night walk in summer

hubby, grand-dog, and I

post sunset walk,
neighborhood street,
quiet,
headlights
from the occasional passing car

shadows in the woods,
sculpted images
like Dr. Suess trees
that could be monsters
in the night

covered they are
with kudzu

hearty, indestructible kudzu

vines that grow a foot a day,
deep green foliage,
shapely grape-like leaves,
rich in protein for horses

vines woven into baskets,
root powdered into thickener,
ingredient in candy,
killer of trees

but one would not know
it's a murderer,
neither does the kudzu

as its beautiful green
bonds together the hillsides
and trees
smothering out life-giving
sun light

i enjoy the shadows
on our pre-bedtime walk

august 10, 2011
judithpiper

Imprint

You call me...

tribal voice within
quieter than breath
awakening my essence

You coax me...

song i can't resist
luring me
with whistles on the wind

You envelop me...

beauty to behold
entwining melodies
embroidery within my soul

Is this the muse?
This tribal voice?
This heartfelt cry?
This whispering force?

With open face and open heart
I hear, I taste, I feel...
Vibrations of creation
No longer can lie still...

Humbly I acquiesce
Spirit's imprinted symphony...
Rhythmic ancestral echo
Tunes every cell in harmony...

Beckoning I surrender
With honor and a dance...
My heart glides in joyful unison
The triumphant shout of "YES!"

april, 2007
judithpiper
___

In my true believer days, the word "muse" was a dirty word...one that opened the mind to devil spirit possession. We were not to follow our hearts because the heart was deceptive above all else and exceedingly corrupt. Intuition was stunted, creativity stifled.

It may seem a small thing to some people, but for me to utilize the word "muse" was a big step toward freedom. Freedom...what an elusive thing...so many definitions, so many interpretations.
___

fumes

my stomach turns as i gaze
upon your feeding ground
innocent hearts sipping your syrup
until your poison nectar drowns

will they too discover your twisted ways
like needled barbs upon the stem
will they suffer harm as they imbibe
like a dose of coke that then goes dim

why do i even bother to care
i wish i'd never engaged your offers
i pray my heart will not implode
privately hissing a toxic scoffer


05/03/11
~me

*******************
context may come later

Lessons from Darkness

Winter
cold, windy, dark

Faint reflections of obscure light
struggle to reach the floor
through the forest trees.

Apparel
silk, wool, down

Each weathered traveler
layered with coverings
for protection from the elements.

Insulation
boots, gloves, hood

Each expiration my breath echoes
as I peer beyond my quilted cowl,
relieved by the sight of human forms.

Sheathed with weather proofing
hiding from the crystal-laden steel air,
our contours appear similar.

At least we have these openings
through which to look around,
assuring ourselves that we are not alone.
Survival

A clearing in the timbers.
To the east?
The same landscape.
To the west?
A denser, darker patch.

Some go east.
Others go west.

I need a change,
I choose west.
Besides, I've heard it's always darker
right before the dawn.

We enter the haunted thicket
frostbite in the air,
darkness swallows us.
Our bodies gather closer,
it feels safer that way.
Necessity

Huddling we trudge.
The temperature amongst us rises,
some remove their hoods.
It's nice to see a human face again,
to hear another voice in place
of my echoed breath.

The warmth gives rise to hope.
Survival with grace

We struggle through the thick darkness,
no longer obscure human figures.
Forced to travel more closely,
it is clear our forms are uniquely shaped.
Each contour has its place along our sunless path.
Necessity with grace

Landscape changes,
darkness slowly fades to light,
images become lucid.

Sunlight
limpid, warm, inviting

Sun shines clearly
streaming lightly to the floor
though the scattered trees.
Grace

Layer by layer
we discard our protective garments.
Our outlines now in full array,
beauty to our eyes
deep appreciation
each mortal significant, distinct.

Survival, necessity, grace
Life, significance, purpose

Darkness to light
Unveiled

may 3, 2007
judithpiper

***
Perhaps I'll add the context later.

I think I tire of adding contexts.  Ha!

Paradox

Upon my porch I sit
Wrapped in the morning melody
Birds, breezes, cicadas
Singing in perfect harmony

Weeping willow in full array
Swaying with the tune
Sunbeams dance upon her
Tiny lights, a multitude

Yet the oak leaves are not shimmering
Nor the elms, nor the figs
Only the weeping willow
Displays one thousand glitterings

Tears perhaps, is she crying?
Yet her display is not of gloom
Rather tiny sparkles glistening
Tears of God renewed

Splendor of hope
Upon the weeping willow

judithpiper
july 4, 2007

***

Not much need for explanation. The prose simply describes that July morning that I wrote the poem as I sat upon my back porch. The weeping willow was the only tree that glittered in the sunlight, the leaves still damp from a gentle rain or dew. A breeze lightly danced the leaves, and thus the shimmerings.

Tears are our friends.

In the wee hours of today, February 25, 2010, this poem comes to mind as I listen to a Leonard Cohen song, "Hallelujah," sung by K.D. Lang. {Thank you Chris.}

Perhaps the song brought this poem to mind because love (and life) can be such a paradox.

Emotional Rape

(Language Warning)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did I hurt you?"
You innocently inquire
You fucking moron
You self-centered son of a bitch
Your arrogance inflates your ego
Your ego inflates your dick

You opened your soul
I opened mine
Then, you turned

Gazing at your back
I awaited
With tender expectation

Unbeknownsted to me
You prepared
Your mockery

About faced
Madness in your eyes
Delight in manipulation

I stood
Confused, perplexed
Mixed signals

You stood erect
Jerking off
With heinous laughter

Jism spewed, milky clear
My personal exhibitionist
I watched in disgust

Your words cut deep
"I'm here for you, sucker...
Lick it up, you trusting soul"

Did you hurt me?
I won't grant you that power
I hurt because I chose to trust
A pompous ass like you

May all your days
Be bathed by masturbation

january 26, 2008
judithpiper

~*~*~

Well, need I say I was angry?  Oh my!

In December, 2007, someone had befriended me via an online forum. After about a month of communication and me being honest and open, the other party seemed to be giving the cold shoulder.  It confused me at the time.  I didn't react like in the poem to the individual, and I later learned the other party was just going through a hard time; all ended up well.

Still, I like the prose....as far as giving expression to anger.  The prose is graphic; and so is ab-use.

I stated elsewhere, "....I don't talk like this...and seldom think like this. There was a time I would never have let anyone see this side of me. It's kind of freeing to have an outlet for it...."

Unfinished

Oil can in aged hand
The Tender slicks the gears
"They rust when they have sat awhile
Moistened by only tears."

"I'll get them working one at a time
Squeak and turn until they're smooth
Time, patience, no rush at all
They'll almost be like new."

We sit and watch his nimble hands
Abe and Nanna at my side
His confidence always near
His quiet way soothes our minds

february 25, 2009
me
***
 It remains unfinished.

But, The Tender has his own blog.  (*wink*)

likeaneagle

****
To Carole....
"Stage 4" by
Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
Thanks to Loren for sharing his beautiful gift.
****

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

May your every heartbeat enliven with hope
Every breath energize with life
Every cell perform its task valiantly
Some that tear down
Others that rebuild
Harmonic choreography
For which they are uniquely designed

The bandit visitor to depart
Knowing this is not
Its time or place....
And never will be

I see you strolling the riverside, camera in hand
Basking in Autumn light, red and golden hues
I hear the crunch of snow beneath your boot
As you delight in prisms of icicles
The sweet aroma of spring with new life
Awakens your senses
Summer finds you on the sea,
Enthralled by her giant mammals
As their mighty tails slap the waters

If I could, I'd be with you now
Know you are in my heart
Day and night

August 30, 2008
judithpiper

(An Eagle Soars is the sequel to likeaneagle.)

*******************************



Carole had gone to the doctor some time in July, I think. She thought she had a hernia. The nurse practitioner that she saw told her that Carole needed to go for other testing right away. It appeared Carole might have cancer of the liver. That's a far cry from a hernia.

After further testing Carole was diagnosed with cancer (stage 4) in her colon, in her liver, and in her lung(s). It was hard to believe. My heart sank, to put it lightly.

Her family didn't like the 'C' word, though they knew it was the reality with which they were dealing.

Carole's daughters cared for Carole every step of the way. Appointments. Lifestyle changes. Family time. Laughter. Love. The basic necessities of life. Research on cancer and how they could help.

Carole and I first met on an online forum. At the time she lived in NC and we got together a few times. It was always a pleasure. Her screen name on that forum was likeaneagle.

Carole exhibited a love for life, always endeavoring to think the best of others and to give them the benefit of the doubt. One could tell Carole anything; she would keep it confidential and she wouldn't judge another with challenges as weak. She had lived through her own hell; most people were unaware of Carole's story and the heartache she had endured.

Shortly before Carole moved away from North Carolina, my husband and I gave her our van. We had been given a Ford Explorer. Carole needed a better vehicle. One of her daughters drove her to Winston to pick up the van. We went together to get new license plates; one for her van and another for our Explorer. The van and Explorer ended up with the same tag letters and numbers, except for one different number. Hers ended in the number 3, ours ends in 4. (Or is it the other way around?) After that, Carole and I used to sign some of our correspondence with our license plate numbers. *chuckle*

She enjoyed nature and photography. She was enthralled with the change of seasons and the whale of the sea. It wasn't unusual to receive emails from Carole with photos of great whale tails, icicles, autumn leaves, and ships.

I received my last photo from Carole via snail mail, less than a week before she died. That is a blog for another time.

***********************************

Child's View

O child in me

awaken

Remember to

recall

The joy of virgin

witness

First time that I

saw

Thrill to spy the ocean spray

moon dictate the tide each day

Dig my toes in seashore's surf

drip sandcastles along her turf

Watch the dolphin sail up high

smile and sparkle in her eye

Heart's delight as snowflakes fall

excitement at coyote's call

In wonderment watch the butterfly

unfurl her wings in first flight

Hold tight a kite on a string

feel the pull of wind unseen

O God I pray

I never lose

Eyes to behold

each day as new

december 09, 2oo7
carol welch


***
I don't recall in detail what was going through my mind when I wrote this poem, well other than a feeling of simplicity, dolphin smiles, kites, butterflies, and sandcastles.

This poem comes to mind now because I turned 50 a couple days ago. I had the thought that day, "I'm entering my 2nd childhood."

I do feel that way, sort of. I have a sense of exploration and discovery ahead. I'm excited about life, about learning, about all the colors of the leaves.

I still have a goal to hike the entire Appalachian Trail before I draw my final breath. I'll hike it in snippets or hike what's called a "flip-flop thru-hike." My son is going to hike a couple sections this summer starting in GA and going into at least TN, perhaps VA.

I hope I always remember to view life, at least at times, through the eyes and heart of a child.

In the Fishbowl

In a fishbowl
I bump the glass
trying to swim
beyond the transparent barrier

To survive beyond
I need a new design
different equipment
from my gill-oxygenated carrier

My guppy eyes stare
wondering, pondering
How would it feel
to breathe that air

I shrug

Swimming back to my castle I play awhile
among the faux coral and seaweed
I ascend upon sprinkled kelp to feed
then settle again with a contented smile

...tap...tap...tap...

Back at the edge with my guppy-eyed stare

In a fishbowl
trying to swim beyond
the transparent barrier

march 12, 2007
judithpiper

*~*~

When in the thrall of a belief system and organization that proclaims the 'all-truth,' it can be difficult to see beyond that mindset. Upon leaving, it can still be difficult and one can be easy prey to fall back into what is known as 'black-white' thinking. Black-white thinking is similar to all-or-nothing thinking, in which one views others/circumstances/belief systems/institutions as 'all bad' or 'all good' and/or views oneself or one's group/belief as having the truth.

I wrote the above poem 17 months after exiting the organization I was involved with, The Way International. A few months after exiting The Way, I got involved with an online forum that was (mostly) anti-Way. The forum was helpful for me in reconnecting with folks after decades, in decompressing some of my experiences and thoughts, in learning to express myself, and in learning about different peoples' experiences who had been involved with the group. Yet, after about 10 months of being involved with that forum, I began to recognize similar tactics and mindsets that I had experienced in The Way.

I came to the realization that (for me) I had jumped from a frying pan (The Way) into a fire (the anti-Way forum). I came to see that the anti-cult movement can be just as cultish as a cult. I wanted out of the fish bowl; I wanted to understand thought-reform and to learn to recognize when I was falling prey to group-think. I became more serious about my study in that regard. I am by no means an "expert;" yet I am continually learning about social dynamics and how to better recognize and navigate my own vulnerabilities.

In fact, any organization with social dynamics is prone to some group-think. I'm not stating that as a fear, but rather simply how social groups are formed and function. A test (for me) is how much autonomy is one allowed to maintain while in the group. Autonomy can be quite difficult for folks who have been deeply indoctrinated and influenced.

I believe I am now out of the fish bowl; it is a continual process. I think I've made it as far as the ocean, which also has its boundaries. Yet those boundaries are far wider than a fishbowl, the coral and seaweed are real, and one has to learn how to feed oneself being interdependent with the abundance of ocean life. :-)

Quite evolutionary!!!

YAY!!!

despair

resigned to fate
I sit on my rock
at the bottom
in this dry well

pit's mouth always in sight
light shines in
yet I am wearied
from climbing
and falling

fingernails caked with dirt
snide laughter
mocks my attempts
to escape this hole

if torrential rains pour
I'll drown down here
perhaps I could tread
hoping the waters
carry me up

december 17, 2oo8
judithpiper


I am challenged with depression and anxiety. Poetry and journaling help me to process through these emotions. Some may deem prose like the above as me "dwelling on the negative." I deem it as expressing pain, acknowledging it, and endeavoring to work through it in order to rise out of the thrall of despair. The final verse above, kind of makes me laugh. Is that weird? :-o :-)

At times, I have images that pop into my head. An ongoing image has been myself in a hole, similar to a well. At the top is a boot that will push me down again and again. Other times I climb out of that hole...into the sunlight of hope.

I have utilized something called "thought records" which is used in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). After I wrote the prose above, I wrote a thought record. My final thoughts were:

I do fall down and I've always gotten back up. Change can happen at any moment.

Though I seem to be running in circles at the moment, the reality is that I am taking action to deviate that course. Change can happen at any moment.

To life, circles, lines, shapes, and magic strokes upon the page....

Metacarpal Vestment

hands

wrinkled with time
touched 1000 palms
crossed cultural boundaries

knowledge, innovation
compassion, connection
wiping tears, venting rage

furrows of hidden secrets
timeless folded imprints
weathered with age

hands

august 22, 2oo7
judithpiper

Have you ever thought much about your hands? Have you ever gazed them over and wondered all the memories they hold?

I've always enjoyed hands. Some folks notice behinds; I notice hands.

Our hands speak everyday...without ever uttering a sound. May we use them to spread cheer, comfort, warmth, kindness, understanding, and empathy.

High five!!! :-D

Seagull Tattoo

someday I will soar the lofts
light as the butterfly
with strength of the eagle
upon the winds I shall rest

......glide
dive......
.....dip
turn.....

others shall peer
from their hidden crevices
some will join the flight
together we'll discover

silver linings in every cloud
mysteries hidden in each ice crystal
peace within the eye of the storm
treasures awaiting at rainbow's end

someday there will be harmony
won't there?


december 19, 2oo7
judithpiper

~*~*~

I am a dreamer. I hope that someday there will be harmony among the human species. Perhaps there is a place beyond death or a new heaven and earth to become. Perhaps there will be a sphere where peace prevails among our tribe.

I have a seagull tattooed on my back, at my right shoulder. I named her Harmony over 3 decades ago. I had the dream then too. I hope I never quit dreaming.

How about you?

~*~*