my womb and stomach swallowed by the moon . I wish I could have another baby . I wish I could dance the flamingo . I wish I could hold onto my mother once more or play the accordion ( the green one I always write about ) or live at an ashram or walk the Camino de Santiago or fly like birds do . But I am a ” poem painter “. I was born in the bosom of Mother Earth , in a place beyond the horizon , a place whose residents have an inclination for precipitating miracles , a place under the bright blue sky of 1951 . Who stole my heart ? I’m always looking so far for it . I wish I could have back the round black mole that was once burned off my cheek bone . It came with me , an onyx from somewhere before , the day the sky was blue .

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Photos by D. Cook Photography

What a Wonderful World

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They thought they had remembered the time of the performance – but alas , it was not even today ! No matter , Miren was here , alone on the empty stage and the universe was about to blossom forth  , her creative and benevolent impulses lying in that innocent heart . Awake , a prayer is danced and we see for the first time into the nature of our own being .

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” I celebrate myself , and sing myself .” – Walt Whitman , ” Leaves of Grass ”

Thank you to Miren Beane and her parents , Robbie and Cassandra ….

 

The Angel Olivia

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The father is watching , peeking through the narrow door slat in the old Citadel Building of Benton Harbor . The walls seem like paper , the light thin , the patina dusty … yet with golden sheens they pirouette after the last poem of winter passes . Olivia dances , the Dance of Spring , the others watching as she creates her own gravity .image image image

For you dear one , Olivia … and your daddy xxx

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Music by my fellow blogging friend ,Ewian Christensen ,  a talented young artist muscician

Perplexings Again : Baby Blue Samsonite ( aka , Sammy ) , guest blogger

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Flash : Meg finally got my urgent message ! … Thanks to you dear Janet ( here’s a photo of you )

 

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I watched months ago as Meg sold and dissembled her whole house like a carpenter destroying an old kitchen to build new cabinets . She saved only her favorite things to fit in her tent ( lucky for me ! ) She disappears a lot : on that bike of hers doing some photo series on places where no one is or going to that coffee shop I can’t pronounce ( Leelanau ) to write . Someone asked her the other day , ” are you a lawyer “? because she writes on a legal pad . I lol when I heard that one cause if you could see her , no one looks less  like a lawyer than Meg ! ( FYI – I overhear all conversations that take place in tent ).

 

 

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“It is a very good thing you have done for me since moving into our tent Meg . Thank-you from my heart , you know , the stone heart you found on the beach that very first day , the smooth heart shaped stone , the one you painted bright red and placed inside , inside my satin elastic-topped pouch – that same pouch where your favorite necklace is , you know the one , that silver chain filled with charms from that lover you never let go of , that one from 3 years ago who is married now . You might want to finally let go now even though I wonder what would happen to the love poetry you write ? My heart seems to be growing and it’s a-bit crowded in here !

 

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” And Meg , thank-you for finding Eve – that once old broken table from the side of the road – saved now from destruction and oblivion . That’s why I love you so much Meg , even with all your quirkiness . ( I overheard that one too !) . And in discovering she even had a name was brilliant of you – the way you decided to paint orange only on one wood slate like wearing a shiny pair of shoes with those old blue-jeans of yours , you know the ones with all the holes that you even wear under your dresses . ( Funny too , living in a tent and wearing gorgeous dresses !). . . And then her name came thru – Eve – , you gave me a friend , Eve ! She’s doing better now , all those beautiful objects placed upon her has given her a beautiful mind , rich in diversity and knowledge and confidence too . Her voice is losing that squeaky soft sound and is clear  like the wide blue sky . It took awhile but now she’s even quoting from your poetry books , ” give me the splendid silent sun , with all his beams full dazzling ”

 

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” Eve asked me to remind you that your mirror is inside the wooden spice box from Afghanistan and to tell you , because , you always leave with a smudge above your lip from that “silver city pink ” lipstick . That tube is always up to tricky tricks ! ( not to tattle tale or anything ) . Eve and I are curious about your sleeping dreams – Yes , we both see them too ! We discuss their meaning as soon as you rush out to that coffee shop in the morning . ( warning : your bike basket is about to break from all the books and papers you travel with ). Those kissing dreams are the best , you know the ones , those very lucid ones that make you awake with a smile . Eve thinks they symbolize harmony , love , and contentment ( see , I told you she’s getting awful smart !) . And those egg dreams , the ones where the yolk is so yellow , brighter than the suns , joy , pure joy in your life ! Believe me , we feel this from you , rebirth , creative potential , the power of imagination are all yours from those eggs !

 

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” Anyway , Meg , Eve and I ( I like that sound of that ) , Eve and I want you to know how happy we are living with you together in our tent … Thankyou ! Below is our address if anyone wants to send a letter ( Eve and I don’t understand the ipad and find it rather scary ).

Meg , Sammy and Eve

0 Western ave. in the woods

Glen Arbor , Michigan

49085

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P.s. Thanks for leaving us those Hershey kisses you are always looking for ! Oh , and thank Cindy from across the way for playing her music so loud , Eve is learning the tango ! Imagine !  Oh , and one more thing ( don’t know just when you’ll let me guest blog again once you get back on the ” Venture ” and Beatitude Point that you’re so obsessed with ) … Try not to order any more of that peanut butter and jelly pizza from Bear Paws . You’re really not a kid anymore ! Oh , almost forgot , the doll from the orient is asking for some Chinese food .

P.s.s. Almost forgot , would you please carry Eve outside today , she wants to experience Walt Whitman .

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