A place to write from (Red Ink)

Write from the place that is raw
from the night when you lost your skin.
Write of the time in the war-torn city
when your heart was a quivering bird in your palm
and the blood pool kept filling, and you knew
no doctor could heal this wound
though the world would end if you failed
to keep the wounded lover alive for three days more.

Write from the night you wished yourself dead
and spirit flew from your heart, winged by your desire,
down to the lightless lands of the dead
that no one escapes without help.
Write from the day when, incredibly,
there was enough of you topside
to bribe the ferryman with the ribcage boat
and carry home the part of you that married Death.

Remember the promises you made her:

"You'll never be hurt again." "Every day you'll make poetry."

Write from the night you could not keep those promises
and had to hold the young lover in you by force,
rough as a jailer's armlock, soft as lambskin,
when she thought the one you were losing now
was the one she lost before. And when your heart
breaks again, hold her fast, willing a greater power
to embrace and join you, and write from that.

Dip your pen in the blood pool. This is the time for red ink.

Note
Comments on my recent post "Ready to Paint it Red" lead me to re-post this poem, written in 2011 and included in my collection Here, Everything is Dreaming.

"Deer Sacrifice" (c) Robert Moss

Making Songlines

A song is bursting from me. I sit on a rise overlooking the coast, and sing the first couplet:

We are singing till we're flying
We are flying till we're swimming

The last part comes in an easy flow

We are swimming till we're traveling
into the Land

A woman singer-songwriter is beside me now, carrying the melody in her lovely voice, laughing with me as I experiment with additional lines.

We are laughing till we're bouncing
We are bouncing till we're flying

I know what this is. It's a wing song, a journey song. I am excited to think that I can share it right away with the people who are joining me for a week-long adventure here, on this dreaming part of the coast where I have led many adventures before.
    I know what the Land of the song is. It is a happy Otherworld, a land of heart's desire. And the song can help to take us there. We are making songlines.

I woke from this dream, after less than three hours sleep (because I was happily working on a new book, and new art, all night) juiced and happy. When I lay down after 5:00 a.m., I set no intention for dreaming except to rise with even greater creative energy. I was given that energy, and a song to carry it. I decided to start the day by making a picture of "Making Songlines", a quick drawing in oil crayons distantly inspired by the Aboriginal art of my native country.
    Oh yes, I recognize the dream location. It's the Esalen Institute, where I am leading my five-day "Dreamgates" adventure - a prime desination for frequent flyers in the multiverse - in November. Yes (encore) I will carry the song with me.

"Making Songlines". Drawing in oil crayons April 22, 2013 (c) Robert Moss