Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Respira - He Breathes

Mi manchi. Amo l'Italia. Divertiti!


Respira..



Scrivi per me

come se la penna velluto che brucia la pelle mia, mi guarisce

Scrivi in me

Con passione profonda, così conoscerò il gusto d'amore sulla tue labbra.

Scrivi attraverso di me

come spargo tua dell'arte dentro nel cielo, con una sola espirazione erotica



© 2014 DNKG Respira

Non parlasse Italiano?


He Breathes...



Write for me

As if the velvet pen, burning my skin, heals me

Write in me

With deep passion, so I will know love by the taste of your lips

Write through me

 As I scatter your art across the heavenly vault,

with one erotic exhale.

© 2014 DNKG Respira - 10/13/14: 441pm
©2015 DNKG -edit

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Let Creation Set You Free: Secrets of the Cedar Cellar

In her silent cedar cellar
upon a warm, smokey floor
back settling upon
the burgundy spirits 
holding
her aches, joys,
dreams and curses.

She, in empty hands, asks
"Am I not enough?
Am I not woman enough?
To what do I owe this
malcontent, this disrespect,
This. This. Just.....this...

Be it true, that
the grime, the dirt
the stains on the floor
or the crinkled bed linens
dictate my
unworthiness
of being
Wife of the Year?

Be it true,
the piles of clothes,
sink of dishes,
the shedding dog,
the muddied children
and tearful baby
dictate how I am
unworthy of
Mother of the Year?

Be it true
in the mirror, oh, that mirror
which haunts and laughs
at the lines, wrinkles,
the cellulite - uninviting;

Be it true, that this body
which bore children
that receives your reprehension,
is just a memory of THE body
existing in the broken fragments
of the psyche refusing
to take form, proclaiming:
YOU are not worthy of being
a Sexy Woman."

Soft tears roll across her pink skin
carrying the pain of decades,
beading upon the amber cedar.
Arms hiding her vision
breathing in and sighs,
"Am I not enough?
Am I not enough you?"

She trails
"I am enough for me.
But, fail so miserably for you...why?"
Faintly, she chokes,
"I am enough." 

A sudden warmth enters
like first sun on dew
He, hearing her heart's sorrow,
conveys lovers words
through muted lips
and begs forgiveness, renewal
before first bird's twitter
along the willow's branch tomorrow.


© 2014 DNKG Secrets of the Cedar Cellar 

Monday, June 2, 2014

Why the caged bird sings: A personal poetry tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou

In a world torn between color,
lived and learned between the
black and white hues of 
Everyday. 
a Mother, a Trailblazer, a Poetess
born from the strife,
Who gave rise from the ashes.
Who gave birth from a watery grave.
Who gave voice to the other caged birds.

In a world still torn between color,
lived and learned between the
sophisticated hues of grays; 
between religion, politics, and social strata.
Everyday
a caged bird sings
a mighty song it sings of its own.
A song inspired by the original bird
who feared not; who sang and sung 
Until its lungs no longer could,
Until its breath, panting, matched its heart,
Until its heart sung to its content,
Until its light was borrowed by the Great Equalizer.

And what have we birds known of
atrocities of Time? 
So many, too young,
to know the Power of her rhyme. 
To what atrocities have we accounted for
of broken bodies
of lost loves
of fragmented hearts
of saddened homes.
Would we brave the burn of the tyrant, 
so courageously stare down the eyes 
that abhor without knowing why?
Would we, so valiantly? 
Just to sing our song,
a song of Release?

That caged bird lived her love,
so all others would know what living a life of love meant. 
That caged bird loved when love seemingly wasn't an option, 
 so all others would know love could heal all wounds.
That caged bird healed through the prose of her life, 
so all others would know how. 

Why does the caged bird sing? 
She sang for her. 
She sang for you. 
She sang for me. 
She sang for love. 
She sang for the tough life.
She sang for sanity in an insane world. 
She sang for colors like her.
She sang when being human wasn't humane.
She sang for freedom from oppression. 
From enslavement. 
For us, as Humankind.
She sang to survive. 
She sang to feel alive. 
She sang because it's the one thing they couldn't break. 
She sang because it's the only thing they couldn't take. 
She sang because her song had to be sung.

I understand why the caged bird sings
in my heart and in my soul
she sings and sings and sings
for that is what a caged bird must do
to breathe, to live, or to die for its
songs

I know why the caged bird sings.


DNKG  Why the caged bird sings: A personal poetry tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou 
©

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Let Creation Set You Free: Poetry

Untitled

Vision of the past
swell inside her heart
the shadow of a broken dream
a life shattered,
imagined to have been perfection

a quivering lip and shaky hand
are the only visible signs
of scars left unspoken
perhaps its the revenge
that keeps her questioning
or perhaps its the atonement
that keeps her cold,
a poisonous house
in which none could grow.

standing alone in the dark lot
staring at the lights, enter the rain
her mind returns to that night
when eternity changed for her
she waits anxiously in the cab
legs shaking so rapidly
the rhythm annoyed

waiting, aching, scared, petrified
dark, dark and disgraced, she disappeared
the whispering glow and painted graffiti
were witness to her opprobrium;
shadows encroach on her
laugh at her doom
laugh at her future now destroyed
laugh at the choices she must make

Sullied was the fibrous essence
tainted in the Dogma of 2000 years
confused, conflicted by instinct
she sits on the curb
juggling...

emotions, thoughts, corporeal responses
he, in all his love for her, he
stoops along her side; embrace.
"Everything is going to be okay"
he whispers unassuredly
she lies, "I know"

weeks pass, the fatigue noticeable
her advisors and associates remark
performance is poor, "you're not yourself"
she witnesses change, he can see it to.
Afraid of excommunication, terrified of execution
paralyzed by the Present;
FROZEN
with no time to waste

Snow falls upon the roof. The world is quiet.
In her silence she waits
In his arms does she seek refuge
only to pull away
writhing on the floor, hiding her face from the pain
tears of self-loafing, relief, and despair fall in the carpet
her hands the only bloody witnesses to existence that withers away from her

Decades pass. Lives press forward. Recollections Fade. All but one.
In the recesses of the shadows of her lies a memory
branded on the most damaged part of her soul.
Shame. Embarrasment. Hate.
Years of guilt that cannot be unbound
She cannot save herself.
She is trapped in a cesspool, dying and re-dying everyday

Vision of the past
Bondage of time, being set free
meditations on the heart and mind
heal the clouds that darken the day
pink heart in hand with "love" it is written
a simple sigh and a tender phrase
repaired the damage from eons ago.

Death, demise, execution- Perish
She saved him
only to have him
save her
so that she could save him
again with her last dying breath.

He utters,
"Warrior Mother.
Never change your colors.
Until our next lifetime.
I love you"

DNKG

Untitled © 2014

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