Turn Left

Turn left or right?

this road is frozen

slippery and there's fog

like life never clear enough 

to always choose 

right or left

sometimes shadowy figures 

appear blocking the way

stuff happens just happens 

it seems

out of the blue or gray

meanwhile we are moving forward always

no choice in this fog or no fog

we travel making slight corrections 

but always wanting to choose

landscapes coming and going

stop signs and dim lights

but always forward

relentlessly

maybe now a left turn

maybe not.

Paint

throw the critic to the wind

and paint

paint like a mad woman

paint like a sprite

paint with passion

paint with fear

paint the towers

the darkest secrets

paint the plains

and the tundra

paint spirals and flowers

and saints

paint the dark and unknown

paint the sacred and sublime

paint for yourself

paint with love

paint like a baby

paint like a crone

but above all

touch the surface

with your heart

Moon

moon, searing into the soul

illuminating the hidden path

challenging the weakened will

she who shines with boldness

daring us to reach to grow

no excuse no darkness

dreams stand up and be counted

she who enlightens

watches

A wish...

Read " The Safety Pin Cafe" by Moihana Calizar

http://thesafetypincafe.blogspot.com/2012/12/it-begins.html


http://thesafetypincafe.blogspot.com/2012/12/it-begins.html



A wish...

I wish for the medicine to heal the sad and lonely, to soothe the minds that race and distort. I I wish for a salve to quiet the anxious and the sick and a tincture for the delusional and disquieted. I wish for a medicinal pouch to bring peace and serenity to those shaken and harmed and a secret blessing for those facing losses. I wish the Safety Pin Cafe would lead folks to a better place and heal their souls like the apple pie healed the faceless lady. the gypsy

This Age

she was a library
a jump drive
an old photo album

she remembered
meals from her youth
and her favorite boots

she dreamed of old Chevies
summer trips to NYC
her first pineapple

she could smell
the old lilacs and
cider freshly milled

she lives in the here
and now only rarely
falling into the past

she hopes to live to
be an old crone
hoarding the memories