Thoughts While Sleepwalking

On Audio --> here

it leaps and bounds
love
climbing vines towards Heaven

zinging past stars, galaxies
meteors flashing
supernova stargaze falling embers

like a waterscape canvas
melting nightscape backdrop
settling upon blooms
springing forth
from each bud

an electrical buzzzzzzzzzz

resonating
a bumblehum
of drones
leaving the air
thick and heavy
like buttercream frosting.

If you look to the sky, you will see the energy
electrical lines quake and quiver 
a sonic boom
like static
traveling down one arm
to the fingertip
that touched Gods' own
on the ceiling of the Sistine.

Michelangelo knew about love.

Aboriginals knew.
They needed no speech.

They felt the Earth
pull their chests
outward
magnetic
a throbbing ache
of telepathic temple
told presence of
Mother Earth
God
Buddha
Muhammad
The Great Spirit
Yahweh

The bum in the gutter
has knowing eyes.
I bet you never took
the time to see.

Next 
         time
                  look 
                           closer

the iris
reflects
the freedom
of knowing
the same crazed stare
of a driven soul
escaping through 
tunnels of poetry
waiting to flood
the city streets
and drown 
the foolhardy.

The Genesis 

of an Apocalypse.  


© Susan Marie 

the most beautiful songs

On Audio --> Here


Sometimes
the obscurest birds
sing
the most beautiful songs.

Like a child,
placing blocks,
worn,
letters faded, atop another.

Oh . . . so carefully.

Or in the kitchen,
where one woman,
beautiful,
with her hair tied back,
cooks
and silently hums to herself,
her family, waiting,
in the other room.

And the man,
viewing his child below him,
placing worn blocks with such intent
then shifting his gaze to the back of his wife,
in the kitchen,
standing.

And there is no music.

No words are spoken.

It is simply understood
that sometimes
the obscurest birds

sing

the most beautiful songs.

 

© Susan Marie and Shivpreet Singh

*Shiv said to me, "Sometimes the obscurest birds sing the most beautiful songs."