Season of the Spirit

Found her, at last …

What happens now?

It moves so fast…

Will life allow?

What can I see?

I know who I am…

I am free to be!

I give a damn;

I found the key…

To be the who…

And that is me!

I am the very one;

The moon, the stars

… and the blazing sun!

In this knowing,

I create…

My heart is glowing;

And I relate…

The spirit of my soul,

You, too, now will know…

The only goal …

is to realize

…to grow.

God is your inside,

Where the thought,

..and Christ reside.

Religion can rot,

for those who need control.

My freedom was sought!

I am the power,

No doubt…

in this hour,

No need to shout!

Come with me,

I clear the air,

for them to see…

It’s all there!

The season of the spirit!

The season of me!

All Roads Lead To Broadway

A soft cool breeze … as I step outside to the fresh spring day!

The smell of New York City … from Central Park.

Green trees and chirping birds …

A song of joy …

A song of life!

Walking with a song in my head …

the notes clear, my voice stronger than ever …

Am I singing out loud? Of course, must rehearse …

and the sight of words that make my heart fill with love: Stage Door

Yes! I am on Broadway . .  .

The Greatest Place on Earth to us who love to . . .

perform theatre!

The smell of the crowd, the roar of the greasepaint . . .

Although, these days, it’s the smell of musty old theatre parts, clean costumes.

The greasepaint is Max Factor and a bit of pancake make-up. Microphones taped in your wig.

Still, a theatre, no matter where or what size … that wood and dust that makes an asthmatic wheeze;

yet, with joy!

Lights blinding me from the coughing, oohs and ahs of the blurred faces.

I can feel their energy, their expectation … butterflies move through my stomach and to my knees.

Nerves mean you care … their energy makes me fly high! I am flying high.

Never toked a day in my life, but every performance on stage … I fly!

Those hot lights feel like God himself is smiling at me . . .

summoning me to sing the joy in my heart and soul!

This is orgasm of the whole body … it’s like an explosion of ecstasy! BOOM!

Manifesting the dream! MAGICAL!

My Dearest …,

We have this place…unseen by most;

We have this bond…since we were born.

We spent the years…apart;

We promised we’d meet…near this end.

As my middle years…come to me hard;

Your senior years…harder still;

Will you allow me in…or have you chose;

To leave me here…alone to deal?

Please tell me you remember…at least, a bit;

I remember it all…and wonder why.

If I am to tell the story…and no one recalls;

Then, why will it matter…to one who is left;

alone to share?

Please return to me…share what we will;

For a moment is enough…then never, at all.

Recipe For Procrastination

Ingredients:

• Active mind
• A sense of laziness
• A love of naps
• Insomnia
• Some bursts of depression
• Too much to do
• Not enough to do
• Easily bored
• Aging

Take your active mind and mix it with too much to be done … for everyone else, usually … and a touch of perfectionism from your early years. You must be have experienced no longer having enough to do because you are retired or are in full menopause, with only a few hot flashes, retired and/or just no longer care.

You do not hate your sense of laziness, unless it means a burst of depression. Which may be a symptom of menopause from years ago. But, I guess it’s better than that bloody mess every freaking month. Or wait, naps are better and better each day. Maybe insomnia is not an issue if you can nap?

Here’s that active mind, and slower moving, achy body which can add to insomnia. A sense of laziness is fair; I mean, there was definitely too much to do then. Not to mention the cramps and sore breasts. Now, they just sag and feel, if anything . . . bored.

Sex? What’s that? Nah, a nap sounds better. Do it tomorrow.

Carved In My Heart

Do you remember me?

We met here…

Long ago;

Lifetimes before.

Do you know me, still?

We met again,

Right here…

Not even a moment ago.

More than once…

twice

three times, four and five…

a dozen times.

Always so close…

Yet, not at all.

You held me up …

Called me your angel;

Called me your own.

You stopped,

for awhile.

I dreamed you back…

to life . . .

You have forgot?

You hold me in your heart…

This I know.

You carved me in there,

You thanked me there.

Come back …

Once more …

For as long as you can.

For I have been left …

alone …

you are my soul.

We are carved together …

Forever.

You know that.

Dear Daddy,

You still visit in my dreams. I miss you being here, of course. You’d be really old, too. Still, there’s so much I’d like to know. You left so long ago, and I thought I’d remember it all. I do and I don’t.

Thank you for answering my questions and fixing the issues. I know you helped, as you always did. Keep it coming and remember me, and help Mom. I am sure, in time, you can help her remember.

I just miss you. Always will. Keep the visits frequent. It’s always good to see you in my dreams.

I love you,

Your little star . . .

Your little one . . .

What? Me Scared?

A virus that kills;

Scary as hell…

For most people, at least.

Am I scared?

No, not really!

What? Me Scared?

I never leave the apartment!

Where will I get it?

Oh, I want to go out…

Not with no money, though.

And that is my lot, lately.

Abject poverty is my way;

And other things depress me more.

My mother is on her death bed.

What? Me Scared?

I want to enjoy any time I go out.

Not possible if one cannot buy…

Or sell, or eat or enjoy.

Scared of losing interest, fun, youth;

Yes, a bit.

When will life be better, again?

What? Me Scared?

I’ve Got Problems

What the virus brought to me…

It brought more complaints;
Get a job! A real job!
Wait, I am high risk for the virus…
And I do have a job, it just doesn’t pay!
I’ve got problems!

What made you think I wanted that…

A real job. What’s that?

What I do is real, just artsy.

Some make thousands, some make millions…

Some make none …

It does not denote lack of talent;

A lack of money, indeed!

I’ve got problems!

And now the virus has brought me…

A surprising answer;

A stipend, for us in the arts…

Strangely, the virus brought me a lot;

I have worked hard for it …

I’ve got a solution!

Note: Not sure this is correct. And not my favorite, if I get an idea later, may try another. Anyway, through it all. I received, finally, unemployment for the first time in years! I have had not had a regular job in years — and just a worked on my own. Sometimes making a few bucks, not even enough to have to file taxes. And this virus, luckily for people like me . . . and pretty much the only good thing about such an terrible illness … is giving unemployment to us “gig workers” in the arts. Still waiting for my stimulus check, though.

Mom Has Gone

She left some time ago…

Where she went,

I don’t know.

Her body remains,

Her voice she retains…

Yet, her memories are gone,

And sadly, so his her song.

Mom was a singer extraordinaire,

The loss of her breast,

…just one;

It took her zest…

It took her sun!

Mom could talk…

And she could sing;

It was her joy…

It had this ring

…of youth!

Mom retains her roots, nevertheless;

Ask her to yodel

… she obliges with a smile.

Her silence is alarming;

for Mom always had every word…

ever so charming,

and so disarming!

That is gone…

and missed.

Who would know…

I’d miss the complaints

… the sarcasm and candor.

This quiet woman…

Whom says she remember my name;

Her only child

… although, it’s hard to say.

It’s the way, when asked …

Mom will agree, “Yes, I know her name…”

Yet, when tasked to recall

… Mom needs reminded of it all.

I wish she could remember

… her mezzo tones

…she shared so freely,

frequently.

And her natural way

… to make it pay,

to offer her thoughts

… on your way(s)!

Not too long ago,

.Mom came for a moment…

and made a joke.

It was a day of fun…

Mom had one, then.

This woman who embarrassed me so!

Now, I want her back . . .

to make my blush or

embarrass my crush . . .

or may me exclaim, “Oh Mom!”

She lost three husbands …

…and now herself.

Be at peace, Mom …

as you need. I miss you more . . .

then can be said . . .

you know me somewhere;

and when you must…

I trust . . .

You will sing again,

And I will hear that voice,

and know the choir above…

has the made the best choice!

Then, like my father …

You, too, will visit in my dreams …

… tell me stories of your Army days,

…your joking ways

…the love you say

… was just for me.

NOTE: My 88-year-old mother, a former opera singer, is in hospice/nursing home care in Florida. She has severe Dementia and Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. She will yodel, if you ask. She has been legally blind for a few years with macular degeneration and glaucoma. She started the downhill in 2015, after her third husband (17 years married) died. She went through two bouts of breast cancer and some remission. Then, it came back and after the removal of one breast, after that, her Dementia was complete.

Mom served in the Army, sang with the USO, also, in the 1950s.

To Manifest Your Desires

Ingredients for you, and me . . .

Know you are:

• God
• Christ
• Power

To Create:

• Imagine What You Desire (Christ Consciousness)
• God (Create An Image In Your Imagination)
• Know (It has already manifested)
• Pray (In gratefulness, as it already is)

To Manifest:

• Faith (That it already is …)
• Faith (That your imagination has created it)
• Faith (No doubt)

The sin is to doubt…

The blessing is to know;

The hell is to walk in fear…

Heaven is to be in the show!

The show is to be in it …

To be in it, is you acting;

This is not a movie you watch…

It is a film in which you are attracting!

You see from your eyes…

You are the lead;

And also the guide…

The creator, the seed!