Monday, October 11, 2010

Singing to Monsters














Image: Sophie Munns (?)



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The day will come
when the monster
that haunted the halls
of your childhood nightmares

stands in front
of you

wielding what seems
to be
power over your Fate.

You can hope that
he’s not hungry
in that moment,

but he will be.

A karmic lack
of Holy satiation
is what makes a monster.

He will want to devour you
because your absence
makes him feel safe.

Listen closely now -

I will re-mind you
of what all true faery tales
teach:

When confronted
by a monster,

Sing.

Sing the song that
Life has been composing
in your heart –

breath-note by breath-note.

Sing until the monster
returns to human form.

Sing until the wounded child
who was the monster
is wounded no more.

Sing until the child who
was wounded is initiated
into authentic adulthood.

Sing until the authentic adult
who was the child
has found within his own heart
the harmony that complements
your song.

Sing until the duet
re-minds all those dwelling
between Heaven
and Earth

that Love
is what
transforms.

© 2010-2015/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out" 
www.hiraethpress.com

Feel free to share

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Remove the Shackles



















Image: origin unknown



It's time to remove
the shackles.

The angel at your left ear
finally reports:

“The bindings have reached
their expiration date.”

Free your Self.

You are not the property
of others,
of culture,
of dogma,
of your limiting beliefs and fears.

Stop volunteering
to wilt in the dungeon.

Let the gallows be nothing
more than a guano-encrusted pigeon perch.

Give the heavy, cold chains
that have weighed you down
back to the wounded-child-Master
link by link,
like prayer beads
intended for a long meditation
on compassion.

Refrain from thrashing
yourself
with shame
for where you have been.

Instead,
release yourSelf to live,
from this moment forward,
in communion with
empathy and joy.

Turn towards the
tens of millions still bodily
enslaved
and so many more
indentured in soul.

Become an abolitionist
of what no longer serves.

I know,

You now know
how to set
Humanity
free.

© 2010-2015/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out" 
www.hiraethpress.com

Feel free to share

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Mom's Handbags
























Image: found at thisisnext.com


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Time has been kidnapping our memories
of the little things:

Her daily routines,
the zany habits.
We used to laugh –
with her and at her.

Today we tried to recall handbags.

There was the decoupaged wooden box
with a cold metal strap that she crafted
herself in the basement in the ‘70s.

In the ‘80s we were broke.
She made do with a LeSportsac
hand-me-up
and a gray faux leather bag,
so frayed at the edges that
the cording showed.

Grandma complained at the sight of it,
nearly as much as she complained
that Mom needed a haircut
in order to show off her neck better.

In the ‘90s she took to big totes,
carting around her knitting,
reading materials,
and colorful scarves -
Things to bide her time
and distract.

She wasn’t good at keeping house
or tending handbags.
She’d dig and dig
and dump on counter tops
for keys, glasses, and that lipstick.

She was always putting on lipstick.
This we remember best.
The spread of the bright red grease.
The smack of the lips on Kleenex
until she approved of the mirror’s presentation.
This was ritual.

And there is one thing more we remember:
Our mother kept her purses in the liquor closet.

That’s just the way it was.


© 2010-2014/Jamie K. Reaser

Note from October 2010: October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. In order
to draw attention to the issue, women were asked to post on their Facebook 
wall where they place their handbags when not in use..."I like it in/on the..." 
My two sisters and I tried to remember things about our mother and her
handbags. She died of breast cancer in April 1995, at the age
of 52. Please support breast cancer awareness, and promote
the lifestyle choices that prevent it.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

The Hickeys on My Cheeks











Image: origin unknown



For decades,

the Sun has planted

passionate

hickeys upon my cheeks.


Brown and splotchy,

they greet my eyes in

the reflections of glass

and puddle,


And my mind caresses

the memories of so many lusty,

blue-sky rendezvous.


Oh, but,


Recently,

a woman gasped

at the sight of me:


“You have so many

liver spots!”

she exclaimed.


Her expressions spoke

of horror -

like Death himself

had just, suddenly,

for the first time ever,

whispered in her ear:


“People age.

Then people die.

You too.”


And, in a voice pleading

for naiveté,

she moused:


“You can cover them

with make up,

you know.”


Two years prior,

a dermatologist

enthusiastically offered to

“make them go away.”


I,

looking inside,

declined.


Hmmm.


Why, I wonder,

would anyone want

to destroy evidence

of life-long courtship

with a Faithful Lover?


No.


These that mark me

are the love notes

of Life.


I am growing older

and I shall do what

any woman would

do who has

wisdomed

through her

experience of Love Making.


I shall, until I die,

invite

a notorious

ménage à trios

with Crows.


© 2010-12 Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out" (www.hiraethpress.com)