poetry fishing

The Wheel Keeps Turning

2009-12-27T23:39:00.002-06:00

The shortest day of the year
she looks in the mirror
new eyes awake.
There she is fifty
looking fifty.
Disappointment bites again.
Her inability to avoid
another stereotype bristles.
Jowls, lines, dark rings
jump out like talking points
in a used grad school textbook.

She hears Tom Petty on
Sunday morning TV, “If
you’re not getting older,
you’re dead.”

Smiles have layers,
laugh lines or worry wrinkles,
wisdom or wreckage,
depends on your perspective.
Either way the wheel
keeps turning. Time always wins.

Ziji Salaam
December 2009

Poetry Fishing with Atum OKane ~ November 2009

2009-12-20T23:42:00.000-06:00

Spent November with my first novel. I am proud to say I've completed the first draft.

I still had time for the odd poem or two, so here are three poems inspired by a brilliant weekend with a brilliant Teacher.

Heart Tuning

Tune your heart
Ahhhhh~Mmmmm~

Tune your heart
drink the warm deliciousness
of the Divine
Tune your heart
the chalice of life
European dark chocolate full
body hot tub melting

Tune your heart
sing communion
Mmmmmm~Ahhhhh~
become hidden treasure
longing to be found
Ahhhhh~Mmmmmm~

Tune your heart
Mmmmmmm ~
Tune your smile
Ahhhhhhhh ~

Let your heart smile

Ziji Salaam

Hearts Prayer to the Soul

Heart
I forgot again
Ya fattah I'm coming home
Oh I've missed you so

Soul
Dear One I am here for you
the fire is burning
the pot is full and ready
know that you belong

Ziji Salaam

Your Promise to Life

Your soul is your
promise to life.
You don't have to
earn it, learn it,
practice or become it.

Your soul is your
promise to life.
It is the isness of you,
God godding you.
It's Her voice in the
rainbow of manifest creation.

Your soul is your
promise to life.
Your soul is your
promise to you.
Are you willing to risk
keeping your promises?
Are you willing to risk
the truth?
Are you willing to risk
Yes?

Ziji Salaam

11/22/09

Frontal lobe damage or ADD

2009-10-29T00:50:00.001-05:00

my brain
makes everything
more complicated
more intricate
more intense
than other brains

My brain
out of sync
a little off track
quicker than most
runs slower
than normal
life with my brain
gets complicated

Ziji Salaam

Think and Grow Rich

2009-10-28T00:25:00.001-05:00

This poem is inspired by reading for the second time the classic book “Think and Grow Rich” by Napoleon Hill. It was written around the time of the Great Depression – the first one!- and the writing style is dated with regards to gender and race, which makes me cringe. That said I am amazed at the underlying philosophy and ethics. The daily practices are ironically the very things that support any manifestation process, magical or spiritual. It follows on directly from a brilliant women’s visioning workshop I was in at the Hallows Gathering.

The book is full of the intangibles that rich white men have used to get and stay that way and insights into the clutter we have that keeps us from wealth in all areas of lives. I kept wishing someone had given this to me years ago.

I kept wishing that more women could read it, perhaps then we could share some of that money and power, reinvent the world. I feel so passionately about this that I signed up as an affiliate with a company that is giving away free copies. The book is actually in the public domain, so there are plenty of free eBook versions, but I personally like to have my hands on the paper. I want to give away as many as I can, to women of all ages, races, shapes and sizes. I want to give it to all the teens I meet. The book really is free, but of course, they do try to sell you courses or other products, but nothing too invasive.

Do I sound ‘born-again’, sorry if I do. Knowing me, it will pass soon – it’s one of the curse-blessings of ADD. I am interested in talking with other intelligent women about the book and perhaps supporting each other through the process. I am sick and tired of the spiritual poverty track and ready for spiritual wealthy ;-)

Anyway, if you are interested in the book or becoming an affiliate to get the word out about the free copies there’s a link on the book at the top of the blog.

Wishing you all prosperous blessings, and I hope you enjoy the poem. I am working on posting them more regularly again in the near future.
Ziji Salaam

Think and Grow Rich

learning she teaches
teaching she shines
hungry she dances
dancing she dines

old failure she knows
knowing with vision
her clarity grows
passionate mission

her purpose to serve
serving not taking
takes wisdom and nerve
moral awakening

go getters are out
go givers are in
with faith she’s devout
authentic she’ll win

mastermind focus
decisions that itch
thought hocus pocus
through practice grows rich

Pieces of Mind - Childhood Schizophrenia

2009-10-20T01:20:00.000-05:00

1

In the photographs
she looks like
a child of the Gods
sitting at the piano
cleared eyed, sad eyed
blond curls rambling to earth
wraithlike beauty
Apollo’s little sister
carefree, innocent, serene

In the photographs
even the pouting one
splayed out exhausted
across the bed
she has the look
of a Golden Angel
fallen from the heavens

Photographs lie

2

Golden Angel
dancing with demons
blue eyes beam
deep and empty
dazzling smile
at dark souled cats
and giggling rats

Golden Angel
surrendering to motion
rite of spring manifest
movement staccato
running in angles
inside and out
toxic and noisy
a badly tuned two-stroke engine
exhausting exhaustion

Golden Angel
bouncing off promises of connection
following rigid thoughts
lock boxed in stone
repetitious, incessant orders beyond nice, polite
acceptable behavior
teetering on dangerous ground
surrounded by quicksand

Golden Angel
centrifuge brain splitting realities
racing, scattering shit
chaos hitting anything,
anyone too close,
too visible, too vulnerable
too pretty, too loud
too alive, too attentive

Golden angel
dancing with demons
sleeping next to Mommy
in the same bed
strangers taunting her dreams
friends floating overhead

Golden angel
crawling through drug haze
into morning
eating Fruit Loops
no milk
brushing without paste
sees combing her hair as torture
water burning her skin
the pink shirt will kill them
the blue jeans will keep them in

Golden Angel
smiling a secret smile
screaming at the armchair freezing the room
Daddy talking softly
pulling her back
warms the air with
new games, old jokes,
familiar routines and rituals

3

Common wisdom says belief dictates behavior, but for some of us chemistry determines how we behave. As the world reacts to us, our beliefs begin to take root. Beliefs about who/what we are, where we fit in your world. Who we can grow up to be, what we have become.

The brain defines our world; it creates our experience of home, safety and reality. In the land of individual destiny, who can you trust if your inner self, your brain betrays you? If the brain is the gate between the worlds, sometimes some of us loose the key. Sometimes some of us are born without one.

They say Golden Angel must be contained to survive. They say, no place, no amount of money, no teacher exists to transmute survive into thrive. They say, they say, they say…

4

Golden angel
dances with demons
fights for her life
on the doorsteps to hell
between flashes of presence,
happiness and joy
moment by moment
love, fortitude and
carefully balanced medication
make a deal
to keep her alive
one more day

Ziji Salaam

Eavesdropping #5

2009-09-06T02:13:00.000-05:00

Do Boundaries Sensor Creativity?

Did you buy the good kind,
pencils or pens? What ever
you buy the willingness
to try something new
in your eighties is all
that counts. I would like to
write the poetry of the
conversation I overheard,
but I’m told the poetry I hear
is too close to reality.

Too invasive.

If you marry a poet,
expect to share
your secrets.
Or have them
shared for you.

I listen
find poems in everything
everyday. Eavesdropping poetry can
become nonconsensual
revelation. Recognizable
characterization is the
power and the risk. We only have
permission to manufacture
our own emotional leaks.

I wish I could say more
about the magic of what
I heard but boundaries
have been drawn
and the poem
stops here.

Ziji Salaam
9/05/09

Eavesdropping #4

2009-09-06T01:41:00.000-05:00

The first line is from a phone call in a parking lot.

It was the bleach,
went everywhere.
My new jeans,
ruined. Your purple
shirt, holes. I didn’t
get home soon enough,
the kitchen floor will
need resurfacing.
Don’t worry about
the holes, makes the
wood look authentic.
The vet says the cat
will get her sight back,
but the dog will need to
wear the shoes for a
while yet . I know it’s
crazy, who knew bleach
explodes? By the way
did you unplug the
toaster? Lock the car?
How about the little
salt lamp on the altar?
No, I’m fine. Everything’s
fine now…right? Really,
I’m good, this is a good day.
We’re all just fine.
Have you seen my pills?

Ziji Salaam
9/04/09

Eavesdropping #3

2009-09-04T01:46:00.002-05:00

Eavesdropping #3

Conversation through a locked bathroom door.

My boss asked me to take this poem down because the poetry I overhear is too close to the reality of others.

Eavesdropping #2

2009-09-02T23:11:00.000-05:00

Eavesdropping #2

pick that up
no it don’t
go there

where’s your coat
did you leave it
at school

put that down
I told you no
knives boy

stop that noise
why can’t you be
normal

sit back down
why are you so
stupid

get my beer
don’t forget to
bring chips

stop that now
don’t be mean to
Sissy

shut your mouth
don’t you argue
with me

time for bed
I don’t care it’s
still light

no you can’t
you had free lunch
at school

don’t you cry
because I said
so child
and I the boss
of you
don’t you ever
forget
I’m the boss
of you

Ziji Salaam 9/2/09

Eavesdropping #1

2009-09-02T11:29:00.002-05:00

did you tell them
you don’t have
money for the bus

too much income

so how much
do you get
a month

thousand dollars
doesn’t go far

five hundred
for rent
yes you need
the phone

no child support
nothing for her

so they want you
to send her
to school
on the city bus

no school bus
because she can
walk and talk
unaided

that’s what
they said

you told them
she has special ed
you told them
why you can’t work

that’s right

no child left behind
as long as
mommy can drive

Ziji Salaam
9/1/09

Step One

2009-09-01T01:04:00.000-05:00

Step One

decide
see it as possible
decide
live as if it is true
decide
risk being wrong
decide
risk disappointment
decide
to do it all differently
decide
to be willing to win
decide
loosing is not an option
decide
breathe
decide

Ziji Salaam
9/1/909

Decide

2009-08-31T00:49:00.000-05:00

Decide

borrow a ride
clean kitchens
if you have to
make a decision
to change your life
make a decision
to do whatever it takes

I was amazed
a passionate decision
can achieve much more
than working harder
can ever bring
so borrow a ride
barter, trade, promise
the decision is made
are you ready to own it?

Ziji Salaam
8/30/09

3,200 WI troops leave for …

2009-08-30T17:22:00.001-05:00

3,200 WI troops leave for …

My meat loaf keeps falling apart.
This isn’t my best day. My broccoli
is mushy and the potatoes still
hard. The dog ate my black leather
boot and I got a ticket for speeding
again. The house now is lonely
and cold, the oil tank gauge reads
empty. Your mother tried to smile
as we waved. I told Eli you’d find
him some ammo. The red wine you
bought is now biter, I need
whiskey to sweeten the ride. This morning
I didn’t fluff the pillows on the couch,
the echo of your body sits beside me.
The Red Arrow Brigade is never defeated,
but I know we lost the day your second
papers arrived. My meatloaf keeps falling
apart, I tell myself it can do it for me.
I won’t cry this time. No crying
until you come home. No crying in front
of the babies. No crying when we talk
on the phone. I knew when I married
a soldier. I knew not to ask, not to tell.
I knew you could take me to heaven
and those idiots would send us to hell.

Ziji Salaam
2/18/09

poop on stair

2009-08-30T15:59:00.000-05:00

poop on stair

poop on stair
rip on chair
food on floor
pee on door

claws in head
goldfish dead
holes in sweater
shredded letter

keyboard prance
shadow dance
pens knocked off
hairball cough

sleep in sun
golf ball run
ribbon chase
jump with grace

desktop messed
purr on chest
drink from tap
claim on lap

piercing leg
puke on bed
chewed up hat
life with cat

Ziji Salaam
2/9/2009

Limiteless Heart

2009-08-30T15:25:00.001-05:00

Limiteless Heart

Al-wasi
the heart is limitless.
Al-wasi
all aware, vastly bountiful.

Can she be big enough
to contain more than
her imagination? Can
she be vast enough
to tickle the breath
of life over breakfast?

The heart is limitless,
the mind makes life
small enough to handle.

Al-wasi
she repeats it
ninety-nine times
in the spaces between
practiced desperation.

Old habits die hard
but Insha'Allah
they do die and the
heart is big enough
to hold them
without bars.

The heart is all
aware, vastly bountiful,
and limitless. Practice,
practice, practice untill
the heart is big
enough to not
exist at all.

Ziji Salaan
Thursday, January 15, 2009

Red Day

2009-08-30T15:14:00.000-05:00

Red Day

Today is a red
day. Red cashmere,
red mohair, and red
boxers. Wind red
cheeks. Red fingers
inside my extra
thermal red leather
gloves. Red snot
on my tissue, defrosted
nose hairs. Red
foot prints from
puppy playing on
snow. Red tea with
soy milk and
honey. Red berries
in baked oatmeal
bars. Red seeping
downmy finger
from chewed hang-
nail. Red sunset
on horizon. Read
some poems and
went to bed.

Red PJ’s, red Navaho blanket, red pillow, red mug, red toothbrush, red dreams, red …

Ziji Salaam
1/15/09

Crow Magic

2009-08-30T00:52:00.003-05:00

Older poem that lives in my heart. May it be present in yours.

Crow Magic

We chanted open our hearts and the Great Mother entered the room - I felt her round form emerge as the black clay from my chest - She was crying - Her tears were springs of new life washing over us - The truth she sang from her heart was the color of our shadow – She spoke us into the circle of life -

Black
Is the beginning of life,
It contains the spark of creation.

Black
Is nigredo matter unformed
Bursting with potential.

Black
Is nothingness, the building block of all that matters
The foundation of all matter.

Black
Is the night sky
Where the ancestors burn their fires and watch over us.

Black
Is the canvas of our dreams,
The roadmap to health and wholeness.

Black
Is the moment before dawn
Pregnant with morning.

Black
Is the womb,
The mother’s power and protection.

Black
Is the coal she gave
To fuel the fire of my childhood winters.

Black
Is faith, the ability to walk forward
Without the comfort of vision.

Black
Holds infinity,
Unknown possibility and the potential of magic.

Black
Is the crow,
Cawing death, chance and prediction.

It is black we wrap around ourselves
When we go inside, to the still, silent place
Where no one can harm us.

In blackness everything mingles
It is where the spirits of the four legged and the two legged are one
It is where we learn to be shape shifters.

Without black, white cannot know itself as white, white cannot exist.
Black is the beginning. Black is the end. Black is the Mother. Black is home.

Ashé

Time to ride

2009-08-30T00:34:00.000-05:00

Time to ride

ignite your giddy up
take a big bite
ride, ride, ride 'em cowgirl
slip into your orange cowboy boots
wind brush your hair

drum a new dance
sing the sacred sound of money
puffing life into your dreams
you have the key now
open the treasure box
and share, share, share

Ziji Salaam