Flow Down to Reach High

Want circles, searching for memories where only presence exists.
Check. It’s all vapor. The loss and sense of void felt is nothing more
than the space of my own expanding awareness–soul without
walls or bottom.

What I’ve held back has burned. I’m not in the cabin anymore,
so don’t search there for signs. Matchstick walls have fallen
into moss, throughout forest, on ripples of dew and galaxy stardust.

My gifts are my only windows, so I opened and smashed, ran
from the building to embrace them in full. Met myself in every
form, holding hands with far off stars–an intoxicating, chaotic waltz.

On Finding a Muse

To have a muse so close
keeps me alert,
wanting to know where
you’re at and will be,
a bit like obsession
until I don’t care.
I stay back a ways
and don’t try,
if I strive,
I hit my goal
and you become
an endgame.

Take my silence
as confirmation
of fear because words
explode worlds. I’ll
make you implode, have
you a mess of vulnerable
brokenness, no longer
a prize. I’ll water
and bless and listen and long
but when it’s too much,
I’ll purge from within me
by writing you out.

Artists stay with feeling–
inspiration is better
than intellect because
when inspiring occurs, they
mold it into virtuous reflection–
something that costs
a penny from their soul.
A muse doesn’t even
need to care, but when
they do, every portal
of time space arcs a
message across their faces.

How do I lure a muse
into a dance that is
more of a cosmic
arrangement than
mundane interaction?
A hand-over-hand
trip across stars
in a game of
“connect the
syncronicities?”

Finding

Am I stuck in a wilderness?
Is any light a pillar of cloud
to rescue from blind wander?

I didn’t stay where you left
me, but I keep your
window open.

My way was lost. I couldn’t
find a path that fit my feet,
but I move now

Sun’s going down, lose your
angry eyes, let’s climb on
the mess and take a higher look

Feet don’t hurt, no pillar in sight,
when I couldn’t yet feel light inside,
I assumed there was no guide.

Sun’s going down for me,
if I don’t rise again, you’ve
always had a friend

When a Friend is only Happy When You Don’t Succeed

If I want, I’ll leap over your head
and you’ll feel lost, like I left, but it’s just a normal sized step
for me. Shouldn’t I walk?

You didn’t see when I closed my eyes
and wrote the answers wrong so you wouldn’t compare me
and let it make you sad

I wanted to shine but it was never
ok just to be smart, I would have to be defiant and fearless
as well and I was neither

Throat cracked under pressure of
words too heavy for available language to be a vehicle
to convey what they mean

Desire grew into the shape of longing
to be accepted while never left alone, a monster of hunger
that can never be satisfied

The part that isn’t welcome grows
angry and impatient, wanting to blanket you with shadows
of resentful success

To Give My Heart

**My Jesus, I love Thee. I know Thou art mine. For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.**

Means taking a long, meandering walk through all past
versions of myself to see who I need to kiss goodbye and
who might make a great companion shadow to add to the
mix of my new soul vibe.

If I can’t come bearing fruit that makes me proud, fruit that I want
to keep just for me, if it doesn’t sting to release it even one little bit,
there is no personal cost and therefore no sacrifice is made, so I bring my
rainy-day edges and darkest shades of self.

Moving towards the lighter and brighter shades of life–the
opening space where creative tentacles can stretch out of the crown
like strands of Medusa’s hair–means knowing what I can feasibly
carry and picking the best tools for the climb.

Thinking back long enough to ask (if perhaps) I could have hurt
others less–not to shed unnecessary tears for long-dried milk
that dripped from my messy, unfettered emotions, but simply
to deduce how to move with greater ease.

Deference to the Sun for the grace of one more day. A dance with the Moon
across the rocking tidal sway. Tempests blow into sweet nothings of
promise: “Let’s create.” To become worthy by purging and saturating the depths
of myself into sweetest surrender to the sacredness of Life.

Mind-rudder angled, vision clear, fishing during the day to pick
the nicest catch just for me, so I can carry it as mine, knowing
it’s the best, and then bring the juicy fruit of my day labour straight
through the gates of a city of Joy.

With fruit of whatever sea I’ve been fishing proudly clasped to my chest,
I kneel before my personal priest, sweet Jesus Lord, and I give what I’m holding
to be counted. He receives the gifts given in grace. He touches my head
and watches my tears splash on his blessed feet.

~ by a willing disciple

**Reference to hymn/poem by William R. Featherston**

Happiness is Felt Apart from Simpering Entitlement

Joy is present when we step into experiences

that float our deepest and our lightest particles

right up through to the top of our head

Joy wakes up when we thank the Sun for hanging

in the sky one more day, instead of worrying if we

will find our daily bread

Joy dances inside us when we make our gifts into skills

that are worthy to give to anyone and gives us vision to see

light of joy in others

There is no joy in becoming a thing for others that

holds nothing for ourselves, all we get is a burst of relief

that lies about our obligation

Joy enters before sorrow is done wracking

our weary hearts and waits for us to notice it bouncing

in the uncertain tempest

Joy is a silk thread to hold in storms of chaos, hard to locate

once let go, so wind the thread around your heart and leave

your busy fingers free

Speculations on Intentional Process: Emotions

I haven’t quite found the intricate balance between emotions that rise to purge–only

pressing for a moment, and emotions that rise slowly from my chest–only after quiet

takes priority for some time–so that they pool, rather than sweep, accumulate, not

gush

I used to welcome emotion like a friend who can keep me company, not swimming

the murky waters to feel what lies in the depths, but something to keep nearby, to feel

when I didn’t know how to find my own things. I took what came up and let it stay

there

but I needed to learn how to ride them like a wave and say goodbye to the ones waiting

at the door to exit, yet keep hands available to hold on to the ones that lift me higher past

ceilings and clouds, and never suffocate the blossoms, even when they hog all the room in my

chest

Realizing not all connections should be treated like they have a shelf life (a poem for a soulmate)

Next time, try just a little

bit harder to reach me, to stay online

a few seconds longer until I respond

so we can connect on the same app, it’s not

always enough that we’re still breathing

under the same moon, where I am

your wife in spirit. Seeing your face before

me calls as the pinnacle of experience, your smoky

cologne and breath rich with coffee notes,

wind from your laugh, faint clicks of your teeth, but you’re

standing beside me, every dream convenes and

that moment turns to full in meaning and action,

all I drop all I’ve gathered and take only your

hands so the magic sparks and arcs between us, over deserts

and oceans and crusted-over hearts, I haven’t forgotten

but I was stuck in another timeline, you couldn’t hold

on tight enough. It wasn’t only for me to grapple

and sacrifice and climb, but you left me hanging on whether

to drag my kids into culture where no one spoke their words

and give up security of familiar and family, no problem

to you because you were never at risk, but why did you

want me so bad that you would ask me to overcome so many

obstacles just to be with you? Truly, you should say.

Why’d I have SO MUCH to prove?

AFTERWARD: I felt compelled beyond my own discretion. I loved

him so deeply, and gazed at him so hard that nothing else

factored when I decided I was his, I just gave it all up, not knowing

that real people don’t have to give anything up to be with the

person they admire because–no matter how hard they fall

in love, they don’t forget who they are. Perhaps I’ll never stop

longing for your essence under fingers and in my nose.

No matter where life looks like it’s taking us, we never

know when paths converge in sudden surprises like

finding out “ends” are not always dead.

Close to Surface

I’m never poised unless I’m pressed against the sands of pressure, slinking down loudly in my presence,

where my body feels adjacent to whatever it WANTS to feel, like sexy and craved, I’ve let so much go

and I’m not sure it comes back (even a little) but I’m fishing for it. Now.

What am I REALLY searching for that keeps me going back, thinking I’ve dropped it somewhere

in my footsteps? The scent would be gone, but, really all I’m doing is searching out shiny parts that happen to glint

catch my eye through gaps in the seams of the coats I make it wear. When they shriek their light through

layers of resistance I’ve placed to keep them asleep, I peel off the paper wrapper and I wear them as my conscious

outfit.

I notice I walk a little bit taller and my steps fall lighter. I hold my spine a little straighter each time I love another part of me

that used to scare me from under the bed. Every time I don’t shy from a situation I find overwhelming, but I stand and learn

to conduct myself in the middle of emotional torment until my arm becomes happiest while holding my pen and my tongue

becomes increasingly selective about whose voice it channels.

Kelli Gunn – January 2023

Winter Walk

Still as a trunk, wrapped in silky silver,
freezing in January, swaying solid in wind,
swelling from within icebound skin, ready
to spill at first breath of Spring

Devotion seeks impulsive expression,
energy grows in power when I keep my
secrets close to the core, stem’s been
stretching, now leaves unfurl

I’ll take as long as needed for dust to
settle, so the vision is clear, because you
can’t understand the charm I embody
unless you can watch me dance.