steve miller band sings jungle love from book of dreams
i watch on xm
the floating time and place marker that bounces
from the edges of the screens
i write
poetry
today
i sit
i move between ancestors and alchemy
spirit guides and cleaning up
move through the day following my own impulses
to various soundtracks
downstairs, the dead can dance
upstairs, jungle love
across the room a piece of toast
stands in the toaster
waiting for butter
bacon waits
to be eaten
i have served the dead
and this living one
bounces back and forth
between her facebook life
and her ac-chat
i am here
hearing
the bird calls and bass beat
of jungle love
it's driving me mad
it's making me crazy
elizaBeth Benson's poetic journey through her daily life as an artist, mom, spirit, lover, human being
Showing posts with label artist in residence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label artist in residence. Show all posts
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
a picture of greece
he showed me a picture
of someplace i've never been
someplace i've been 2000 times
every moment of the ceremony
awakens
the stones of it
the song of it
reclaims the bones of me
shoots marrow from all the way
back then
to now
bridges
the universe of time
between the mysteries of now
and the mysteries of then
reassembling themselves
in sacred circles
of reverberating claiming
the memory sewn into this
moment
physical presence
sacred landscape
holy being
wholly holy
reclaiming
everything
that was ever
part of what i am
a part of
one drop
in the miracle of
this
LIFE
of someplace i've never been
someplace i've been 2000 times
every moment of the ceremony
awakens
the stones of it
the song of it
reclaims the bones of me
shoots marrow from all the way
back then
to now
bridges
the universe of time
between the mysteries of now
and the mysteries of then
reassembling themselves
in sacred circles
of reverberating claiming
the memory sewn into this
moment
physical presence
sacred landscape
holy being
wholly holy
reclaiming
everything
that was ever
part of what i am
a part of
one drop
in the miracle of
this
LIFE
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
day 7
clean
there is something
a blank slate
a white wall
a deep breath of spring
a wash of light and air
freedom
dirty
there is something
a black slate
a white stare
a deep ache of stale winter
a slosh of muck and wear
freedom
there is something
a blank slate
a white wall
a deep breath of spring
a wash of light and air
freedom
dirty
there is something
a black slate
a white stare
a deep ache of stale winter
a slosh of muck and wear
freedom
Labels:
artist in residence,
cleaning up,
dirty,
poetry,
writing
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
a.i.r. reflections
here, at crepes a go go
i lapse into poetry
mother and daughter
battle out
the inconsistencies
of service
ire
and money spent
hard times
traffic details
driving records
play their spinning way
today i am her
at this cafe
instead of my beloved
denica's
because i, too,
had to take my prius
to toyota.
again, connected.
through overheard
story, double mocha and crepe.
i lapse into poetry
mother and daughter
battle out
the inconsistencies
of service
ire
and money spent
hard times
traffic details
driving records
play their spinning way
today i am her
at this cafe
instead of my beloved
denica's
because i, too,
had to take my prius
to toyota.
again, connected.
through overheard
story, double mocha and crepe.
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