by Deneen Ansley


She plays me with her guitar
From the stage comes forth
This melody
This rhythm
It washes over me -
Floods through me.
Flows into and out of me.
As my body is played
By the sound
The way her fingers
Stroke the strings.

The movement is
One Force
That billows around me
Embraces me.
She holds me -
No -
IT holds me
The creature, the creation,
The life that is the music.

Her baby
Her child
And as with earthly, bodily forms -
The stuff of her is in it.
In her child
That now is Our child
Just her, me, and forty or so of our closest friends.

But this is the night of
Conception and birth
My still being hooked
On that conception part.

It is a sexual union
That precedes and yet IS the birth.

I taste her essence -
On my spiritual tongue.
The sweet scent of her soul
Approaches these inadequate
Senses that I have -
Not equipped to deal with
The empathy of
My present state.

She and I
She and her guitar
She and I and her guitar and the music
Are One
Along with forty of so of our closest friends.

I am drinking her up
Until -
She becomes aware
And withdraws
So thoroughly that
My heart hits the silence.


From one Fruit Loop to the Others

Iím the ďWhat the heck was that?Ē factor in Godís world.

You know how, when eating a bowl of Fruit Loops, you get those weird colors that are a mix of the others, though they are not supposed to be?

Most Fruit Loops have their defined descriptions and their roles are easily understood.
The red ones are nice and playful and delicious.
The orange! Wow, well, the orange just pop out with a ďPlay with me!Ē kind of thing.
The blue ones are calming and soothing.
Purple? Thatís rather a majestically colored one - maybe even a little snooty.
The green ones are vibrant and life-giving.
And the yellow! Well, those yellow loops look like the Sun, bringing light!

Me, Iím that one that sits stubbornly in the middle of the bowl, refusing to be any color at all. Iím that odd mix of dye and shaping that knows no real definition, but always catches the eye. My Loop is a bit asymmetrical Ė and the outline of me changes depending upon the perspective of the one peering into the bowl.

Iím the Fruit Loop that makes people think about their very definition of a Fruit Loop. I break open the walls of their expectations. Ė And from one Fruit Loop to another, I must tell you that itís not EASY to be a Fruit Loop of a different and unexplainable nature, but it is necessary. It is a gift, and if you try just a little, if you close your eyes and think really, really hard, Iíll bet that you can bend your loop a little, bring a spot of a different kind onto your surface, experience what it is like to be in the unfamiliar. Then, search me out Ė and weíll find a bowl of rich milk, none of that 2% stuff, in which to play - together.

God's Love Note

Honey Ė Iíll take care of you.
Trust me.
Youíll be okay.
When you need clothes, Iíll cover you with my grace.
When you need warmth, Iíll light a fire in your heart.
When you need food, Iíll be there to feed you.
When you thirst, Iíll be there for you to drink up.

If I do this for the animals who romp and play in the field Ė
For the birds who are soaring through the air,
How well fed will you be?
And how high might you soar when these earthly worries
Are lifted from the shoulders of your spirit?

Trust me.
I will.
I do
Care for you.

I am not your music Ė
Though, yes, that is a part of me.
I am not your dancing,
Though I love seeing my greatness manifest
And my rhythm reflected in the movement
Of the body that I have given you.
I am not even your writing,
Though that is the manifestation of my voice.

I am not your relationships
Though they show to you a part of me.

There is no relationship Beyond You and Me
Which is really, You and You.
No thing for which you must yearn
That is not already gifted to you.

Everything is going to be alright.
Sing this to yourself.
Go ahead.
Use your voice.
It is my voice.
It is yours for the taking.
Claim it.

It is Our voice Ė
Calling, screaming with freedom
From our lofty, well fed, well lit, warm and comforting,
Comforted place.

It already exists
Inside of your faith in Me.
In You.
In the Me in You.

You can trust me.
Everythingís going to be alright.
Youíll be okay.
Honey Ė Iíll take care of you.

Humans Being

These are baby people
These are baby souls
These separatist spirits
That can not fly to the heights
Soar to the depths of
Possible feelings.
Feeling that adjoining
Of Godness Ė
Of Goodness Ė
Of flight Ė
Of free will.

Willing themselves to
Ever greater majesty,

To look out from their perch Ė
Their unique perspective
On the precipice of Godsí face.
A Face of Us All.

This love Ė

Itís green, new leaves,
Following my birth.

Itís fresh puppies
And mewling kittens
Still wet
From the licking
Of Motherís cleansing tongue.

Itís the smell of burning wood,
Camouflage shirts,
Crisp mornings
With brilliant sunrises.

Itís about the earth
And all of our places in it.

Itís the presence of metal
Coated with grease
And the rough
Smell of the sweat
On my uncleís hands.

Itís the sight of a
Disassembled carburetor,
And the loving
Care of reassembly.

Itís about responsibility.
Gritty, earthy honesty
Especially when it hurts.

Itís the hushed whispers
Of strawberry-blonde cousins Ė
Twice removed Ė
Underneath the stacks of hay,
And caring, gentle
Hands through clothes
Embracing flushes
Of first loveís lessons.

You are my roots
A planting Ė
A wait for blooming
Deep inside of me

Five Second Rule

Back seat
Bloodied fist.
Drunken tongue,
Tinged with vomit
Blending and confusing
The senses.

Making no sense
Of this nonsense -
This surreal scene.

Seeing the beloved cousin
As she is
Salted blows
Against the
Open wound
Of her heart.

My weapon -
Closed hands
Against the
Assault of genitals
Of the Sylvester Stalone

She says, ďKeith! I love you!Ē

Looks like a movie star.
Start a scene,
A fight -
But not the good
Brother comes
To the rescue.

A black,
Comforting face.
If not in numbers
As numbers of punches
Mark the air.

The brother
In his underwear
On the front lawn -
Not under the influence

The influence of

Alcoholic demons
Writhe and cackle
With glee
As the cousinís nose bleeds.

The taste of his
In my mouth.
My virgin mouth.

My dirtied night.

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