A Braid of Frost and Felt

A previously joint project in experimental conjoined creativity...perhaps it will wander back there someday..right now it is what it is, somewhat solo...mostly poems and pictures...occasionally wandering into my interests in Houdini, Lewis Carroll, keys, time, birth and many more of the odd explorations that make me, well me

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expectations in dreams, and things

i reached out and drew a card
the tree
and you said you could see me in it
really? i am probably more surprised than i should be
you saw me
when you looked fast, when you took it at a glance
like that time she woke up, and wrote
and told me her dream
that i was living enchantingly
in a house, in a tree
and it sounded more like a story of past or present or future
like it was real
that feeling all at once
of experience and memory and dream
all at a glance, all vividly
is that how she thinks of me?
wait. don’t answer.
remember, i was playing a role
of protection, of watching
of keeping the green
creating energy on the oversee
like an ancient being, feeling like a tree
and i like that idea of me
strong and old and steady
yet still full of bend and change
shhh….don’t say it, don’t tell me, don’t break the spell
we don’t have to tell
anyone
let’s blur the reality, let it be
so, just for a moment, i can know
that outside idea, that me
she walks in layers of trees
but there is a familiarity
in that step, in that bracing hold of branch, heart racing
forward and back
through memory and possibility
to now
wrapped up in the leaves and layers
of this somehow
a moment is all i need
just to create this space and breathe
lungs full, mouth full
the green, the glow
light luminous, lifted
the filter, through fingers
through sky, through leaves, to skin
in colors less likely outside, within the normals of life
so look fast and take me at a glance
you know you will want this memory
and i will need you to tell me the story of all i could not see
because there is always more
to the card drawn, to the dream told
to the reality or the fantasy, as it unfolds
we all live the moment differently
even when i hand you my card,
tell you a dream, standing in the next to you of now
or if i didn’t and you imagined it
all of this is
and isn’t, and is
and either way, no matter what, we can tell our stories and visit trees
and feel the green glow with our hands
all at a glance
so, don’t hold back
it’s your turn to draw from the deck, into the dream, into the now
to find what you expect
or not
because after all, i am just me

by, earthboundpixie

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wishes make me nervous

on cakes and candles, blowing flames
on seeds and flowers, the scattering and what remains
on stars
so far adrift, lifted in their sparkle light
and i am dizzy with the thought of height
not dreaming, not wishing
not wanting to set the universe askew
powerful and delicate and full of energies, full of me’s and you’s
in motions, in webs, in threads
in strands of people, of places, of complexities
so far beyond what i can see
this dandelion, this starry streak
and me, so small, standing before it all
here upon the earth of dirt, of water
of dreams, and other confusing things
with a body wrapped in air and acceptance
because this is what is
and i honor it with acknowledgement
and wishes are precious, so few
scattered through years, and findings and chance
and my mind scatters too
like the seed, like the flame, like the sky
i don’t want to interfere, i don’t want to change what needs to happen here
i don’t want to be wrong, or wasteful, or drag others along
careful thoughts, careful words
wishes make me nervous
intentions are powerful, even if no one hears
so, i keep open my arms
outstretched to all that connects
bright blooms of earth and fire and sky
threads and webs and energies
from fingers, from wrists, from lungs
from all that lifts me up and holds me here
this stacking stretch of posture and breath
and i will stand between the blessings
eyes shining, heart finding
wishing for no more than what is

by, earthboundpixie

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the undergrounds

he speaks in riddle and rhyme
whole books of them still in print
though he’s a ghost in time
in some ways we all are
ghosts in the haunts of our present
speaking in ways we hope represent
who we are, who we choose each day to be
and i learned that from him
in the youth of listening to his stories
the nows and thens
the draping words, in new orders
the unsettling of expectations and phrasings
creating them anew
when they didn’t shift to suit the intentions or sounds
crossing lines to crowns
the falling downs of growing up
found, along the way
along the waysides
different from the day before, discovering how to change
just in time
shuffle, space and rearrange
to learn it all again
because we are more
more than surfaces and moments
more than sense and storied morals
more than us
and stepping beyond that brings a freedom into focus
though, there seem to be rules, even here
you can only see it when you are small enough
swimming in your own tears
or sudden grow to fill the room, larger now than all your fears
looming through the layers that once held everything in place
let go
and you will change, with grace and flow
finding how you fit
turn the page
and it is all different
though elements remain and we can anchor in the same
or drift in the tides, let them lead
sometimes you have to put down your guard to proceed
and release
and sometimes you collide with those ghosts who still speak
spirits layered here to meet
and maybe we don’t know who we are
we aren’t sure, we’ve come so far
moving forward with mystery
keeping fast our curiosity
about what comes next, about what will be
let’s just hold hands
spilling queens and suits and stars
palms to ground, a connection found
following the moment on
till it shuffles into grounding
eyes opening
hands and spirits and stars

by, earthboundpixie

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the possible and the impossible too

i am outside of time
it moves and i move
and we two exist independently
though this is temporary
as am i, as are you
and all that feels true in my mind
all the rules combined, obscured
so, i step away from restrictions
in favor of what simply is
open to change and the possible
and the impossible too
and that seems easy
in this place outside of my town
outside of time
where the stars move and the clouds touch the waters of the sea
and in doing so, seem to touch me
i have no resistance
here, where the edges are blurred
and dissolved and merged
seemingly out of existence
where one must offer everything
or leave
and i am too full of this scene
heavy, held
in the sands of shifting, turning tides
the Pacific pulls and i abide
all feeling falling back, into water calling
a chilling rush of rhythm spilling
and it is too much
with ankles adorned, with salt and seaweed worn
i step back to safer sands, still striving to understand
these myths of separateness
of sands and skies and stars
of people and time and people in time
of scars
of what remains
so, here there are circles in sand
that wait for the sea’s erase
and me, also here impermanently
though i will weave through the circles
dancing with a purpose, while the chance exists
before i cross the line and enter
cradle, collapse in this sandy center
my back to earth, eyes lifting to sky
sensing the serenity of stop, the drift of stars
of you, of me
of time
of all that is outside and temporary
aligned
then merged
then again in edges and angles
the magic of liminals
and i make a promise to myself
to remember this
to set aside the time, the rules
to be open to what is
in the world, in my mind
where, somewhere in time, all could be
the possible and the impossible too

by earthboundpixie

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pinecones and stories of home

i am learning the language of evergreens
their stories, their dreams
and it is all quite new to me
these rooted beings, full of seeds and sap and stability
the trees of my youth, and of my now
were decidedly deciduous
was it by chance, or choice
or the leftover voice, of a doctor
who, after removing a deer tick from my belly, thought to tell me to
stay away from pines
and under the harsh office fluorescents
that warning burned into my mind
they seemed somehow less friendly
sharply unchanging
so, i have been close with old oaks
and young willows, with a towering beech
and a maple that would reach out to hold me for hours
with a birch rich in nobility and alders that inspire the elementals to harmony, growing a family
yet the pines seem strangers
i have admired from afar
we have not spoken
they have never held me in their lofty arms
that is true still
though now I have wandered within their woods, and listened closely for their words
and every tree will tell
if you stop, if you stay
and listen well
a story, their story
so, here it is pines that speak
steady and slow, and i am open and listening and ready to know
and they have a way, as trees do
of being friendly and including you
like a grandparent, an elder
they will tell a story, with a vastness of you and me
they are an ancient species, too wise to draw lines
and they will invite you to follow suit
to release what restricts, to embrace the oneness
so bark be skin and roots planted feet
branches arms, sap to blood
and all complete
there, once upon a turn through time
stood a different you and i
listening, learning from the noble pines
and we traded tales, our words weaving in layers
there, i held out the perfect pinecone
gathered and treasured and saved for home
an offering, a trade, a gift
and with a loving lift, he gestures me close, placing it to my lips
and his
sap sealed silence, of stories
of kisses
and the treasure slips, falls to forest floor
as we hold sticky ourselves and listen more
this is life, this is blood, this is the growing of forests
this is what he said to me
speaking of pinecones and stories of home
and i am learning the language
of stories and dreams and evergreens

by, earthboundpixie

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i will never outgrow the swingset

if there is an open swing, that is likely where you will find me
my feet full of sky, with the air rushing by
caught up in the rapid rise
falling through the skies
into the curve, into the catch
then, forward fast, floating back
this is the childlike flying that is perfection still, that is best
hands holding rope, hands holding chain
soaring through sky so only hopes remain
troubles sink scattered, heavy in wood chips and sand
and ground, and they cannot touch me
moving through this arch, this back and forth
with my toes in the clouds, with my legs in the trees, with the moon between my knees
rushing through the night air
with children all away in bedtime curfewed sleep
wondering why there isn’t a line of other adults here, waiting too
didn’t they notice i removed the silly sign
the one that tried to claim the swings for only kids
the fives to twelves, as if this joy could fade with age
how strange
so, i will fly alone these swings
unmarked, unrestricted
as if i had wings, closing my eyes as the speed slips by
a rush against my skin, playing with my hair
i am surfaces and edges and air
i am forward and back
through sky, through time
rocked from streetlamp, to moon, to black
so fast
and i know it can last
or i can leap, giddy going, and maybe arms will reach
will catch me, air to ground and sliding down
to stand in myself, to stand before you
float and fall and heavy held
out of the swingset, into the blackness
with the moon nested in clouds
feet touching shared ground, as eyes above merry meet
and embrace before hands hold, curve and enfold
to race back, both knowing
a feeling like this can never grow old

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