Mystic

Mystic by Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone (Copyright Protected)

Mystic by Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone (Used with permission and fully copyright protected)

Poem inspired by photo “Mystic” by fine arts photographer Facebook friend Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone who lives in Ajaccio, Corsica

necromancer’s brew of
mussel encrusted rocks
bathed in frazzled foam

cavity-riddled molars
hungering to
devour some hapless vessel
raw

gargoyled reefs
drowned in
agitated waves that
somersault into a
winslow homer sea

poisonous mists
deadly enough to
infect stone
sending shelled and
scaly creatures
fleeing for their
lives

hiding place for
tales of woe and
bad endings
yet one that draws our
eyes and hearts into its
murky mystic soul

Love words

love words
love words slide from my lips
evaporating into barrier of
thick unforgiving air before
intended ears can hear

others ooze from
ink-soaked nibs or are
tapped into existence
laying useless
unread by
hardhearted eyes

I am neither heard nor seen
except by those who
hang on my thoughts out of
desperation or
devotion

Courtesy of the heart

To the reader: This poem was created from an incredible page published in a 12-step daily meditation book, which in turn was based on a quote by Goethe:

Goethe It gives me a goal to aspire to when my thoughts and actions are quite determined to go in a destructive direction.

courteous

POEMS FOR RECOVERY by Dr. Karen Stephen AKA DocFlamingo

courtesy of the heart
akin to love
out of which arises
pure courtesy in outward behavior

courtesy of the heart
seems detached
lacks the fervor of the vengeful heart
the disappointment of the longing heart
the envy of the seeking heart
the pain of the broken heart

courtesy of the heart
interferes not with the
life decisions of others
neither plays games
nor passes judgment
declines to give advice
has no need to seek approval
does not accept guilt
nor lays blame on others
appreciates
rather than criticizes

courtesy of the heart is
never snobbish
nor superior
finds no difference between
a president or a busboy
learns from everyone
welcomes new ideas
embraces strangers

courtesy of the heart
feels joy
instead of fear
sees with fresh eyes
even through tears

The notebook

IMG_0764vintage palms
suggest a
British empire hazed morning
a prim ruched bodice
gossamer covered arms
pen held delicately
scribbling a memoir of the
raj

five ninety-five price tag
on the back
speaks bargain store

if I remember correctly
(five years dim my memories)
a valentine’s gift
when I had a valentine
who celebrated my
writing

I meant to write on the
palm-shaded pages

IMG_0765but the end came before
a single letter was formed
before even the germ of a
literary thought
found its way from
my brain to the
virgin folio

which still lies unspoiled by
regret or rue
the void an
homage to
dreams unmet

Guest post…The Loss of Mother

recovery sign
The Loss of Mother
 
What can I say?  I say no more.
I am a closed door.
A dark, dark room.
All gloom and edges squared
Where do I go from here?
Corner to corner,
Edge upon edge
I long for the softness of my mother’s embrace
She is not here.  She is not there.
Corner to corner,
Edge to edge,
The loneliness is locked here inside this door.
 
Out.  Out, I say.
Open the door.
Feel the pain.
Corner to corner,
Edge to edge.
Feel the pain and out the door!

About my friend Marianne in her words:
I am currently employed full-time with County government and work two 
12-step programs.  Most of my free time is spent doing service work 
for my recovery programs, taking walks, swimming, and playing with my 
six year-old grandson. A lifetime lover of literature, music, and all 
things art,  I embrace this opportunity to share my experience, 
strength, and hope with others through this portal of poetry and hope
to learn from the experience, strength , and hopes of others.

Maybe I need to write a poem about waiting

waitng

Courtesy bravegirlcommunity.com

romance in fifth gear
racing
headlong
daring
full steam ahead
damn the torpedoes

a friend suggests
waiting
caution
let love unfold as
rose in bloom
I nod as if in
agreement

inside my hasty heart
plots
plans
turns a first greeting into
I do

porcelain held mocha
raised with seductive grace
hints at fingers that could
hold other than a
cup
lips that could
nibble on
softer harder things

his words a prelude to my
self-composed
symphony
his syllables orchestrated to
fit my melody

my nagging big girl brain
throws up a red flag at
my impatience
my hungry heart
rips it down
a disappearing waitress
colludes
fairy godmother-like
more time
to charm
to drag him down
my garden path
gravel embedded in his
backsides

reluctant goodbyes
outside
on cracked sidewalk
he leans in for a
tentative kiss
I wangle more with
desired effect

two weeks pass
no word
cancel order for
bridal bouquet
refund honeymoon fare to
paris
swing wrecking ball
smash to smithereens
unshared desires
forever afters
new beginnings are hers
not mine

give that waiting thing
holding back
reserving judgment
grown-up stuff
a chance
move past thinking
waiting is for others
let it be a good idea for
me

no
not a good idea
I hate good ideas
let it be my idea
let waiting
restrain
tame
my wild heart

Maybe I need an oil change…

drain oilmaybe I need an oil change
clean out that gunk that’s mucking up my life
remove the sludge that slows my engine
saps my get up and go

 

new oildrain out the sludge
pour in new ideas
so I can run more smoothly
head in new directions
explore new horizons

 

tire worn while I’m at it
rotate those old thoughts
don’t let them wear me down
in the same sore places
keep them from making me miserable
in the same old way
endangering my life as I drive through life

I don’t need a whole new me
just a daily tune up
every 6000 minutes or sooner
write
listen
pray

lifetime guaranteeif I take good care of me
I could last a lifetime
satisfaction guaranteed

 

Poems for recovery

powerpoetry_logo_0I had an amazing experience this week. After a year of social media exploration, accumulating over a thousand Twitter @docflamingo followers the hard way (thanking them, not buying them!), I found myself receiving a sudden flood of Retweets, those very hard to come by Twitter accolades. Were they for my novels? Were they for my travels in France? Or even my classic car adventures?

No…they were for my poetry, specifically my poems about recovery. I discovered that there are some very needy souls out there in this way too impersonal social media world, hungry for words that comfort, challenge, and bring about change.

So I have established a special page on my website called POEMS FOR RECOVERY devoted to sharing my own experience, strength, and hope. I will add more as each day passes.

I have had an early morning practice for the past six years of keeping a daily diary of my own recovery journey. I read a page out of one of my Twelve Step daily readers, re-type it, and then journal as I am inspired by the experience, strength, and hope of others. I find that angry feelings, resentments, disappointments, and grief simply fade away as each entry progresses. Occasionally, I have turned those written thoughts into poetry. Now I see that doing this simple daily exercise in written meditation is not only a help to me but succor to others.

shareI would love to see these shared. We never know who might need to gobble up a crumb of truth and hope today. How special it would be for you, friends and strangers alike, to share your own recovery journey in return. Your voice may be a lifeline for a sinking soul.

Do not cling…

worth itdo not cling
shrink wrap yourself
around something
not yours to have
not love
nor money
nor any object
of your desire

save endless
hours of emotional
wear and tear
avoid exercise in futility
you cannot stick
to Teflon dreams
that resist
the irresistible you

believe life gives
what is yours to have
let feelings linger
until dissolved
seek poetic companions
who inspire
pick author’s brains
who encourage

decide to be cheerful
just for today

Being enough…a mantra

A friend passed this on to me. Certainly food for thought:

enoughWhat if for just one breath, I was enough?
That I didn’t have anything to gain or lose, to become or change.
That I, in this body, in this moment was enough?
How much more space would I create in my heart for happiness?
For contentment?
For love?

For just this one breath, I am enough.

flamingo_flying_med_clIn my Doc Flamingo persona, I am a licensed Psychologist in California and after a 40-year career as a therapist, am now serving as the Mental Health Clinical Director for a large health plan providing medical and mental health services to over 500,000 Medi-Cal recipients in 14 northern CA counties. In my Karen Stephen writer persona, I invite you to LIKE my AUTHOR FACEBOOK PAGE and tell me about yours.