Vermillion

On June 19, 2015 By dancingpalmtreesIn African American Queen, Blue, boils, Brilliant, Chalice, Chasuble, Crimson, Dung heap, Empress, Flesh, Pockmarked, Prisoners, Purple, Robes, Ruby Red, Scorn, spittle, Stigmata, Sword, Twilight, Vermillion, Vivid, Wailing4 Comments

Vermillion

Chasuble and Chalice
Shall hold forth no malice
until that great day when the dragon lies
slain by his excellent silver sword.

Cries for help often go unanswered
condemning lost souls to the noisy desperation of
unmarked graves.

T’is useless to summon the gods of war
as other battles take precedence

Yours is a wailing that echoes throughout time
over the crooks and valleys of a deserted land
waiting for a legion that shall never arrive

Prisoners paraded boils and pockmarked stigmata
marching towards the land of Shades
Neither in this world or fully in the next one.

Twilight evermore………………

I fell upon my sweet sweet sword when I heard the dirge
emerge.

Once I was a Queen my brilliant vivid ruby red velvet purple blue
robes now tattered with scorn…

Now Empress of the dung heap. A loathsome swollen twisted
disfigured mass of fuming flesh aching for renewal while
another round of spittle hits the mark

Badly mangled I creep towards a salvation always just out of reach.

Crimson runs rampant along it’s craggy shores.

Seed

On September 3, 2014December 13, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Africa, African American Queen, African Goddess, Ancestor, Ancestry, Angel, Black Unicorn, Bridge, Buddha, Catharsis, Deliverance, Ethiopian Goddess, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Genetic Memory, Goddess, Images, Kinetic Energy, Kinetictra, Law of Attraction, Love, Menopause, Mid-Life, Mother over Israel, Mystical Creatures, Night Bird, Paradise, Poems, Poetry, Redemption, Refuge, Sacred, Sanctuary, soul, Spirituality, Stigmata, Tattoos, Vision, Vision Quest, Visions, Wisdom, Woman6 Comments

Seed

She put her hand to the Stone……………………

She put her hand to the Stone and a million millennia of memories coursed through her soul and out from her pores.

She put her hand to every boulder and heard the rocks cry out their praise to Our Creator.

She put her hand to the magnificent Oak Tree and received the voices of streams, rivers, oceans, lakes and streams.

She put her hand inside Gaia Mother Earth and heard the calls of sacrifices, bog dwellers, cave peoples, the cries of those murdered all crying out for justice.

She extended her hands within the forest absorbed the singings of creatures past and present reverberating within her spirit. Her fingers touched the voices of cave dwellers imbuing their drawings with Life. And in the fullness of time vibrations echoed through the eons.

She put her hand upon the Rock of Ages and they extended their hands inside her inner being enveloping her with knowledge, wisdom and understanding.

What Are The Akashic Records & How to Access the Akashic Records

http://youtu.be/SojN1E79jG0

Broken Places

On July 28, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Abuse, Acceptance, Broken Angels, Broken Bones, Broken Hearts, deception, Deliverance, Depression, despair, Evil, Expectations, Fantasy, grief, Loss, Lost Souls, Manufacturered Reality, Refuge, Rejection, Rescue, Scars, soul, Wasteland, Wisdom2 Comments

It’s a risk to admit you’re broken and possibly beaten or just plain tired and hurting inside.

Risky to say you hurt both physically and emotionally because then the Pharisees and Sadducees appear with knives, razors and spears ready to slash you because you’re not the image or the person they want you to be.

Crying and tears are considered character flaws.

Once you fall out of the House of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm in essence you’re Fucked! Already down on your luck scavengers come to pick at your last bits of self-worth beating you down further than you already are.

Let’s be truthfully, Life is a Roller-coaster Ride. You slowly inch up higher and higher then drop quickly to precipitous lows. But once you get down in that valley here come the Happy Police demanding for you to get out. Comparing you to others who are 25-30 years younger with circumstances unlike my own. They want you to live lie. Be a fake or a phony. Being Sensitive is a crime. For me there is no refuge or sanctuary just rejection. Justice is sentencing to a lifetime in Social Media Wasteland. A judgement and sentence I refuse to accept.

Seems these people never remember the times they were down and out. When someone reached out to them with kindness and compassion instead of criticism and judgement. But for me the prescribed remedy is to rip the scabs off my scars yet still expect healing. I’m a Stigma, a failure because I’m not running through fields of tall grass and flowers singing tunes from the Sound of Music.

Even Jesus had to get away from clinging needy people with their hands out always wanting his miracles but not his teaching. Jesus went up to a mountain or to a desert place all the while knowing his disciples, his friends would desert and betray him. Yup they threw the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords under the bus. In these Techie days folks just label you a Social Media Loser.

But he embraced his broken places but not their false expectations and I will do the same. If you only accept me in my happy up times but not in my broken sad times why say you’re my friend at all? Unfortunate to say, But there exists no Love or Respect for Broken Angels.

The Workers Leave No Footprints

On July 12, 2014January 18, 2015 By dancingpalmtreesIn Abuse, Acceptance, African American Queen, African Goddess, African King, Bad Breath, Battle, Black Orpheus, Body Odor, Body Snatchers, Borg, Broken Angels, cacophony, Catharsis, Craving, Creativity, DeBorah, deception, Deliverance, Delusions, Dissonance, Dreams, Ethiopian Goddess, Expectations, Explore, Fantasy, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Hallucinations, Innovation, Inquisitive, Knowledge, Koyaanisqatsi, Limbo, Loss, Lost Souls, Malevolent, Morpheus, Museum, Negritude, Night Sweats, Nirvana, Oneiroi, Optical illusions, Phantaso, profane, Purgatory, Recovery, Refuge, Rejection, Rescue, Riders on the Storm, Ritual, Sacred, Sanctuary, Scars, soul, Spears, Spider Web, Spinning, Spirit, Spirituality, Stereotypes, Stigmata, Stinky breath, Suffering, Surrealism, Taijhena Mona Lisa Ormand, Thánatos, The Twilight Zone, The Walking Dead, Under belly, Understanding, Unloved, Unwanted, Vision, Visions, War, Wasteland, Wicked, Wisdom, Woman, Zombies4 Comments

Dreams Never Die

Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.

Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.

Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The Working Poor Leave No Footprints

Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw. Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds. Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers. Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads. Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands. Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.

I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served. Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.

My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead. Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games. Freedom lies dormant within my imagination. My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin. Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table. Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!! Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them. We be Aliens in our own Land. Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.

Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.