Poetry, Writings and Rambling Thought

The following is an assortment of stream of consciousness writing. Some of it is old. All is unfinished. I’m just wandering through pages of writing. Maybe it was Grace finding her meditation draft book, or Sorrow 11, and her beautiful fridge, maybe it was the sheer tenacity of MotherWinterMoon or the brave heart of Ruby, maybe it is the absence of Ronnie and Mystery’s voices or the sweet sincerity of ToBeMe….but I wandered through small pages of my writing, small unfinished thoughts and leave them here this evening as a tribute to your own.

May the Divine bless you.



Thoughts on another Day (July 7, 2007)(07-07-07)


I wonder

as I meet myself on paper

thinking of the days

which I perceive

to start so early

so unrelenting.

The morning,

the Sun hung oddly in the sky

the glare

the impact

the weight


I wondered what it would be

to be wrapped in robes

trudging across a vast desert

having it as my home

easy then to believe

in a vengeful Almighty

when shade and water

would be my gold

and so often unfound

who would I be?


Let Me Ask




what is it,

to type from your soul,

to find,

that when you open

your eyes,

the words are gone,


a backstroke,

something gone awry

the words are gone

and I ask you

i plead

I beg


what have any of us done

to keep the world as it is?

my children laugh,

I am like a blind man at the keys,

my head rolls,

I refuse to watch what is written,

oh yes,

I go back for typographical errors,

but not for the moments within the breath,

I don’t know you,

you don’t know me

and you wouldn’t

for the person I am

was a person trampled upon

willing always to give

to the point of self extinction

I am done

I put my hand upon the plug

to stop this mind

yet, look upon the library

I put my head down

you don’t know what


cost me

to earn this rug

I put my head down




The barriers of Saturday

Copyright 2007: S.E.



The colors drain into me

A vortex

Of sound and light

I am color

I am words

I am what I was at the beginning

And what I was at the end

I am the moments in between

I type in a fashion

That if anyone were to see

They would be so confused

I can only hear the words

See them in blank

Close my eyes and let my

Fingers decide

What is it for a soul to fly

Within this earthly existence

What is it

What is it

What is it

There is a place removed

We all know

The touch on the shoulder

Thought you heard a sound

The flash of light

Or darkness

In the corner of your eye

A military tanker banked

And flew

As if on a human road

I lifted the fingers to my forehead


I don’t agree with war

I don’t judge the soldiers

I live within

And without

I am what you call here and not here

I am within you

All of you

Tilt your head

Turn it to the sky

Hear the birds

They are actually speaking

Have you forgotten the language

Watch a bird

If you approach


It will wait for you

There is a pattern to the morning

To the Seasons

To Spring

Why we go so many years without






The avenues of us





We go

Why we go

Because we do

It has been












Enter: S.E., copyright, 2007


Walk along the moss

The earth springing

Between my toes



Wrapped in gauze

Is what we called it






No tulips


Hair thickened

Feet bare


And bare


I breath

I breath

I breath


The oxygen has a name

When it enters my body

It is not

Just is


I pause

And look at the sky

I dip my fingers into the blue

I taste it



I light the world


I sit

Cross my legs

Fold unto myself

I glow


I draw the energy of the earth



Bowing my head



I say

To the earth

The soil

The pieces I didn’t

See before


The world

I sit atop

I am the woman

On the pot


On the fountain

Of knowledge

It moves through


It whistles

It gurgles

A stream

A winter thaw

Of a mountain

The cold clear

Never touched



Becoming me


I breathe

And am graced


You can see me

Feel me


my hair is in

what you think

is your wind


The way your car rocked

That was me

I was breathing

The lights that flicker?

It was me


Smiling and not smiling


We grin

The paths

The corrals

You humans

Have drawn against our creation


You have fenced yourselves



to free will




Sheer Walls Copyright, 2007 Surface Earth



I have gone from you

There is silence


A canyon


I have gone from you

And you didn’t falter

In your step

So convinced in your anger


You missed

The opportunity

For me

Not to go


I have gone from you

A bird from the North

Flying South to Sanctuary


I called for you

Cried for you

Screamed for you

Ceramic crashing to the ground

Did you hear me?



The silence of righteousness

Of anger

Followed the shards

There on the ground


Left alone

Extreme emotion


Without attention


I have gone from you

Somewhere on the bottom of the canyon

Unable to scale the walls

I won’t come back this time

I have told you

There are no handholds

No crevices

Within which my hands or feet will fit


Blue: SmallThoughts on Being Woman

Copyright, SE, 2007


She crawled across the floor, the blue of her dress dragging onto the wood which had not been waxed in years. Her arms extended in front of her, hands clawing at the ground, then sliding to catch air.


They had sucked too much from her, believing she could either take it or was blind.


She looked toward the window sill, the worn wood, wondering if it was a dog that scratched the molding, there were claw marks darkened with age. She lifted herself with her knees drawn up beneath her, her head against the molding , chin down. Her eyes lifted through the level of the trees, looking out to the road below.


How many years had she sat in this position within her mind without knowing it? When did she first begin to cower and why? She was transfixed with what she did not know about herself, either what others had never told her or what she had not told herself. She rubbed the dirt from beneath her nails, she wasn’t grotesque, quite the opposite, she was told she was beautiful. Every once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of herself in a store window and be startled by her reflection, the angle of her cheek bones against the background and realize with a gasp that she was the woman reflected and she was indeed, in that moment, with that set of eyes, beautiful.



She has always been surrounded by people who tell you its black when its white.

Who are they protecting?

Certainly not her, lying through their teeth to serve their own motives. Is there a time when that is acceptable?



Pieces: Copyright 2007, surface earth




Do you see

There upon the floor

Your heel grounds onto

The piece of otherwise me



A thousand

Hawks circling


Already dead

Or gone



Yet with weight

There upon the air

Can you sense it?

My heart

Crying to you




A dead stare

Were you ever

Really there?







SurfaceEarth, 2006:

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

And there’s no other way to say it

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

Doesn’t matter where you put me

Where I land

Because now I get it

I see what

You have given me

And Lord

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven

I see the ceiling

In the room

Where I sit

But Lord

I hear the music that is ours

If we could but listen

I hear the sound

Of a saxophone

Wishing me a very Merry Christmas

I recall a funny card I saw the other day

“Happy Birthday to Me”

“And Oh, Merry Christmas to You”

Jesus surrounded on the front

I feel like

I’m walking in Heaven Lord

There are no lines

No forms to fill out

Which country I’ve come from

Or where I may go

I don’t need to keep up

With the Jones

Because the Jones are right here with me

I’ve got it all

You know

Right here inside of me

I feel like I’m walking in Heaven Lord

And thank you

For what you have given me

Cardboard Box in the Rain

I sit within a section of time

I have placed myself in the center

the bottom

of a yet unfolded cardboard box

I follow the arrows

further the crease at the folds


one by one

the four sides

around me

I am sitting

within my slice of time

unaware as to the continuum

the cardboard

my barrier

the rain falls against the air

creating a curtain

drawing light from within

the appearance of morning

it glows within in its own making

the box has a lid

I attempt to draw down

there is no handhold

there is no way

to close and seal

the last piece

against time

Today is not yesterday

wintersky.jpgOnly at the Sky, -SE

Was there a time

When I knew more

Than I do today?


Three decades

Passing into four

How is it

I know less?


The trees


And rebirth

The same as the year before


I don’t know the last time

I climbed the branches

To count

Were there more

This season

Than last?

Were there less?


I breathed

Each morning



At the sky


I drew in

And out


I took my foot

Reaching behind the knee

And found a tree

With a limb

Close to me


I climbed


Only at the sky

Within these moments, poems form

So few are these moments, listening now, late at night, work tomorrow, Opera, a silence again within the spaces, rivers of words find themselves upon the page, three pages to be exact, untitled…


Holding onto children

the fear they will grow

away from you


is as if


spun cotton


into your pocket

to save for another

cold day


I want to hear your words

as pictures



then I can see

your thoughts in between

where your mind stutters


filling in the gaps

between our language

my hair

now falling

pieces on my arms

I mistake such occurrences for insects




What happens

when your stories

of stories

have become more familiar

to me


to you?

World Stripped Bare

If I could

dip my hand

into the dimensions

cup my hand

right and left


the energy

adjust the imbalance

within this world

If I could

dip my hand

into time and space

and but see




a part of me

If I could




through the sky

scoop up



parallel worlds

sit them

side by side

upon the ground

the soles

of every foot

making contact

Other Random Thoughts

Darkness Calling

copyright 2007

I find my way to You

between the shrilling

ringing of the phone

the blare of horns

the hum

of the computer

I close my eyes

clear away

the veil of darkness


since waking

hooking my smallest finger

into the edge

of the fabric

closest to my right eye


a sliver of light

paved stones

trees blanketing

vision to the left and right


the apex

You stand


arms outstretched

I remain


at the fabric

my finger grown tired

the light fades 


Words Stripped Bare

copyright 2007

If I could

dip my hand

into the dimensions

cup my hand

right and left

feel the surge

of energy

right what is wrong

with this world

If I could 

dip my hand

into time and space

and but see

the particles

shift and dance

a part of me

If I could dip

my hand

across the sky

scoop up 


I could sift

parallel worlds

sit them side by side

upon the ground

If I could

dip my hand

within the sky

stop seeing with my eyes

stop breathing with my brain

If I could dip

my hand

within the sky

forget what I have been taught

and find the child in me

If I could dip 

my hand within the sky

would I

could I

feel what it is to create

the love of creation

bathing over me