Cherita Fitzgerald

Yes Alone

2005-11-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

SEED "I must travel alone"

There are many views of lonely, stark still or quiver moving;

that embrace being 'alone' with 'lonely' -- fearfully perhaps,
but oft confused with solitude and wrapping self in veils of silence.

One can be so lonely in a crowded room,
or shielded in contemplative singularity and hear a thousand songs,
of strangers met tomorrow, yes?

Closer

2005-11-14T04:25:00.000-08:00

Seed: I am shown the way

I stand on a bluff between two trees. One living. One dead.

Gazing over the precipice
I long for dragonfly, flitting in the distance, to come my way.

Perched on the tree stump within my grasp,
ladybug waits for me to notice. She rests on my finger.
Connection. No wishes made. I am shown the way.

No longer alone

2005-11-14T02:36:00.000-08:00

We walk a new road

Hand in hand in a strange country
I am shown the way

These paths run gently through the wood
tall trees shade us from the summer heat
Birds of a hundred colours sing our joy

The Ending

2005-10-28T05:12:00.000-07:00

Seed: they must be traveled alone.

He told me I must travel alone
but I did not believe him
until the day his wild spirit
fled as the swallows rode
wide circling into the distant sky
and I lay quiet
alone in the wide bed
listening for the voice
no longer near
to learn his truth

Fran'tic

2005-10-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

Seed: "into caverns dark and to the morning"

The morning calls or is remembered into existence,

a reward or goal of the 'Dark Night of the Soul',
seen as either both or neither by fine choice and dance.

The caverns dark may be chasyms of dispair and grief,
or secret passages of delight and adventure;
each by each they must be travelled alone.

Cherita for the Silk Road

2005-10-27T04:58:00.000-07:00

We have wandered roads together
played and learned and found each other
hand in hand the journey winds
through the back roads of memory
through the pathways of new learning
up the stairs where magic beckons
into caverns dark
and to the morning.
Waking we have joined the circle
glowing dawn forever holds us.

Disolve - CF

2005-10-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

SEED: thoughts of dissolving fine illusions

Oh, how we gather and nurture such finely crafted illusions,

sugar drop dreams, truffel trifels and marzipan ghosts
to nestle in gift boxes of compartmented self-enchantment.

Eventually though, as we grow, they must melt away
on our soul's yearning tongue and spirit's churning passion,
filling us with brief honeyed brilliance and memories of creation.

flight plan

2005-10-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

seed:
and yearning for another flame

and yearning for another flame
flitting 'round the slightly open door
i've only grown accustomed to the half -light
cobwebs are familiar
do I dare seek more
drawn to heat and light
winging too close could spell the end
perish thoughts of dissolving fine illusions
cracked cocoon of the past
I'll not float there again

The Attic

2005-10-14T07:19:00.000-07:00

SEED: “towards the cob-webbed door you move”

‘tis not the natural wards and shields
that give character to doors unknown
and give me pause or spirit rush –

but the cob-webs in the attic of my mind,
where I have safely stayed too long,
sweeping dust into useless piles
instead of throwing open windows,
changing into a moth,
and yearning for another flame.

gray matter

2005-10-14T05:36:00.000-07:00

Seed:
because you dare walk the rooms alone

Because you dare walk the rooms alone
Hand unheld, trembling mildly
step by step in semi-darkness
towards the cob-webbed door you move
Pry the rusted lock
It deserves to be pried
Enter the room where you've never been
Remove the dust covers
Sit a spell
Light a candle
Illuminate the space
Breathe in Breathe out
Safe

INSIDE

2005-10-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

SEED:
"and I am inside.Inside my house.
Inside my mind.Turning inwardbody and spirit."

And may the languid pools
of your contentment
mist laughing prayers
unto churning clouds of contemplation --

down, down will come message gentle,
as virga, rain or morning dew;
and birth flowers
of awakened consciousness,

because you care to call it home --
because you dare walk the rooms alone --
because you turn to,
and not away.

Day Four

2005-10-13T04:25:00.000-07:00

Torrential rain.
Gusty winds.
leaves ripped unceremoniously from the "home" trees
They were in the final throes of "disconnect", anyway.
Wet and musty ground cover
dying to support new life
as a rich and fertile humus.
Day four
and I am inside.
Inside my house.
Inside my mind.
Turning inward
body and spirit.

Chiggery

2005-09-02T07:26:00.000-07:00

SEED: “Why did the Lord of All create chiggers?”

NO-SEE-EMS

Your skin, of course,
is covered with thousands of tiny beasties,
each doing the work of cleaning pores,
removing sloughing skin
and eating dangerous microbes –
all those unseen, microscopic task
that keep us from drowning
in our own effluvia.

It may well be that symbiosis
is the highest form of evolution,
if survival is the key.

Home from Kentucky

2005-09-02T05:22:00.000-07:00

Keyboard...Speak in tongues!
Misplaced fingers are divining rods
pointing to the answer.
Why did the Lord of All create chiggers?
Eco-system Schmecko-system!
Those little buggers will make you itch for days on end.
While I'm inquiring of the Eternal Mind
regarding infernal creatures...
What of enormous biting flies divebombing our trail ponies?

Wedding Fitz

2005-08-28T17:14:00.000-07:00

WHISPERS

I pledged to thee
In ceremony
All that I am and more;
Two spirits joined,
Shared wings unfurled,
To stir the silent breeze.

Yet of our souls
And most human hearts
There must be soft tended joy;
In softest touching,
And giggled nuzzling,
And whispered cherish tears.

Of these are we now
In vowed eternity.

Join Hands

2005-08-16T18:46:00.000-07:00

SEED: "Join hands with me"

A simple phrase, rarely heard,
as Game Boys and TV clickers
eschew joining of any kind.

Lost is the basic skill or reaching out,
touching another's hand and heart and all,
and forging a bond stronger than two alone.

Even more profound is this request --
an heart based invitation to dance
with life itself.

Contentment

2005-08-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

Seed: Glissading down -- on blind faith alone.

Join hands with me, my darling

Together we may descend into the mundane
but in the evening know the comfort
of warm bodies joined

Our fireside may not be adventurous
yet I see its warm reflection in your face
I have all I need.

Snow Fly

2005-08-06T04:16:00.000-07:00

SEED: gliding in an eternal glissade
(a double Fitz)

Some climb a forlorn peak, striped with pristine white

to get a better, clearer view of life and all --
but only find another, higher peak to ascend;

while others, especially those who did not hike alone,
prepare for the most thrilling decent to breathless mundanity --
the fearbound thrill of glissading down -- on blind faith alone.

……………………………………………………………………….

Find a gifted branch to rudder balance and steady hand.

Run so confidently across sharp boulders of adversity -- and leap
upon the corn-snow patches -- glittering reflections of yearning,

and glide, ski-less, witless -- yet ever in preparation
for the ending -- and feckless dash across life's barren spots
to leap again, onto a glistening stretch of hope.

faucon

Seed: And turns into glass (Maya)

2005-08-05T21:39:00.000-07:00

In the end, it all comes down to glass. Smooth, slippery, cold. Glass against my fingertips, my cheeks, my breasts; glass beneath my bare feet gliding in an eternal glissade. Sliding is so easy, slithering, slipping, swimming the slick, forever flow of glass; aching for the inexpressible crunch of relief when it all finally

Shatters.

Sorry?

2005-08-04T10:24:00.000-07:00

SEED: "I have never, ever been sorry"

I wonder, sometimes, if I am truly sorry for anything.

Of course, I regret the hurt I have caused …
that may have cause another pain - needlessly -- the only sin.

but I am as I am, and fairly happy with that and all,
and if I would change what brought me here,
well … what then be?

Glass Wave

2005-08-04T05:29:00.000-07:00

As in a dream, the wave appears.
A liquid wall towering mightily, erasing the sun.
Looming ever larger, it curls and dips downward
I stand transfixed on the shoreline. No fear.
Poised to accept my fate, I close my eyes and lift my arms upward.
The wave touches my outstretched fingertips
and turns into glass.

Seed: Butterfly wings still beat into the blood (Fran)

2005-08-03T19:43:00.000-07:00

I was left with only memories, spun in crystal, hung on filament wire

Left with nothing but remembrance rainbows . . . and words
Blood still beats like butterfly wings

Behind the hollow throat of wax your lips dreamed into being
A throat that still swallows rainbows, still whispers words, and no,
I have never, ever been sorry

A Fitz in time

2005-08-03T14:09:00.000-07:00

Seed: "your tender tempation"

Oh, such a divine sincrosity or stuttered thought or slip of mind --

a hesitation in time, perhaps, or a forging of will;
drawn by being excessively sensitive or simple moderation?

I will have to add 'tempation' to my SpellCheck
and at some time, perhaps with libation,
will cast it upon the violent winds of creation.

Erroneous Result?

2005-08-03T00:44:00.000-07:00

Those butterflies, delicate against the light

Colors and wings, strong against the wind
carried to a northern island

Butterfly wings still beat into the blood
our children know nor have I been sorry
for your tender tempation or my yielding

Seed: In an old dream (Fran)

2005-08-02T15:15:00.000-07:00

In an old dream

You counted my heartbeats, silent singing of butterflies, you said
Multiplied times two and then divided by the same to find your own pulse

Your lips against my throat, drinking hot blue butterfly wings, counting
Then deciding that it was just possible this procedure might be giving you
An erroneous result

Fitz exchange

2005-07-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

I sent (before I moved)

When I am here and you are there
there is a part lost in between,
and I’m not sure
if it’s something we needed,
or excess thoughts and dreams –

but I’ll bet that it’s a bit of magick
that exists when we are close
and that we have lost nothing
except a memory or three.

She answered –

ah but memories are never lost, my love
they are …

but a moment's kiss away
and the warmth of our breath kindles anew
the patterns that we have swirling 'round us
or perhaps the gentlest touches sparking a'fire
generates lovedust to soften the underlying passions desire
memories are not of the mind as most would suggest --
I say they are of thine Heart and mine.

Learning Love

2005-07-21T05:33:00.000-07:00

Not a Fitz --
written for my first wife
of 36 years -- still a true friend,
as we were in the beginning ...

I was afraid to love -
but you knew that, didn't you?
unfair - you came from no love and was sure -
I came from love and didn't know how
we taught each other - some
not enough.

What was said - and not said
needed - not found
not needed - given
lost - found
abused - massaged
loved - forgotten?

I thought to sacrifice myself for your needs -
you thought I was sacrificing family for self
how can I say I have regrets -
when I never did anything to cause pain or loss
deliberately?

Yet, how can I expect love when caring/understanding was ground to dust?

Of all the things that have happened, my friend -

You are now afraid to love

For that I am truly sorry

Love not allowed

2005-07-21T04:56:00.000-07:00

Love unseen

We touched, my love and me
in an old dream

Now in eyes of distant memory
we walk together through harvest fields
and see what might have been

Love Realities (CF)

2005-07-21T03:25:00.000-07:00

SEED: "love did not seem real"

Reality is transitive at best, at least in terms of love

as we are conditioned by what we see and touch
and rarely what we feel or allow ourselves to know.

Then I met m'lady who cannot see
and was not allowed to love, for all of that --
but can give me love's unknown realities.

Daily Routine

2005-07-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

Our love did not seem real
but the light
that shone in our eyes
on the first day of our loving
is with us each morning
as you bring a coffee tasting kiss

Thread of Remembering

2005-07-20T04:56:00.000-07:00

In keeping with an apparent thread
of remembering or forgetting,
I offer a sonnet written long ago ...

faucon

............................................................

REMEMBRANCE

There is a time, my love, that I remember well;
Thoughts that I caress and hold to swelling heart.
I laugh out loud; eyes close shut and arms wide apart
To clasp a memory of which I often tell.

Yet I know that mem'ry often diffuses fact,
To protect fragile ego over shifting time.
Our love did not seem real then, somehow more sublime.
Actions were not reasoned well, we simply did react.

Now I must question if I recall actual love
Or simply do invent soft thoughts of joy and bliss?
Was it myself I loved but sought not to ever miss
A chance to find myself in answer from above?

Do I wish to remember well, or perhaps forget
That what should bring joyful thought often gives regret.

A CF for Lisa

2005-07-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

New poet in Thrine

Well does she speak in triplet form or single verse

This new member beknown by ancient Phoenix call,
but also that of bridging Troll and by right a Sister too.

Three does allow a braiding well known or hair and rope,
that in simplicity can embrace many spiritual threads
of thoughts and dream and passion.

faucon

Making a poem on Salmon Beach: haiku triad

2005-07-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

each word gleefully
snatched by the wind, then scattered
in all directions:

some roost in twisted
trees, some are claimed by bronze ants,
a few hide within

winkleshells; later
they come straggling home again -
soaked, scuffed, eyes shining

Embrace Emotions (CF)

2005-07-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

SEED: beauty, terror, suffering, and love

How poorly trained we are, methinks

in embracing such variety of emotions and reflections --
driven to order them as good and bad or worse.

Should not the comparison be, in truth,
with not being able to embrace emotions at all,
or to have a soul so deadened that it hears no music with the dance?

faucon

Break Away

2005-07-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

SEED: "you break away by daybreak"

At Sakin'el, by ancient draw
the new day starts at twilight,
when we can cease our human toil
and shift to dance and song.

With the dawn we break
from putting memories to rest,
and find rebirth in everything
that will bring us close --

so break away from yesterday
to rejoice this day with me.

Seed line:My dreams encircle you

2005-07-14T11:23:00.000-07:00

My dreams encircle you.
Years have flown
but memories cannot
be thrown-
or banished
from subconsciousness.

This is no Garden of Eden.

From time to time
we meet again
when I lose control in the
world of slumber.

Such restless sleep.

Though dreams encircle you,
you break away
by daybreak.
Leaving me wide-eyed. Baffled.

FITZ RECIPE

2005-07-13T12:00:00.000-07:00

Seed Line: Mixing With Tears (Megan)

Mixing With Tears
Memories too bright
2 cups of lost years
A handful of night
2 tsp.sweetness (not what it appears)
Sift something that once was so right
½ c. unconquered fears
Dash of the words I now write
A doz. old songs, once sung in my ears
‘til it all disappears
Keep mixing with tears

2005-07-13T06:06:00.000-07:00

Salmon Beach

2005-07-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

Seed line: Wrap the day into dark shrouds (Winnie)

The day wrapped in dark shrouds
waves thundering in
salty sea spray
raindrops like spittle
mixing with tears
the anger silent within.

FRANtically Simple

2005-07-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

SEED: "the wind in my sail" (fran)

I do not seek Her in magesty,
nor in dusty tombs or scrolls;
but in the simplest breath of presence --
the soft wind in my poet's sail.

Shea whispers a song I scarcely hear,
but my gosomere dreams soon billow full
when She does sigh to me
of faint salty mists of memory -- and thee.

M'lady-1

2005-07-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

I keep trying to m'lady Emrys to join this blog,
but she is strangely shy and reserved.
So I will have to post some of here Fitz
myself ...

faucon
...............................................................

my dreams encircle you
and wrap you snuggly while you sleep
a warmth that I have never known
a love pulsing, rich and deep
a reason for me to either greet the day
or allow gentle thoughts within to creep
a timeless drop of innocence,
a multitude of memories to keep
inside my blissful Heart.

Fitz to Flying

2005-07-13T04:34:00.000-07:00

Seed line: I will ride the bright Ocean/The wind in my sail . . .

Ride the bright ocean
Where the clouds split with sun
On a swift winging motion
The miles come undone

Unraveled like moon beams
Undone by the day
Soft cradled dark dreams
The sea slips away

Spin on whipped cream clouds
Above the bright blue
Wrap the day into dark shrouds
As the day breaks anew

Edwina Peterson Cross

Simplicity

2005-07-13T03:59:00.000-07:00

I will ride the bright ocean
the wind in my sail
taste of salt air
turn of wave
song of waters
not thinking
nor dreaming
I will take
asl He gave

Givens well Taken

2005-07-12T12:09:00.000-07:00

SEED: “Given will ever be taken”

Of the Mother we can have such faith,
be she flesh, Earth, Sea or Blessed;
that what we create is noble,
and what we give is pure.

But the Father would ask,
“Have you taken those Givens
set aside for you and used them
wisely and pure?”

and so I must start again –
simpler still.

faucon

Seed: Salt doll does not measure the ocean before it is time

2005-07-12T04:46:00.000-07:00

Bright ocean open and bleeding
Sweet is the taste of the brine
Into an emerald wave speeding
Pearl and salt to combine
Given will ever be taken
Pour ‘til your ocean is dry
The depths below you will waken
The sea will then swallow the sky

Such was it begun
So will it be done

Harping Along -- Fitz

2005-07-11T18:48:00.000-07:00

seed: "a harp carved of forever"

Though a harp is carved of forever,
and tuned in the key of we;
the harmonic curve is an angle wing
that does but kiss the piller of fire,
held firm by the countless strings of being.
Each does sound a different note,
but all do meet in finality,
as one and all
in symphony.

Salt Doll

2005-07-11T17:03:00.000-07:00

Salt doll does not measure the ocean before it is time. Instead, she rides the waves in her semi seaworthy body vessel. The ribs of the aging ship are beginning to creak and groan. Salt Doll peers into the foamy depths, recognizing she'll return to her ocean home in a blip, a heartbeat, a nanosecond.....

Synchronicity Singing

2005-07-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

Seed: This mystery might be likened to a harp

ALTERNATIVE metaphor: this mystery, a harp carved of forever

Is strung with billions of strings, played by a harper of ever-earth
Each string is special and unique, different from the last, of variant matter made

Sometimes strings are plucked at exactly the same second, producing exactly the same vibration
Sudden, sonorous synchronicity
Rings . . . reverberates . . . resounds

One String

2005-07-10T12:11:00.000-07:00

seed: "time worn path of humanity"

If all paths cross in the forest,
yet we walk the same trail...

This mystery might be likened to a harp string, divinely plucked.

Each change of tension between mind and spirit
will produce a different note to join the eternal song.

The strength with which the vibration echoes
may be ours to choose, and while in vibration may seem singular,
yet t' is but one string for all.

faucon

2005-07-09T20:46:00.000-07:00

Am I a poet ‘as an alternative to this time worn path of humanity?’

I AM this time worn path of humanity!
Alternative? OK! And extrapolation, extension, progeny, posterity

NEXT! Until the next and the next, and forever the glorious next!
Proud lineage. Majestic descent. Magnificent kindred
I AM this time worn path of humanity!

Sonnet XIX

2005-07-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

If I die solvent — die, that is to say,
In full possession of my critical mind,
Not having cast, to keep the wolves at bay
In this dark wood — till all be flung behind —
Wit, courage, honor, pride, oblivion
Of the red eyeball and the yellow tooth;
Nor sweat nor howl nor break into a run
When loping Death's upon me in hot sooth;
'Twill be that in my honoured hands I bear
What's under no condition to be spilled
Till my blood spills and hardens in the air:
An earthen grail, a humble vessel filled
To its low brim with water from that brink
Where Shakespeare, Keats, Chaucer learned to drink.

(Edna St. Vincent Millay)

2005-07-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

This most excellent canopy, the air,

This brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty!

O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!

(William Shakespeare)

2005-07-09T14:28:00.000-07:00

I will not subscribe to either vanity or bigotry from seeking to learn

Searching among the sparkling, soaring satellites as well as the stars
Gleaning knowledge that has come before me,

Surrounds me, resonates inside me, from the hearts, minds
Thoughts of other beings
No barrier to Source, for me, they rip the veils away

Birth of Chaos

2005-07-09T12:03:00.000-07:00

Double Seed (CF)

2005-07-09T12:01:00.000-07:00

"pattern, shaping and weaving,
unknown by any heart until now",
as poets take us into chaos.

In our vanity, fueled by greed and bigotry well trained;

we can imagine the limits of our imagination and perceptions
to be the limits of everything, including divinity --

yet there's a place where the Source holds sway
beyond the symphony we are graced to hear and thereby dance;
known only by remembering with our hearts.

(Chaos Has It's Own Reward)

2005-07-09T07:03:00.000-07:00

Chaos, unpatterned, unconfigured, unchoreographed

Radiant rainbow of energy surges singing
Up from the essence, sweet dark wine from the soles of my feet

Baptizes in beauty the strength of my beating blood
Power of steps, unmirrored, unknown by any heart until now
I am filled with wings of freedom; In duende I dream ~ I Dance

Chaos and the dance

2005-07-09T01:08:00.000-07:00

Chaos has its own reward

These random drops of color on the grass
form lines and blend

to pattern, shaping and weaving
steps begin to flow, and, as the color melds
the old gives birth to new choreography

Confetti Joy

2005-07-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

seed "confetti joy" (CF)

Confetti Joy Unveiled.

Like senseless dry rain they fall from PARCHed MENTality,

darkened clouds of deceitful promises and vaulted egos,
written on worthless tear stained tissue and smudged shipping tags,

shredded fine by Occam’s Razor and friendly talons of watchful falcons
so that you may ever dance beneath fluttering dreams,
waft by the whispers of innocence and selflessness.

faucon

I began dancing barefoot, throwing words at the paper like a confetti of joy

2005-07-06T21:45:00.000-07:00

CF To Chaos

2005-07-06T21:25:00.000-07:00

Remembering Who I Really Am, I Remove My Shoes

Oh no, my partner in this weaving dance,

I’ve never doubted your pattern, the purpose in your steps
The Goddess is, verily, your choreographer

The chaos is mine. Indeed . . . inherently, intrinsically, innately mine
I was raised on free verse, free movement
I began dancing barefoot, throwing words at the paper like a confetti of joy

Dance Fitz (CF)

2005-07-06T05:32:00.000-07:00

"a dance with no pattern",
'cept the waltz the Goddess gave me.

I know that my movements follow no set rules or form,

but that is because you are too close, hand upon my arm
to see how carefully I touch certain stones on the parquet floor.

All is chaos -- jumbled god-dreams and silent song;
yet as I believe there is a pattern hidden there,
I follow.

2005-07-06T02:10:00.000-07:00

Pass the shuttle, wind the thread, a dance with no pattern

Weaving strands of beauty simply because they are beautiful,
Dance simply because the body moves, the heart will fly,

Needing no meaning, still . . . I do not dance alone, and so
I will spin, body, I will spin, thread, I will spin, I will
Smile

Alone but never lonely

2005-07-05T08:48:00.000-07:00

"I always knew I was alone in the room"

WINK (Fitz)

Gather your smile and kiss my brow
and dance on my heart in tune.
Toe to heel and passion reveal
as life's purpose is now undone.
Just wink at me in your passing
and caress my thoughts and dreams,
for your footsteps will even trace
on the faint scroll of evermore.

Be you now alone
I claim your attention.

Fitzgerald to Skadi

2005-07-05T04:51:00.000-07:00

I sing into a empty room

Of stones and pain and dark bloods bloom
She smiles as she sits at her vein strung loom
Knowing full well I should not presume
To assume what I should not assume
Faces on the walls of a midnight tomb

I’ve always known I was alone in the room.

Cherita, Followed by Fitzgerald, Not that the Twain Won't Meet, But Rather That It Just Didn't

2005-07-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

The trees, of course are of such knowing (faucon)

The trees, of course, are of such knowing

Hundreds of years of drinking, growing
Filled with sweet sap richly flowing

Nowhere to be up and going
Dance in place to the cool winds blowing
Knowing all, and all unknowing

Knowing:

What I don’t know could fill the universe to overflowing, were it written in petulant purpled prose as small as an ant’s eye, recorded minutely in Swahili or Eskimo calligraphy on the sticky backs of beer labels, peeled off whole by bored people who don’t even know enough to know how much they don’t know.

A hug with two Fitz

2005-07-04T03:29:00.000-07:00

All you have to do is Understand (Winnie)

The trees, of course, are of such knowing

with plunging, heart seeking roots of Mother Earth
and heaven brushing needles kindly too soft for pain --

and yet we can learn but part of this wisdom,
for we can but hug a small section of yarning,
limited by the clenching of weary arms too short.

++++

for such as thee and me, I am afraid

such wisdom is a journey of mind and soul,
from fact to information to knowledge to belief and on --

'till we too can 'stand under' what we know from blending
of mind and spirit in a swing of teathered love
'neath the spreading tree of creation.

faucon

2005-07-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

She came to the big trees
Knowing
Listening to the green underpining
For the sound of echos
Her hands on the rough bark
She came to the big trees
Knowing
It isn’t what people think
It is empty of what people think
All you have to do is
Understand
It’s that
Simple
It’s that
Impossible

Yes, indeed, my comment on Fitzgeralds is a Fitzgerald

2005-07-01T22:52:00.000-07:00

I have found - after having written quite a few Fitzgeralds - that I am now naturally coming in at or near 55, without even thinking about it. I seem to have just gained a natural “Feel for Fifty Five.” I usually need just a small adjustment or none at all. I’ve been very interested by this.

Already Close

2005-07-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

I have found that the restrictions of the Fitzgerald
are probably derived rather than contrived --
I find all manner of things of about 55 word length.

One of my brothers sent me a thought
which required onth the addition of two words,
and a little rearanging to produce a
suitable Fitz.

faucon

....................................

Life Prepared me for You,
for I had learned …

Do not go for looks; they can deceive.

Do not chase love, it can run away.

Do not go for wealth; even that can fade.

Go for someone who makes you smile,
for it takes only a simple smile
to make a dark day seem bright.

I seek the one who makes my heart smile.

SCRAMBLED!

2005-06-30T21:49:00.000-07:00

SCRAMBLED!

2005-06-30T16:03:00.000-07:00

Normal

Normal, Norman Doorman, doormat
Laundromat, Land-grant, Grant’s Tomb,
Trombone, Onions, Bunion, Bunyips,
Yipping, coyotes, whole notes, passing notes
Passing out, outside, yard, yard-arm,
Arm circles, cycles, circuit, Circe,
Pigs, wigs, toupe, touche, touch-not, not,
Note, notability, nobility, hillbilly
Billy goat, gloat, float, flotsam
Jetsam, Jetson’s, Flintstones, Fred
Freed, Fried, Deep-fat, Deep-sea, Diving
Driving, arriving, arising, rising, dough
Dough-boy, solider, spy, tinker, gypsy
Dancer, flamenco, flamingo, pink,
Beautiful, bountiful, bounteous, bouncy
Tigger, tiger, trigger, titter, laugh, giggle
Gargle, gargoyles, Duomo, Dumbo, elephant
Obelisk, Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Saxon,
Norman, Normal . . .

OMG! I didn’t think I was ever going to get here! Someone’s brain is not particularly . . .NORMAL. Well, ‘normal’ aside, I can see that the inside of my brain is about as tidy and orderly as my office. There were a couple of jumps there that are pretty wild . . . elephant to obelisk is rather odd . . . and about trombones and onions . . . don’t even ask! It made sense at the time.

It was interesting faucon, but I don’t think it’s my forte in life!

Life, soul, sole, singular, lone, alone, a loan, advance, progression, recession, depression, melancholy, holly, ivy, twining, snaking, naked, nude, bare, are, exist, live, life . . .

It’s slightly addicting, even when you’re brain is scrambled, fried, and/or sunny-side-up, 7up, Sprite, pixie, dust . . . all we are is Pixie Dust in the wind, dude.

Different Form

2005-06-27T18:30:00.000-07:00

a fun exercise ... just let it flow

WORDS

kiss

miss mistake mistltoe

snow now wow how

hope grope nope slop

slip spill pill kill

skill skull pull pully

misty artsy risky frisky

frost most mope hope

hype type tryst missed

kiss

faucon

From Fran

2005-06-27T10:11:00.000-07:00

This poem of Fran's was in the comments section of my last weaving. I love it so much I'm reposting it here. It is not a Fitzgerald, but it is a wonderful poem and a perfect weaving of the strand facon began and I carried on. Weave on Poets!

Seed line: I see clearly now

I see clearly now

Memory with understanding
of how you were, and how I was

So love endures, all guilt and sorrow
wiped from the misted screen
we walk together through our distant days

Try Again?

2005-06-26T18:20:00.000-07:00

“Try again” to plant a seed?
Hoping to find some seed-weaver OTHER than me? :}
Hope does spring eternal!

Cherita Fitzgerald to Memory
Seed line: “Ah yes, I see clearly now …”

The bare black branches of winter are sharp and incisive

A world once misted and hazy, dim, fogged and shadowed
Drenched and dripping with tears and years of rain

Memory stills, distills, this window into wet washed clarity
Years and tears remain, but, yes, I see clearly now . . .
For the rain, at least, has gone

Try Again

2005-06-25T18:40:00.000-07:00

Perhaps this will plant a seed ...

GIFT OF LAUGHTER (Fitz)

A chuckle cracks the shadow mirror.
Quips and mimic jibes polish the glass.
A giggle must attract the Goddess’ attention.
Simple glee refracts rainbows from a cluttered mind.

Ah yes, I see clearly now …
It is your laughter, not mine, that carries my soul along,
and guards me from the swirling voices of past deception.

2005-06-24T00:42:00.000-07:00

Mermaid and Dryad

A Bit of Frothy Nonsense

2005-06-24T00:36:00.000-07:00

CHERITA FITZGERALD
(Seed Line: From fish of the seas and birds on the wing)

From fish of the seas and birds on the wing

Dryads and mermaids come to dance and to sing
An earth deep dance washed with bright salt sting

Flaming with autumn, while remembering spring
This wet double reel filled with each kind of thing
That seething sea or stable shore, hand in hand, will bring

DIfferent Tack

2005-06-23T09:13:00.000-07:00

Perhaps a different theme will excite someone --

Walking Action (CF)

Walking is simple, yet defines our lives …

a time of action between the child's crawl and the senile chair;
a phase of learning between contemplation and song;

a slowing down from headlong rush, so as to catch a breath.
A distinction, even a superior claim
from fish of the seas and birds on the wing.

faucon

For Heather

2005-06-21T02:06:00.000-07:00

Someone here spoke of Amerindians
as having the true touch of the Spirit of the Earth.
consider ...

errie errie
(sonnet down under)

I wonder if they sense that I can never share
Pagan beliefs of Dreamlife and waratah bush,
Or fantasy of the lyrebird and brlga stare.
Yet I heard the lidgi-liji in evening hush.

"Cooma el ngruwar, ngruwar el cooma."
Chant loud, "illa booka mer ley errie errie."
White blotch aboriginals weave a mantra
Of medieval steps and heart rending cry.

The naked feet provide the only instrument,
Drumming resonance from the hardened earth.
Sometimes slow and pulsed like a child's heartbeat.
Often excited like magpies in mourning death.

You will find God here when the green ant flies.
Sing 'one is all, all is one, the soul never dies!'

Sanguine Source

2005-06-19T03:35:00.000-07:00

seed: "Rocked with rhythm, pure pounded by pulse"

The simple drum … (CF)

is meant to seize the heart and stir the blood and prancing feet.

Yet there is more if you listen -- feel the throbbing pulsing
of the love's stroke on the simple bond of humanity's need.

Let your fingers feather touch my impassioned dreams.
Hear laughing moon and star-tinkling bells --
dance with the pulse of life.

faucon

Cherita Fitzgerald of Duende

2005-06-18T22:17:00.000-07:00

Seed: There is time

Castanets of blood beat bright behind my ears,

This soft hollowed throat, a sweet swallowing Bodhran Drum,
Rocked with rhythm, pure pounded by pulse, the thumping, the throbbing

Of time. There is time. It is time. Veins brimming with time,
Hot and spurting, dark drowned in a mystery
The black bottom beat of this blood

Dancing Fitz

2005-06-16T03:29:00.000-07:00

A Fitzgerald prompted by Wil Serphant, co-founder of Triad Bardic College
His words,
"dance the dance the Mother gave you
in the place she gave you to dance it in."
... this piece is framed and hangs in the 'Wizard Hall' at Sakin'el.

IN DANCE

Dance the dance
The Mother gave you.
Cycle birth and death a new.

Prance beyond
the place she gave you,
limit not your place to grow.

There is time
for here is yonder,
dance back to now and then forever.

By his Wil
The song will guide you,
hear with heart and steps of Light.

The Perception of Movement: Life

2005-06-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

Seed: “Hands point and spin, and try to clap”

One heel forward, one toe back
Fast feet in the reel of time
Dervish spinning, on a slick track
Caught in the breath of a rhyme
Dancing past knowledge, past knowing
Flashing mirrors catching light
Moving past wisdom, past judgement
Into a space still and white

Here love is trapped
By a hand come unclapped

Hush Joining

2005-06-15T03:01:00.000-07:00

seed: "standing hushed at the joining"

(gleaned from a longer poem written for Em last year)

"One heel forward, one toe back; dance in tune with chaos.
Hands point and spin, and try to clap, but miss a beat or two;
for there is no sure joining of what was and what will be,
save knowledge that love is born in light and mirror passion..."

but join with you I will.

faucon

Under Iris

2005-06-12T16:03:00.000-07:00

Seed: "for in faith I know that spirit rain will fall in tune"

In faith, we know that spirit rain will fall

We have come to this place through cloud bursts of razors
Through bright, shouting showers of singing sun

Here we are at almost-understanding, my brother
Where we taste and know the plangent pulse and pull of existence
Standing hushed at the joining, shivering in the rainbow

Braiding in the rain

2005-06-12T14:59:00.000-07:00

Seed: "Songs to shine ‘til they glisten"

The misted prayers of yesterday have clouded my resolve;

for in faith I know that spirit rain will fall in tune
that some may dance and others sing in joy.

My naked skin will moistly glisten
that others may see the space between the notes;
and I will hear the song of brotherhood and thee.

LETS WEAVE WORDS! - See the Braiding Challenge Below!

2005-06-12T13:54:00.000-07:00

Spinning with Light

Indian Wisdom (cont'd)

2005-06-12T13:46:00.000-07:00

(NOTE: I’m re-posting this and removing the original. Since it somehow came in with the date of October 2005 on it, it would otherwise stay at the top of the list until then. I think we need things to move down so we can see at a glance that something is new. I’ve re-posted all the comments as well, though they will come through as being from me, I cut and pasted them from the originals, so they correct in content. ~ Winnie)

Vision questing,burnt sage in hand,
sacred smoke cleanses the palette.
I sit rooted to this tree.
A tiny moth lands very close,unfolding it's wings,
displaying intricate patterns before my eyes.
The question-What is life? seems insignificant.
Native blood courses through my veins still.
Ancient wisdom beckons me to know it..and follow.

WAKE UP CHERITA FITZGERALD!!

2005-06-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

I’m Baaaaaak! I’m not even sure which poem is the latest to be posted - so I’m grabbing a line out of each of the top three! Everybody wake up now and lets have some serious word braiding here! It’s 1:00 p.m. PST - 2:00 MST - 4:00 EST, 10:25 in Hawaii and . . . woops, 4:00 a.m. in Western Australia, (that lets you out I guess, Fran and Megan), but it’s 6:00 in Melbourne, certainly you’re not still in bed Heather?! I’m not even sure where everyone else is located. You don’t do Daylight Savings Time in Arizona do you?

ANYWAY! Lets see if we can get a braid going before night falls on the east coast. I know it’s Sunday, but if you’re out there - jump in!

Wake up Poets! We have wreathing words to weave

Songs to shine ‘til they glisten like effervescent rain
Like tears, like the glittering mica of tomorrow

Sparkles of words in which we can see reflections . . .
Our memory telling history, ancient wisdom calling us to follow
Wake up Poets ~ come braid shining, singing words with me!

A sharing

2005-06-09T16:46:00.000-07:00

My brother and I rode to the church

We are the old ones now, senior generation
our memory telling history

He is gone now, I am left wondering
which niece will carry the story
who will listen to the tales of the fathers

PULSE (Fitz)

2005-06-09T03:29:00.000-07:00

Gleaned from "Live Poets", 06/09/09 --
"Memories" by ~ Edwina Peterson Cross ~
"Feeling the plangent pulse of time

Break and blossom and bloom"

'till only gems remain
in which we can see reflections
of who we really are.

Within the chrystal hourglass,
trapped by fear and yearning,
trickle endless memories
in fond chaotic array.

It is the sharp edges
of pain and dispair
that causes them to spin,
and grate and scratch
our souls.

Yet, as we flip the glass
in each dawn's rebirth,
the plangent song caresses
and smooths
and sooths --
again.

faucon

Just Play

2005-06-07T03:15:00.000-07:00

The last Fitz prompted some fine response but no 'braiding'.
At Sakin'el we have musical 'house concerts' on the porch,
and 'Joining Circles' around the fire pit
for Bardic Stories, song and often drumming --
join in ...

Fire Circle (Fitz)

The bright protected flames flicker
in the caress of approaching night,
and roar in awe of sudden gusting
awareness of the approaching storm.
Strange shadows dance in symmetry
with the strumming of Mother Earth
and the breathing of our bardic friends.
Gather close about to sing and dream,
for these torches will warm our hearts.

faucon

Mice Play

2005-06-03T18:04:00.000-07:00

I wasn't necessarily attemting to start a new thread with the last Fitz, but Maya's thought may be true in part. So, here is one you might be able to play with ...

Indian Wisdom (Fitz)

The Crowfoot revered a plant whose flowers are so small they might escape the naked eye, proof that a man must not walk too tall. "What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the trembling night. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

When the cat's away ...

2005-05-31T07:26:00.000-07:00

I'll just post a Fitz from my achives
to serve until mother gets back.

faucon

Cleansing Wind

Oh, how to capture the caressing breeze;
a guardian panting upon my neck,
a dreamed hint of Myrddin's falcon wings,
the ever wind enchanted by my swing
from human fear to ethereal kiss.
Nay, it is only the soft pulsing sorrow
drawn from the breathing of my spirit,
as some feckless friends withdraw in folly.

Off the Radar

2005-05-30T23:48:00.000-07:00

Dearest Cherita Fitz'ers . . . Once again I find that I have manifested my incredible talent for the mismanagement of time. I am going to Utah for a couple of weeks to spend some time with my mother and suddenly I find it is all abruptly time to go. I’ll be leaving Wednesday morning. I have a list of ‘things-to-do’ that is so long, I don’t think there is anyway to do them all before Wednesday morning. I am hoping to take a lap-top with me so that I can at least check into the Blog’s on a limited basis, but the jury is still out on whether or not I’m going to get away with it. If not, it will be mid-June before I am back on line. I know everyone will keep posting and that I will find a wealth of beautifully braided words when I return. The question is, will I have severe, unmanageable withdrawal symptoms? I suspect the jury is still out on that as well! Blessings to you all. ~ Winnie

Notice of Gleaning

2005-05-30T06:11:00.000-07:00

Seed Lines have been Gleaned from the poem “Fitz #1 continued” by Maya (Featherstone Woman)
Posted at Cherita Fitzgerald, Wednesday, May 25, 2005

“Caught in the breath of night.....”
“Join me, if you dare to dream.”

The resultant Gleaning is posted at the Alluvial Mine http://alluvialmining.blogspot.com/
Thank you Maya!
Gleaner: Edwina Peterson Cross

Fitz #1 - Grim Echos

2005-05-29T18:39:00.000-07:00

Seed Line: My generation is reading history (From Fran)

Grim Echos

In a ‘Leave it to Beaver’ moment, my generation is reading history

Everything must be scrapped, rearranged
Ideas, behavior, purpose, turned up on their axis

We shout, we sing, we take to the streets carrying flowers
We change the fabric of history
Now in age, we watch in horror, as heedless history callously repeats itself

The unseen

2005-05-29T03:22:00.000-07:00

VI's "Eternal Forest"
took us delightfully to a special world of light and perceptions --
but what of times that we cannot see and must reach beyond ...

"Green reflecting pools

are the eyes into the soul of the forest"

just writ -- reflecting also on my trip last week-end, with as much 'free form' as I might allow under this site's guidance (and my keyboard's poltergist control)

faucon

STEEL LAKE

Sit with me beside a smallish lake
and we will share such fantasies,
drawn from impossible meeting of forest and reflection --
clouds rushing to slip through that razor edge,
then bouncing back from nothingness
as ripples in the sky and song upon the waters.

I skip a pebble flat and glancing --
seven footsteps lightly prancing,
messages of presence and interference
that will reach the dwindling shores of never,
echoed silent and lost to the horizon --
toward imagined line twixt if and memory.

Come back with me at long past bedtime
when there is no moon and laughing sky.
Then this lake is steel grey and lonely
as no images of now can entrance the longing heart,
and you must reach out with other eyes
to know the depths of lake and soul.

Here is pebble of trusted weight and form
to skip across the frozen lake of dreams,
and pulse the message of your being.
Tell me of the footstep number and the distance to the shore,
and how you know that the faintest wave
will shatter stones just waiting there.

Reach down - down to touch the surface,
just a faint cold shock, nothing more --
proof that you are now one with all, --
for your ripples cast will flow out and on and live forever;
but only if you have faith, my friend,
and come down to the lake with me.

Fitz 1 "Whispering Bones"

2005-05-29T00:52:00.000-07:00

Bones in memory, memory bred in bone

Whispering bones tell the story
send the word that has been hidden

My generation is reading history
in blood, prophesying , planning,
no longer able to deny the past

Fitz #1 - Shuttle Singing

2005-05-28T22:50:00.000-07:00

Fingertips kissed on loneliness, I read the incisions like braille

Asked by the Elder Futhark, question etched in the stones of time
I turn bones in whispered silence: Nauthiz

This dream of moon has no answer, moon answers without dream
Smooth and untouchable, these virtual runes made by my
Technologically advanced, ergonomic, totally cracked keyboard