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If I’d Write the Day…One Hundred Eleven

image prompt poetry, micropoetry, monostich, photo prompt, photoart, photography,PoeArt, poet, poetry, prompt writing, Twitter, twitter poetry, free verse, poem, poet, poetry, free verse poem, free verse poetry, writer, writing, creative writing, free form poetry, free form writing, channel, free form poem, prompt writing, compassion, gratitude, middle way, peace, channel, consciousness, oneness, unity, Carey Rose O’Connell

Time with precipice
Writing rhapsody
With unknown eyes
Continue reading If I’d Write the Day…One Hundred Eleven

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Once upon…

Once upon a time there was a woman who came to a shaman circle because the sun lit the way there and beamed through an open door. She accepted the invitation and entered. She sat in the heat of its spinning rays until she saw the imprint of the star burning into her eyes.

She learned the sun’s light is collected in her vessel and reflects in the night as she pours out her love. Now master of the light she entered the chariot. Guided by the wings of knowledge and the guardians of truth, she moved forward out of name and into the one.

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Third Degree

What watched the moments butterfly.

Where asked the destinations they fly.

Who labeled each wing
with a pattern of disguise.

When was quietly noting their arrive.

Why changed them into shadows
attacking the blues of sky.

How listed the third degree,
burning peripheral blind eye.

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Eve’s-Drop

I want to be the tin cup ears
at the end of your heart string

I want to drink swallows of your
tears and respirate you to the
point of soul sing

I want to pour my love over you
in chant, making words out of
your heart beaten tune

I want to step in the footprints
of your dance and watch you fill
from your new moon

I want to sit witness as you
heal your ever self

sounding only as the birdsong,
serenading the branches of
your sky climbing tree

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Were it

Continue reading Were it

Epexegesis

I looked in my image,
at all the wanton pictures
drawn by my mind on these
walls.

I forgave myself for creating
this mural of supposedlies
and watched it streak away
in a tearfall.

The colored lines browned into
reins that I took in my palms
to harness the elements.

Firing the air and funneling
earth across water, I added
my ethereal and became the
fifth relevance.

Illuminated into the expanse
of my oneness with all things, I
charged towards the hands of
time and rode them side saddle,
pluming my wings.

Now coated by love, signed in
henna melanoid, my fluid symbol
veil changes with the prompt of
a breeze.

Grown into four tongues I speak
in every direction, adding epexegesis
to the teachings of once was.

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