incense smoke lifts many names
those who groan through darkest nights
breathe dear ones, let the season pass
soon her face turns back to us and
though she sleeps yet a while
we’ll know her growing presence
as nights give way to longer days
Author: CK
Raven knows both life and death and tends the bridge between. Like Raven, I know two worlds. Sometimes it seems only one can survive. Raven reminds me that I too am a bridge, able to touch both worlds.
each day
Each day that you stay with us, I count a blessing.
Each day that you stand and face your demons, I stand with you facing mine.
Each day that you remember you are not alone, I am not alone.
heal this season
The morning commute began; to my left, December’s cold moon still reigned high above the sleeping mesa. To my right, pink skies slowly warmed dark mountains till the barest sliver of blue light shone between the peaks. As I crested La Bajada, the sun began to claim the day, sending moon to rest and wait.
As we walk through this season that boasts euphoric reunions and won’t let us forget painful separations, may we remember the cycle of the sun and the moon. Hold less tightly to each; let them pass over and through us as they will. Both have an abundance of blessings and lessons to help us continue walking.
eggshells
Sharp white fragments beneath my feet
poking, jabbing, jarring my sanity
tiny, insignificant wounds
hardly worth noticing
soreness turns to bruising
hurts too much to walk
just stay still
no one will notice
tiny, insignificant wounds
poison sneaks past broken skin
infection travels to my brain
tiny, insignificant wounds
hide their power to kill
clean blade bares full intent
reveals the pain
bleeds out the lies
the healing wound of truth
Say My Name
Please, stop using her name. She’s gone now. You can’t bring her back. Don’t you see? When you look at me and say her name, I feel the crack of your knuckles against my face. When I look at this screen, her name in place of mine, the cold steel of your indifference slices through raw flesh. Life, barely formed, leaks away my soul and I cease to exist.
mirror
soft leather worn and old
fails to conceal
violently shaking appendage
strained ribs, burning lungs
fight to contain
the scream
bulging eyes, unyielding
staring down
the monster
til ripples
slide
through glass
Voice
I miss your voice; instructing, teasing, laughing, abrupt, gentle, real. I miss your voice.
ink bleeds aching trail, sinking into fiber
twisting, snarling, curling
past ensnares the present
twisting, snarling, curling
past ensnares the present
truth strikes away the smallest flake
fractured armor fails
life exposed begins to breathe
fractured armor fails
life exposed begins to breathe
fire consumes the tangled web
no longer strangled by the past
today begins anew
no longer strangled by the past
today begins anew
the marbles are gone
I’ve lost my mind. I’m sure that’s it.
How else do I explain this obsession? I’ve always had my head in a book. I’ve read the night away since I was a small child, with a green lamp clipped to the head of my metal bed. The plastic shade melted, because I kept the light on too long. But this? This new and virulent compulsion to learn everything about books, how they’re written, how they’re crafted, how they’re published will consume my sanity.
Perhaps this is some rare disease that lay dormant all these years, waiting for that cataclysmic reaction that would start my demise. Oh and I know who she is….. Asking me to beta…letting me lick just the tip of this magical world that creates the very things I’ve always loved.
The disease races through me, a craving I can’t quench, fed by brilliant posts that demonstrate a craft I could learn. A dream forms of feeding myself with passion instead of the mere sustenance of my accounting world. Could I really have an income from something I love, rather than something I happen to be good at? Preposterous!
Logic is overwhelmed by constant exposure to her accomplices whose lessons taunt me with confidence. She asks me to beta again, this time a proposal so different that she fears her publisher won’t buy in to the concept. She trusted me with this newborn. Me?!? And now I pace waiting to hear. How did she react to my comments? Will she still let me play in her sandbox? What if she cuts me off? Where will I get my next fix? Oh, I can’t stand this waiting! So I go back to the blogs and keep feeding the need.
Stars help me. I am lost.
And you my dear are her chief accomplice!!
holding you
all of my creative friends, your hearts are safe
Raven's Eye Editing 