Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


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heart’s song

In the break of slumber
Thine eyes open
To black-feathered beauty
Sunray’s preamble
Trickling through ebony dark

The first call
Before first call
Silence sings
And dawn song echoes
Treasured daylight
Brought forth

Ribbons waving
From etched beak
Melodic fragrance uplifts
The chasms of nature breathes
The prelude before note
Adrift in honeysuckle
Boundless sky

Floats
A gentle gratitude
A gracious yearning
A blossom heart blossomed
A surrender sweetly surrendered
The last step brought back
Slipped between sheets

Heart song bumping in the overlap
Broken and re-broken
To bring forth deepest yoke
Nibbling its way in drippings
Forging a path of glitter-gold

All shattered weeping wrung dry
Longing’s longing
Announced in the rising
His platter of lickings, good

Lapped up
With hungry eyes
With starved gratitude
Of last crow awoken
Carry forth the new dawn

Samantha Craft, 6.30.19

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The Tip

will you write
on me
on my skin
felt-tipped words
of adoration
‘I love you’
around belly
‘I need you’
around hips
‘My one’
inching
down sides
of neck
‘My everything’
at the tip
of lips

Samantha Craft, 6.30.19


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SUITed

SUITed

What is this human suit that traps me
Some far away creature
Demolished of self
Half broken
Half whole
A part missing
A part found
Here and there
And everywhere
I am scattered

Scattered like the wind spins inside me
Scattered like my heart beats my thoughts
Scattered like the ocean pounds my doorstep
A haunting calling from source unknown

Stop
I call out
Stop
I mistake for help
There is no help
Just this place
This hell
These trappings
Of my human suit

Stretchy skin that doesn’t fit
Surging blood that doesn’t sit
Changing, Shedding, Evaporating
Feeding
Eliminating, Pulsing, Edging
Creating
Dying, dying, dying

Scattered like the wind spins inside me
Scattered like my heart beats thought
Scattered like the ocean pounds my doorstep
A haunting calling from source unknown

What is this human suit

Feb. 2019, Samantha Craft


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ONE

One

Loneliness
Enchanted
She rises
Moving to his calling
Summoned: The cave
Of beginning
She rests there
In twilight of ages
Singing song
Her sunlight unmarred
A brilliant star
Set out for the multitude
Risen as morning
Dove to dawn

Victory
Summoned
He cradles
Swaying to her chasms
Soothing: The child
Of heavens
He comforts there
In folds of lace
Pronouncing name
His mane undone
A bold stallion
Cast out in the quietude
Bent as blue
Bird to morning

Dancers
Birthed
They enter
Pulsating to rhythm
Surrendered: The one
Of peace
All opens free
In belly of time
Eradicating emptiness
Their names erased
A united flame
Set out in holiness
Marked as blushed
Bride to groom

6.21.19, Samantha Craft


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I Feel You

 

I Feel You

I feel you, a surging river, effervescent bubbles tickling my soul.

I feel you ‘rounding, serpent tail, intertwining thoughts.

I feel you resting, head buried in the rhythm of my heart.

I feel you catching, with ears open, notes of knowing, to listen once more.

I feel you hunting, the traced outer regions, where earth meets spirit.

I feel you looking, into the sunshine, in the splintered dark.

I feel you etching, into someone new, a rebirthing of flames, one from two.

I feel you maneuvering, my pages, thankful recognition.

I feel you touching, in the center of my being, tap dancing in step to music.

I feel you entering, one foot in, propelled, and then cautioned to return.

I feel you fearing, a warrior, wrapped in misgivings, the cons of journey.

I feel you tiptoeing, kisses to forehead, tips to spine.

I fell you questioning, to delve in full force, no holds barred, unable to stop.

I feel you ricocheting, joyfulness unraveled, recognized friend.

I feel you emptying, giver to giver, the silver streams of who you are.

I feel you pounding, my threshold awaiting, as the clocks turn back tomorrow.

I feel you plunging, as steer to doe, nature’s slave, populating passion.

I feel you spinning,  my hand in yours, lost on merry-go-round.

I feel you plummeting, a skydiver bouncing, through heaven’s clouds.

I feel you returning, to sheltered harbor, a sailor no longer sworn to sea.

I feel you moving, inside and out, everywhere I gather, justly spread out whole.

I feel you guiding, these words as maker, lessons in the drum of holiness.

I feel you beating, an undeniable rhythm, a captive to ecstasy, a pain like no other.

I feel you living, right where I scribe, moving my fingers, as weaver to loom.

I feel you echoing, reading these words aloud, edging your way into love.

Samantha Craft, 6.9.19


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The World is Broken

The world is broken, and I am a shell, forging through the shards, legs through holes, with opening, stepping over brittle bones, a walking egg

a moving embryo, forgotten in harsh land.

The world is broken, and I am a shield, stampeded through the armies, in warrior’s wrist, with leathered-timber, clashing against talismans, a symbol

a shining glory, protected in fierce combat.

The world is broken, and I am a youth, hunched in the corner, sockets of tears, with memories, slashing tender flesh, an innocent

a weeping dove, folded in lost man.

The world is broken, and I am a woman, launched on platform, voice of need, with determination, professing victory, a leader

a gentle dweller, enveloped in light.

The world is broken, and I am a watcher, pierced by dwellers, swords of greed, with blindfolds, screaming jesters, a danger

a sworn enemy, tarred in horror.

The world is broken, and I am a lover, diving in waves, rivers of lust, with longing, merging ecstasy, kissing bride

a charmed doll, swept in morrow.

The world is broken, and I am a passenger, hitching a ride, clinger of hope, with caution, whispering warnings, a knowing

a sweet someone, caped in caution.

The world is broken, and I am a seamstress, sewing a tale, tailor of cause, with rhythm, creating patches, a covering

a downy blanket, spread in truth.

The world is broken, and I am a bard, bleeding an immortal, seer of agony, with temperance, trembling syllables, a note

a humble beckoning, scribed in grace.

Samantha Craft, 6.9.19


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Of Stone and Silt

Of Stone and Silt

They sit in high castles
And think to come down
That to stumble, will be
The proof of their crown

The center-mark of burden
A lone leaning scale
Between that and the other
They seek without fail

With a tempered knowing
They fashion fine rope
To build ladder of escape
To move beyond moat

A journey in reverse
They set into motion
From depths of wanting
With thoughts on the ocean

On thought and on logic
Of how it must be
From stumbling down
Alas to the sea

They gaze at invisible
Bowing down to nowhere
Descending castle true
As if some cross to bear

They’ve invented below
While escaping castle might
Blinded by doings
Of getting it right

Thinking stone after stone
Where foundation be not
Only pebbles dripping
Marking out: forgot

Still, they lead forward
Their misery at bay
From the sky to the ground
As if they must pay

With grasping intention
Escaping up high
With rapid thoughts of safety
Released and gone: bye

And with all that passes
They think on above
Of castle, of squire
Of true morning dove

But while on their journey
This quest to find earth
On notion of venture
And promised rebirth

They forget where they touch
In this time: named space
Forget the last stepping
Don’t recall their last place

This falling of sorts
Masking safety between
Not above, nor below
But where few have yet seen

Invisible to most
The seekers still go
Claiming entrance in reverse
From the cliff to the cove

When in truth, ascension follows
In pursuit of the few
The ones already hollowed
By broken, by blue

The innocence rising
As downward ones descend
As the chosen stumble up
The light of heart begins

Out of place of reaching
To retouch internal calm
From the flip side of thought
To reopen beyond

As ghosts above meander
Their dissension of ought
Thinking on promises
Aimless wanders of naught

From the skins once shed
Into skins newly built
They breech a beginning
Best birthed in the silt

Samantha Craft, 5.23.19