The Witchcraft of life

Performing our magic when it seems dull and impossible is a concentration of our wills.

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In quiet “boring” times,

When there seems to be nothing, but nothing, to do

It is then that we can create a masterpiece.

We illuminate the darkness that seems to surround us.

We make it our heaven, and if we lack vision we perish.

So, rise your wand,

Make your life, that which you’ve dreamed of..

Cause it to happen.

You can do it.

Believe, because you must.

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Make it as you envisioned and thought of yourself.

Before the world of voices told you, “no, you’re nothing.”

Don’t believe a word of it, the world’s lies, because it’s not truth.

You are exactly what you imagine.

Nothing greater or less.

It is how you think of yourself.

Your beliefs will lead you.

So, change your beliefs for change.

Cause your world if you so want.

You have the power

God gave it to you.

It is in the tiny mustard seed of faith that will move mountains.

Please, just say HI! And, What is Your favorite Poetry for Mondays…Tues.. Wed…

Hello!
Hello!

If you should stop by to visit my site here on WordPress, I would love, love, love you, to please, say Hi, and will you please, please, please linger and boondoggle awhile?That means, shoot the breeze, as we say, in Southern United States. Thanks and hope to say howdy back at you real soon!

Come and sit a spell..
Come and sit a spell..

I love children’s poems. This is one of my favorites: Please, share one of your favorites. Over The River and Through The woods 

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandmother’s house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandmother’s house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,
for ’tis Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood—
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
as over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood—
and straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow,
it is so hard to wait!
Over the river, and through the wood—
When Grandmother sees us come,
She will say, “O, dear, the children are here,
bring a pie for everyone.”
Over the river, and through the wood—
now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

How Many More Breaths

My grandmother
My grandmother

Time

tick-tock; tic- tock; tick, tick, tick.

Time.

WHY?

Nursing homes, memory units, family dispersed.

They ran when my hair turned silver and I smelled of urine.

Oh, this is The United States ~ who else in the world would leave?

What, a silly question,  after all, it was us the free-love generation who started this nonsense.

Really, in truth, we were the “me” generation. Misnamed. The irony makes me laugh.

We called our kids this. They were the product of the all consuming need to be free.

Mom and Dad split, time, after time, after time, all for the image of freedom.

“They’ll get over it.”

Yes, they have and assuredly ~

One plus one equals two. And, two times two equals four.

Physical laws don’t change without the atom bomb.

And, now is waiting.

Waiting, on my clock.

Quietly it tick-tocks; tick-tocks, tick, tick, ticks …

God, how many more breaths must I take?

Feverish Dreams

Flying while dreaming
Flying while dreaming

Feverish Dreams

~

Seeming to sleep, resting quietly, you think.

She’s traveling miles from home, over the mountain tops.

The flying vehicle stops and he said, “Get in.” 

“There’s no, time to waist. So, buckle up.”

He pulls the seatbelt through, then, passed the clouds, and away they flew.

~

“See!” She pointed, all around about.

“Celestial galaxies everywhere,” she whispered, “not, even, yet imagined.”

There, hidden in space, beyond our thoughts

A veil of stars protecting, the place of her death.

~

He showed her one heaven.

There were so many.

“This one is yours for now

There will be plenty.”

~

He took her to rest, as if, he loved her.

“The Lilies, so lovely,” she thanked him kindly.

Holding her weight with his arms,

He kissed her brow and said,

“Its time to take you home.”

~

At three Am, she sat up in bed.

“Oh, just a dream,” she spoke, “but so real.”

The fever was gone and the headache too,

And the golden man’s memory vaguely haunted her new heavenly view. 

I Know What You’re Up To

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I Know

The young woman tells the final story. Her last chapter is complete. 

“Darkness covered the room. At midnight, the chimes from the grandfather clock resounded a deep, “dong, dong, dong, and dong.”
“The clock didn’t awaken me. The chimes never do, but I always expect them, the others, that is. They’re, always, right on time. It’s their, time to come. I sense it. Like an odor, or breeze or an internal alarm that warns me.

Her mature voice shifts. It changes into a young girls. Under the covers, the seven year old hides. She says that she shivers in fear and dread while they, the male beings, occupy her bedroom.

“Maybe, they won’t notice, that I’m awake. They usually don’t, but one night, they might. What then? What should I do?” She asks.

I don’t know what to tell her. I’ve never had them visit. There are no solutions to help her. I wonder if she is being sexually assaulted? I listen, but there is no mention of touching or fondling, not even a kiss. So, I wait. My antenna will know the moment I should question.

Her eyes are huge. I see she is telling the truth.

“The beats of my heart will surely tell the black cloaked monks, I’m faking sleep.” She sighs and looks up at me with the saucer shaped eyes.

“They enter my bedroom, from out of the closet. Twelve, midnight, when the clock dongs, I know, they are coming. The leaves from the forest that surround our home have shimmering grey colors that seem to dance like stick indians on my bedroom walls. The images fervently sway in madness of movements. I know then, to expect, the friars. And, as certain, as fall follows summer, they will come. Three, of them, usually.” She pauses, then`

“Sometimes four, walk out of my closet from behind the doors.” She whispers with downcast eyes when she tells this story.

“They are extremely tall. They’re working doing, something. My bed covers over my head, cloak their activities. They will peer over my body, looking to see me sleeping. They don’t know everything. But, if I look at them, their red eyes stare. I can’t see a face. They tell me to, ‘shut up.’ Meaness. That’s all I can say. They’re no good.”

I look at her. Dumbfounded. Hopelessly, there is nothing, I can say. After the hypnosis session, she passed the polygraph, which she agreed to, and I don’t know how to help her. What can I say? 

Standing up to leave my office, she adds on her way out ~

“Doctor, the last time they tried to visit, I give them this look. They no longer bother me. And, now, that I’ve got their look, they seldom pay me, social calls….”

She gave me a haunting stare that passed through me. 

“Oh, by the way, doctor … you may want to get rid of the grand father clock in your hall. It keeps your children up. They can’t sleep after the gongs at midnight occur.”

What? I look at her, but she has shut the door. After a brief pause, I ran after her, but she was gone. Bewildered by her last comment, I was paralyzed. Fear overtook me, as I saw the same look on my son this morning.

Thoughts About Bovines

cows

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Have you ever had “signs” appear around you? Signs like, street signs, signs in the newspaper, pictures that people send you out of nowhere, incidents that occur such as driving and the “sign” is on the vehicle in from of you with the thing that you’re getting the “signs” about? And then, you know the universe is telling you something?

Well, yesterday while driving that sign jumped out at me all day. So, what to do about the sign. I prayed first, as I was powerless, to let the cows out of the truck that were on their way to the slaughter house. The black ear tagged bovines were in front of me for 10 miles. There was no getting around them, so I followed for miles watching them watch me. At each stop, they looked at me with their huge dark, round, sad eyes, through the metal bars that separated them, from any further grazing on this planet. And, shortly, I understood that, all of them would be on someones plate. I couldn’t jump out of my car to free them Oh, how I wanted to. I only could pray that their death would be free of terror and pain.

Then, later yesterday, after my emotional time of following the bovines who tore my heart into, received a message from my son who had no idea that I had driven 10 miles behind the cows and was upset about their surmise. So, unknowingly, he sent a picture text from California. It is a story (with pictures of free animals) of a ranch where they wander to and fro. That would include chickens, goats, sheep, cows, and all animals man eats and more and how they slaughter without fear or harm….

I wonder what the signs mean ~

Manifesting Sophia

The Watchers
The Watchers

Manifesting Sophia

Standing next to The Rivers of Babylon we prayed.

I told you to whisper, Sophia, and there on the banks edge,

She will breathe.

In your loneliness, you will cry,

In solitude, you shall find her.

Standing, by the fresh spring waters,

Her voice, will arise new,

Believe, child. 

Unless you know, she won’t come.

She cannot sojourn the dead,

Not, without your certain, hope. 

Only, in the voice filled with life,

Shall she manifest.

The lifeless carry no spirit. 

The initiator needs the spark.

Speak, and Sophia will sing.

Listen, and her song, you will hear.

Smile when you know.

She came because you asked. 

Loving The Now, Saluting, Then…

the pink rose of perfection

Happy Valentines Day to self,

It’s in the love that we share with every living being.

In love we stop torture.

In love we set birds free.

In love we reunite baby elephants to their mother’s

Loving hands set the MCCaw free where it belongs with its own kind.

In love we defend the dog or cat.

In love we thank the animal that was slaughtered for meat.

In love we hold a motherless child.

In love we pray for a lonely soldier.

In love we think of someone else’s grandparents who can no longer remember.

In love we hug the abandoned.

In love we grant pardon to our ghosts.

In love we thank our parents.

In love we genuflect towards our mistakes.

In love we embrace our futures.

In love we kiss our lover on the cheek.

In love our eyes twinkle with goodness.

In love we blow a kiss blessing to God.

In love we sleep soundly at night.

Because of our love,

Our angels watch over us.

Those who grant pardon are given the same…

They will lie down in green pastures

Secrets and Skeletons

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I have a secret.

Hidden in my heart

Quietly it lies dormant.

Please, don’t wake it up.

~

If I told you,

Then, you’d not believe.

So, there I keep it,

Tightly, holding on to…

~

I have a secret.

You, do to.

If you told me,

Perhaps, I’d not love you.

~

Skeletons hiding in our closets

brought us this far

They taught us lessons

That only true love, can bare. 

~

I have a secret

And, you do to.

~

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~

Day Sleeper

Waxing Moon

The moon was waning and the rooster crows were faint. They slumber, until  the next waxing resumes its natural course. Then, rest assured, the Luna rhythms will come again and again, right on time, just as predicted. Breath while you can, because The Man in The Moon, longs to trick us, to make us stumble, and tries to get the last laugh.

Good Night from The North Pole (figuratively, so) …

Feeling sleepy and happy and glad to be home with Winken, Blinken and Nod.

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And, That’s what God is About

Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles...
Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles…
~
Four Am, he yells, “Get up we’re late!”
Putting fast coffee on
And that’s what delayed people do.
 
~
 
“We’ll never get there in time.
I’ll have to leave my bags.”
And, that’s what worriers say.
 
~
 
Dark, raining, the old suv needle on empty
Not causing any extra grief,
And, that’s what prayers are for.
 
~
 
Peddling intently at 82
She implores god’s merciful grace
And, that’s what mothers do.
 
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Worrier mumbles we’ll not arrive on time
“My stuff I’ll have to leave.”
And, that’s what the faithless believe.
 
~
 
Here! Arrived, from that road of fear.
Two minutes to spare, and bags on time.
And, that’s what grace procures..
 
~
 
“Please, don’t hug me or make a scene.”
Nodding, “of course not.”
And, that’s what autonomy concedes.
 
~
 
Thanksgivings whispered while turned towards home
 Granted! Then, HE lends these musings.
And, thats what God’s love secures.
 
~
 
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