© 2018 Blue Phoenix - All images on this site are protected under copywrite law and may not be used without the written permission of Artist Heather Thompson

POETRY

Tiny nubs poke just above my shoulder blades,

Bound, restricted, cut, bloodied, plucked, strapped to my body

Underneath a façade of stiletto prestige.

The shadow of my subconscious silently commands:

DO

NOT

GROW.

Every blood feather

Every bit of down comfort

Painfully pulled at the root

So frequently that it goes completely unnoticed.

Until the day it stopped…suddenly

The day the shadow went silent.

A cone of grace formed

All around me

With a complete sense of peace.

Slowly, v e r y s lo w l y

The bloodied nubs formed scabs

And scabs gave rise to tiny quills

Which birthed new blood feathers

And puffs of down comfort.

And after all of these years,

I realized that the tiny nubs

that poked just above my shoulder blades

weren’t nubs at all.

Instead, I discovered

that inside my cone of grace,

through time and s l o w healing

I had been given wings

so long ago

that I don’t even remember

when forgot how to fly.

We all have wings-

Unmanifested nubs

Yet to be discovered.

What would happen

if we stopped restricting them

and just le...

Who am I

When the labels that defined me

Are skinned and deconstructed? 

I am a child of God.

I am in alignment.

I am in balance.

I am who I am meant to me.

I am grateful.

I AM.

What if a black hole

Was really an imperceptible rainbow?

Just as fractured light

Emerges as Red, Blue, Yellow Green, Indigo, Violet…

What if the transformation of

Light into Darkness

Reveals colors burning beyond comprehension.

Intense darkness…

Becoming

Transformed

Through a prism misunderstood.

Human judgements abound…

Fear

Maligned

Destruction

Collapse into nothingness.

What if the human mind

Cannot perceive such brilliance?

Like a prenatal baby

Attempting to grasp

Life beyond birth.

What if human duality

Cannot SEE the colorful display

Of light diving into darkness

Only to be rebirthed

On the other side

Of a vast womb

Birthing new LIFE

In colorful glory.

Standing at the edge of

Mystery

An abyss of

Light

Filled with ineffable

Darkness.

Letting go of what was

Attempting to describe the

Indescribable

Through human language

Just as Mystery

Self-communicated

Through the observed.

Blinded by the mundane

Awareness of everyday

Miracles

Struggling to

Open perception

To incarnate beauty.

The corporeal world enters

Sensually

Through the vessel

Human.

Bodily senses mingle with intellect

Sight, odor, taste, light, texture, sound

Painting a portrait of this moment,

And the Universe enters woman.

As the realm of known and unknown

Weave together in delight

Grace descends upon the path

Iridescent grey…

Shades of black

And

Pearlescent white

Illuminate interiority

And gently nudge

Onward…

Through…

Into…

The goodness of

God.

I grasp at my own will

As if the momentum is my own

To direct and push and pull

Walking ahead with the fierce

Determination

Of a timeless warrior.

Go.

Do.

Preach.

Help.

Walk.

March.

Run.

Fight.

Resist.

Phallic arrows searching outward

For the unbridled darkness

Known but unexplored

And once touched,

Must be felt to comprehend.

Profound wisdom steeped

In the womb of Woman.

The source of all

Seeking

Being

Helping

Hoping

Desiring

Birthing

New life.

She is the entire ocean,

Undulating and wide,

Brimming with miracles,

Beneath a surface unseen.

Poisoned by toxic exploration,

Pressured to remain calm,

Lamented for her power,

She remains untamed.

Those that navigate her surface

Cannot comprehend her depths

Of brilliant darkness

Unimaginably illuminated.

She is the source.

Flowing.

Pausing.

Being.

Allowing.

Enveloped in the womb

Of crystalline

Sacred Mystery

She rests.

Original Art and Poetry by Heather Thompson, Blue Phoenix Art

Rooted, SHE begins.
From the depth of the
Meadow
Where she walks…
She observes the peaks of
Mountains on all sides
Forged in fire,
Yet frozen in ice.

SHE walks the nutrient-rich soil
In between.
Where wild flowers grow
Abundance
And rivers caress the land
Carving new formations

Where individuals become communities
And crops feed the tribe
And horses gallop through
The billowing blades of grass.
She persists.

Where barbed wire separates the land
And blood is shed
Humans battle against one another
The stench of death a harbinger of
Decomposition…
Absorbing into the Earth…
Enriching the soil…
And bursting forth new life

Tiny sparks of green
Poke through the blackened dirt
A new beginning…
In the meadow
Vessel
Container
Of Life.

The sword pierces the flow of

My candy coated life.

Seemingly happy

polka dotted perfection.

Assistants, money, title…

stiletto prestige.

REAL

estate empire is a

HOUSE

of cards…

Crumbling to its cement

Foundation.

Shattered by the sword again,

all that is hardened becomes

liquid metamorphosis…

deconstructed,

humbled and joyously messy,

bursting with rainbow courage,

awaiting butterfly wings.

Mother Earth cries salty tears.

From the depths of the ocean

To the apex of heaven

Pausing in puffed condensation

Only to burst forth 

Transforming always.

Her oceans ebb and flow 

With drops of salted water

Undulating in sensual delight

Raging with fiery fury

Resting in stillness

Embracing the paradox.

A fractal of the Great Mother

This heart cries salty tears.

These Eyes hide the painful past.

This body knows...

Sensual delight.

Raging fury.

Restful stillness.

I embrace the paradox.

Transforming always.

Stepping through literal

Words

Transcending limits of

Concepts

Expanding beyond boundaries of

Being

Dropping Into the infinite nothingness of

Non-being

And finding…

God?

A Meditation on Soren Kierkegaard

Just as fall descends

Into the tranquil

Depths of winter,

And spring emerges…

…gently…

From frost covered buds,

So are we cyclically

Bursting forth

From the hibernating darkness.

Awakening holy green fire!

Unfolding.

Unfurling.

Becoming.

Exploding in fractal moments,

Blooming.

Thriving.

Expanding.

Contracting in colorful glory.

Transforming.

Falling.

Letting go.

Creative reflections

Of the Creator

Unseen, yet imminently known.

The vision of the Creator

Manifests

Within the bounds of a vast womb,

Beyond which lies the dark crucible

Burning beyond comprehension.

The subject of all seeking,

Yearning.

Hoping.

Remembering.

Yet only existing

Through human thought

In the present moment.

Because the ideas conceived

Are still within the realm of creation

Only a reflection of the Mystery

To be revealed

When we return to darkness

And it is made known…

…Just as we knew all along.

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