Latest Entries »

THE YELLOW BUG LIGHT

Waking up, I am greeted by a firefly on the living room window pane.

Is it alive?  Is it dead?  Is it slowly dieing from the poison I put on the porch around the yellow light blub.  The light bulb that is supposed to keep away bugs but it doesn’t?

Is it dead like the other insects lying near the base of the wall, underneath the stupid yellow light bulb that doesn’t work, on the porch?  All manner of moths, spiders, weird flying summer bugs and gnats?

Night after night they fly to the light and the next morning are dead or flinching and suffering.  They ‘fly to the light…,’ like all of nature reaching for the light…. their natural instincts guide them to the healing light… the light, that by a few deadly sprays of poison by a human hand, has turned on them and is deadly.

How do I justify not wanting to be bugged by the bugs?  Their life force poisoned and gone?

Everyday as I sweep the little paper like insect forms onto the Mother Earth, I begin to awaken to how I am poisoning Mother Earth.

How many years have I myself expected our Mother to just eat the poison and be OK?  How many years have I kept a deaf ear, a blind eye on my actions?  Lived in silent denial?  How can I expect our Mother to keep growing pure food for us, the cells of our bodies, the babies in our wombs, the animals and every life form?  How can she keep her seeds free of our contamination so the trees and weeds and flowers can keep producing clean air?

Everyone and everything is affected by a single spray of bug killer.

I’d rather keep the light off at night, because what’s worse?   Poisoning our earth, or attempting to ward off whatever is out there that I might think is going to do me harm, with a stupid yellow bug light?

And now… what do I do with the rest of the bug killer in the bottle that will most likely go to the dump and again be expected to be eaten by the Mother Earth?

My heart cringes in the immensity of the dilemma.

(c) 2013 Christina M. James

He Was Just A Friend

He was just a friend..
a mild acquaintance
but someone who was there
someone who cared

he kept up the landscape
and took care of stray cats
he kept us up to date
on the gossip at hand
about the people who lived
in the small cottages on Hamilton
where we lived too

his back was humped, his mind quick
his humor sharp
his laugh was big, honest and true

when Woody died and I moved away
he’d send me a card every Christmas Day
“Now when you don’t receive a card one of these years
you’ll know I’m gone,”
he would always light-heartedly say

we talked now and again, rather occasionally
but this year more often as something in me ‘knew,’ as his pain grew
talking, laughing, keeping his death at bay
just for a few more months… hours.. days…

‘the one touch can opener,’
his new stray cat…
the latest on the president
small talk about this and that

his honest admission with a flirtatious hearty chuckle
that he couldn’t believe someone of my stature and beauty
would take the time to call and chat
with him.. of all people
quickly adding
he hoped Woody and Rob would pardon him
for being so forward and bold… about ‘that!’

I had to laugh, and now I cry
to realize his lonely heart was slightly wooed
his pain dulled and soothed
humanities caring and compassion – devoured soul food

a friendship formed and dropped anchor
years holding steady with Christmas cards and light cheery phone chatter
has been pulled up and put on the shore
my dear friend Dick Gondick has gone home

(c) 2013 Christina M. James
4/4/13

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

The Hollow of My Humanity

Many afternoons like this one
After you died
Sun sitting high in the West
Casting shadows East
The grief filling all of me

Like the high piercing cry of the hungry Coyote
Wailing in the canyons of my empty spaces

Loneliness hangs like smoke from a leftover fire
Some unseen part of me choking, running toward fresh air

Many afternoons like this one
Mingled and twisted with despair
Indulging distraction, falling into addictions lair                                                                                    Manically stuffing down all of my fear

Severing a union filled with hunger and confusion
I magically appeared in your eyesight where I danced desperately unabandoned
The child unseen from birth finally free

Intertwining…
Rolling, swaying, sweating, praying…
Holding, crying, weeping, wailing…
The hollow deep, still empty, still aching

Romance so sweet…
Passion unmatched, love complete
Your soul turning toward heaven
My soul finally birthing the woman in me

You… slipping away
As I clutched tight the endless hope
For the miracle of your revival
Lost as you inhaled one last time and let go

Rising up, the world illuminated
Your final journey home

Many afternoons like this one
After you died
Sun slowly setting
Casting shadows East
The grief filling all of me

One day I too will leave
God my only constant
His Love my only reprieve
The only thing that soothes
The Hollow of My Humanity

(c) 2013 Christina M James (3/13/13)

 

the fire

and the fire comes burning down the house
it’s no use.. the fireman can’t get in to save anything
the structure is gone
nothing left save the earth upon which it was built

the earth remains and is bare underneigth the night sky
the moon shines down lighting up the ember and ash strewn mess

the earth aches beneith the burnt rubbish wishing
someone or something would come and rake it away
rake and rake and rake until only the fine brown dirt is left

my fine brown earth… says Mother Earth
my fine brown soft and fertile Earth…

what did I allow to be built upon me so heavy, so full of nothing?
things things and more things… collecting dust..
now look at them as they lay upon me useless and full of nothing… no heart.. no soul… lifeless mangled trash

what was I thinking to allow such obstruction to sit and weight heavily upon me?

what did I think it would get me?  that it would beautify me?  that I would keep up with the other patch of earth next door with it’s manuicured gardens and huge stucco mansion?

I forgot how to breath with all that sitting on top of me!

i can’t wait until the rakes come and the bull dozers and the garbage trucks! yes that’s quite appropriate – GARBAGE trucks.. to get all this stuff off of me so I can be free… so i can see the sky, so i can feel the rain.. so i can feel the wind and the trees dropping their seeds upon me… so i can freeze with the winter snows…. so I can be part of the seasons again…  so I can expand and feel my breast fill with pride at the flowers, plants and trees that take their nourishment from me…

so i can feel the gentle hopping of birds and the stomping of the dear and the horse; the prowl of the lion and cougar and the scurrying of insects and the burrowing of moles…

so i can feel them lie down upon me in death as their bodies sink into my being…

oh how lonely i’ve been… dark and buried under brick mortor, cement, and sheetrock…

God please send the insurance agent quick… so the rakes will come… i want to see the blue sky and watch the clouds drift..  before the rebuilding begins

(c) 2012 (1/1/2013) Christina M James

there’s no hope for power…

there’s no hope for power
it chokes, it strangles, it explodes
it’s vain, swollen, blind
seethingly it corrodes

it’s bold, it’s cold,
manipulation is the game
it cuts, it rips
anything and everything to pave its way

there’s no hope for power
devastation of the soul
devastation of all good things
brainwash the babies, sacrifice the old

it fibs like a demon child
while it stares me in the face
challenging me to try and slap it down
but instead I turn away

no one can win against its force                                                                                                            most can’t wake up to save their lives                                                                                                  but when the time is ripe
Love will sever the chord

swollen bank accounts and bellies                                                                                              expensive cigarettes and caviar
dinner parties darling, arriving in the governor’s car!                                                                      unaware and ignorant…                                                                                                                                petty and pretentious pawns                                                                                                                        atop their slaughterous thrones of powers glory                                                                                     in the thin air above moralities laws  

there’s no hope for power                                                                                                                            it lies to keep its place                                                                                                                                  anything and everything it will say                                                                                                            to keep your head upon the plate

its wicked face disguised in social status whispers in your ear
as it shoots your veins with words full of seduction into ignoramous fear
it controls and keeps us trapped
while we waste our lives believing all the crap

what is there to do, what is there to say
as the world spins itself through a trillion stars in space

little men slinging hurtful words and false facade                                                                        wearing ill fitted faces and playing God

Lord forgive them for they truly know not what they do                                                                     Lord help us all as we fall…

(c) 2012 (10/31/12) Christina M. James

Protected: Baba

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

THE TURNING

The Turning
The road has been blocked
Yes I can push my way through.. continue on..
But the road has been blocked
It’s no good.. trodden, cracked, deep holes, old gravel
Too many boots of too many struggling men have traveled
I stand knowing I must stop trudging foot bound to earth and fly
The turning has arrived
The abuse of my expression and my well lived ‘blood to paper’ with pen
must end
The proving ground that i have pounded down to sharp edged stones
cutting me, bleeding me…
I must step away from and begin
The wingspan of my soul stretches miles on either side
My heart is gushing overflow through my old worn out clothes
Jump my girl… jump my fully fleshed out friend
Fear of the unknown flight, fear of the unknown road,
Fear of not knowing what to do, how to control
The options hold no life
Take one step into the unknown and fly
(c) 2012 (5/6/12) Cee Cee James

Bone Poets Orchestra is a fantastic group of genius musical artists out of the Seattle, WA area. I was tuned into them by Dan Mohler, our Seattle based Bassist and dear friend. I was slow to realize the wondrous magic of their music and lyrics which has seeped into my blood drip by drip and now has turned into a roaring dance of life – my life! How did they know? How did they know my thoughts, feelings, and deep thoughts about this road we are all on? How do all artists know such things as they tap our ears with their rhythms and fill our bodies with their wings of flight for which we have no words? Well, to put it bluntly, that is why they are artists and that is why we need every last one of them especially now with the way the world is turning and spinning and looking for its way.

ENJOY!!!!
________________________________________________________________________
* A paragraph from the insert of their latest work BELLADONNA SMILES:

“STANDING on the seductive cliff edge, playing with our brains, we stare into the sun a bit too long and are blind for awhile. It’s a cheaper lesson than it could be – Belladonna stands there next to us, wondering if we’ll fall or fly…and we just step back a bit and go on, reminded that there are things that matter, things that have nothing to do with the cliff edge. Living is a transformative experience; summer camp is temporary. The stuff that matters is here, now, in the ground of our being. A reliance on truth, on the casting off of delusions.”

________________________________________________________________________
* A printed lyric listed below from one of my favorite songs on BELLADONNA SMILES:

PENNIES FOR OUR EYES (Track 9)
Another dollar, another day, forced to waste the hours away
But doing time collecting our pay, never cured the broken hearted
Who among us wrote the rule, that makes a human being a tool
When like good money and its fool, we all will soon be parted? Oh….

Bankers live and bankers die, by usury that bleeds us dry
They’ll have us working all our lives just to spur the boatman’s labors
Loan us dollars loan us dimes, we’ll surely pay you back sometime
Loan us pennies for our eyes oh will you undertaker? Oh…

On and on, life is long
How to hold on tight when it’s bittersweet
On and on, but when it’s gone, it isn’t long at all
On and on, life is long
Learn to love and learn how to keep your feet
On and on, but when it’s gone, it isn’t long at all

But it’s lonely on your way………
It’s lonely on the way
It’s lonley on the way
It’s lonely on the way
It’s lonley on the way
It’s lonley on the way………..

A begger offered a wealthy man, a wizend apple from his hand
Who’s the poor one man for man – both are caught in history
One has money, one has time, both can say “All this is mine”
Gentle, vicious, cruel or kind life if full of mystery

On and on, life is long
How to hold on tight when it’s bittersweet
On and on, but when it’s gone, it isn’t long at all
On and on, life is long
Learn to love and learn how to keep your feet
On and on, but when it’s gone, it isn’t long at all… Whoa.. yah… a…
________________________________________________________________________
* CLICK to Listen PENNIES FOR OUR EYES:
http://www.bonepoets.com/09_Bone_Poets_Orchestra_Pennies_
for_Our_Eyes.mp3

________________________________________________________________________
* And finally you can find out more about the BONE POETS ORCHESTRA AND take a listen to all the songs on BELLADONNA SMILES here:

http://www.bonepoets.com/listen.html

________________________________________________________________________
Thank you Christopher Bingham – Composer, Sue Tinney – Vocals, and the rest of your cast of characters for sharing your wonderful souls and truths with us through the making and giving of your music.
________________________________________________________________________

Please share your contemplations, thoughts and feelings on this song and it’s inherent wisdom and truth! :)

A stunning poem by my good friend and Indian Elder, Dave Hagstrom. Much food for thought here. Enjoy and please comment.

Buffalo Skull

How long have you lain here hidden in the Sage half covered with Earth in the shadows of the Wolf Mountains? How many Winters have you seen since an Apsaalooka Man thanked you for giving your Life to him so that the People might eat?

Your bone now so cracked and rough…your horns nearly gone and turned brown and scaled in the Winter Snow and Summer Sun.

How many Eagles and Ravens have visited you for a bit of food while it lasted?

How long did the Beetles feed on your offerings that no one else wanted?

How many Mice have made their homes inside you and raised their families here?

How many Meadowlarks have set on your horns singing their Song to Creation?

How many Coyotes have walked by you in the early morning light sniffing you again as if there might be a change in you this time?

I wonder what this Land looked like when your head fell to the ground with red Life running from your nostrils. I wonder if any more of your Buffalo Nation also Sacrificed their Lives that Fall day so that your Apsaalooka Brothers and Sisters could live on this Land another Winter. I wonder how many Sunsets and Sunrises have touched you with their soft colored light.

After all these years, why have you shown yourself to me and not another who would have taken you home to hang on their wall or sell for a few dollars? What have you to tell me….what wisdom will you share with me? I think you should continue your Journey back to the dust of Mother Earth and not go home with me this day. You are needed here more then with me. Others depend on you and live in you….to take you from here would change this land forever.

(c) Dave Hagstrom

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.