People are essences —

essences that come in

and parade around as two-leggeds.


Some:

resplendent warm guardians

humble and pure

healing flames sustaining others.


Some:

cold serrated sorcerers

calculating, conniving finaglers

side-glancing graspers

pondering the existence of others

as a means of getting what they want.


Others:

bent-light wavering sombra

parched, hungry shadows

unconscious how they enter a room

and feed off people.


They drink from the well

of other people’s souls

rather than their own

the way they’re supposed to.


If you're not careful with this last one,

they will leave you depleted, empty,

as if some dark wind sucked

all the sweet fragrance

out of your well-planned garden.


Here’s a little poet-curandero medicine

to hang around your neck.


Ask yourself in the presence of another:

Are we equal in spirit,

or am I an eventual meal for a viper?


Here’s a little curandera-poet medicine

to wrap over your shoulders like a shawl.

When you depart the radiating atmospheric-aura

of ‘so-and-so' and 'such-and-such', do you feel:


Uplifted

Loved

Cared For

Softened

Tenderized

Strengthened

Seen

Fortified

Embraced

Witnessed


or



Emptied-Out

Taxed

Beaten Down

Blistered

Scraped

Burned

Sliced

Bruised

Neglected~Unseen

A Stranger


To quote the whispered words

of one Traveler now gone:

You

already

know.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Snake Song / Forgotten Gods / Steve Roach + Jorge Reyes + Suso Saiz


2 Comments