Clam Smiles With Ruffled Lips

What am I doing in this crowd,

So noisy, so loud?

People, cars, buildings,

and trash cans all crunching into me.

Is this what we are, what I am:

A massive conglomeration of stuff

Running, crawling , spewing our garlic breath

onto everything?

No! or is it? I trudge to the beach.

Sit on the sand.

Boom! Cush. Slosh.

A clam surfs on the wave and glides to my feet.

She shimmers in the morning sunlight.

She smiles to me with her ruffled lips

I pick her up and feel her heart

Beating, tapping a message into my palm,

“I am you and you are me and the sea.

Do you feel it?”

Sun flashes his blinding orange wink.

Sea waves with her white gloved hands

Inviting me to dance.

I carry the clam and we dive into the wave.

I evaporate into the sea.

Clam grows bigger and bigger

Until she becomes me or we.

“Promise me,” I hear my own voice say.

“Refill your pitcher with the gems you don't see.

Say it out loud for you and for me,

I am a blessing. Go on say it.”

I am a blessing

I hear clam harmonizing along with my lips

I vow to listen to my heart,

To my bones,

To the flow of my blood.

I swim to the surface.

I hear the perpetual whizzing of my lungs,

Reminding me to pull kindness

Out of every breath

And blend it into every word I say

To anyone, especially myself, every day.

I am a blessing, I say as

I walk onto the beach,

Crowded with smiling, laughing, sun tanning people,

Escaping the cars, buildings, and crunching of trashcans.

Paint Drop Smile

I drag my paint brush across the wall.

It pulls my head sideways spilling out

Bloody, gooey, self-loathing thoughts:

Wrong color, wrong tint,

Errant brush hair on the wall.

You screwed up, you bastard!

I dip my brush into a pool of celedonic buff,

The color of desert sand just before

The Lord of the Dawn begins painting the clouds

Orange, yellow, pink, and purple.

I drag my bristled brush, dripping with doubt

Across the wall, adjacent to the first stroke.

A drop of paint sneaks off and decorates

My big toenail with a smile.

I sweep my brush back and forth,

Swaying with the trees, and singing with the birds.

A few are chirping jokes about pooping on people

who walk underneath.

I dip my feathered wand and write,

I love you,

Above the wet paint on the wall.

My lover pats my butt

And whispers in my ear,

“I love you too.”

Would you like a beer?”

She leaves me alone with my wall,

My brushes, and my note

That I know is meant for me, too.

It's a mystery to me how

A toenail smile, and just writing,

I love you, on the wall

Brightens my heart.

And now I feel like Salvador Dali.

I dip my brush into the pail

Whose color is desert sand that glistens with

Love just before the Lord of the Dawn

Paints the clouds in oranges, yellows, pinks and purples.

I paint a happy smile

On the wall.

It paints a joyful one

On me.

Prayer, It Matters Why

Pray or be prey to the devil.

Pray or God will be mad.

Pray so God will take away the pain.

Pray for a new house, a monkey, a puppy, and money.

Prayer was always a necessity,

Always a begging when I was younger.

We had to pray on our knees

With our hands placed together.

We had to be perfect,

Or we'd go to hell.

I asked the Creator one day,

Do you really want us to pray to you?

Don't you get tired

Of us always asking you to fix things,

Give us things, make life real easy?

What do you do all day?

Does anyone ever ask you?

I'm asking you, now.

Really, you do everything?

Yes, I remember reading that you are I am.

What? Every time I say I am, I am praying?

But what happens when I say I am pissed

Or fucked up or screwed?

I am?

Damn!

“Exactly!”

How should I pray, then?

“It doesn't matter how.

It matters why.”

You don't care how I pray?

“Why should I?
I don't need anything.

I am, remember?
I am everything that there is

And, incidentally.

Everything that is not.”

Oh, now you're getting deep.

“You do realize that we are praying

At this very moment.”

We?

“Of course. Prayer is conversation.”

But I wasn't taught to pray that way.

“And now you know.”

If you do everything

Do you cause war, pain, suffering?

“Of course.”

You're scaring me.

“I created everything perfectly.

I created contrasts,

Light and dark.

You created labels that you think are true:

Good and bad,

Yours and mine,

Me and you.

There is only I am

So choose.”

Choose what?

“What follows I am.”

Oh, I get it.

Thanks for the prayer

I am a blessing.

“Exactly!”

Fingernails

I stare at Kita, my canine pal.

As she wags her tail watching me

Clip my toenails and fingernails.

She licks her paw and places it on my foot

Impatiently waiting to go for a run.

In a minute, I say, and then ask her,

Why do my fingernails keep growing?

When will they learn to be strong enough?

Heaven and hell both know I give them exercise.

I scratch my itches,

I peel the tape loose from the spool

that has recaptured it.

I peel the skin off the orange colored oranges.

And my nails still break.

I scratch a tiny clump of dirt

Off the side of my shoe.

I scrape a dot of stubborn paint off the mirror.

Certainly all these scratchings,

And peelings, and scrapings,

All should make my fingernails

as strong as metal knives.

But No.

They crack and break down to the quick

sometimes

And that hurts.

What am I suppose to do with the

fingernail clippings when I slice off the ends

to make my nails even,

To make the ends of my fingers nail free enough

to allow me to play the guitar or violin.

Kita places her other paw

On my foot

And slowly shakes her head.

Ok, I really don't play the violin.

But if I did,

I'd have to cut my fingernails

Again and again.

Which I do, anyway.

Yes, I do play the guitar and sing to my dog.

Kita stands and runs to the door.

I can't run on my front paws and back paws

I'm not a coyote, a wolf, or a dog

Who wears down their nails when they run.

Kita wags her tail telling me

To take my fingernails outside,

Feed them to the plants.

And let's go run.

Kita is right,

of course.

Long fingernails

won't help me run.

How Do You Say ... To a Bereaved Mom?

A Little Stream

Many a time, when I was a child

And when I grew up,

You be finding me sittin' or standin'

By a little stream, imagining it to be

A river or an ocean,

When I be all by meself.

I be stickin' me fingers,

Or me toes, or more

Into the water and feel her

Swirl a hug around me.

She'd gurgle and whisper

A song so softly,

It would slide

Into me heart,

Into me core,

Into me soul,

Embracing I love yous

All through me.

And then she'd giggle

And invite me to play.

Fog In the Nude

the Fog rolled in and got stuck

on my bedroom screen.

Hey, you in there! Wake up!

the Fog slid through the window sill

and Tickled my nose.

Get up, you lazy bum!

Can't you see I'm stuck.

I want to be free from this screen

Before the Sun robs me of my dewy clothes.

He likes to see me nude.

I have to admit

Being nude is nice.

I can smell the mint on the ground

Can you? Get up! Get out of bed.

Don't just stare at me

Here, stuck on your screen.

Why don't you come outside

and Smell the mint up close and personal,

Lying on it with your whole body,

the Way I do.

You would smell so good.

We could do it together.

Come on!

No, no! Don't get dressed,

We can be nude together.

Do you want coffee, first?

Why are you afraid?

Who could possibly see you?

There is no one lurking in your backyard

Except the squirrels and they don't care.

Come on!

Those lemons on that tree are so yellow

And the blossoms are so white.

And the tree is nude.

Have you noticed?

All the plants in your yard are nude.

They expose their genitalia;

and I know you like looking at

the Nude plants with with beautiful

Blossoming genitalia.

Do you need to water them?

I give them my life.

Well, a little bit of it before

the Sun removes my dewy clothes.

He likes to see me nude.

I have to admit

Being nude is nice.

Mirror & Me

What if,

When I shave each morning

I look in a mirror

And see the real me,

The me that is love

That is me mixed into everything,

Not just my body

but everything I can imagine

That makes me me

And more, so much more?

What if

When I wash my face

I look in a mirror

And see an awe inspiring me

Looking back so very lovingly at me?

What if 

The image in the mirror

Is the real me

Looking at a manufactured me,

Who spends far too much time

Looking at my flaws and foibles?

What if 

The image in the mirror

Is trying to tell me

That I have merely forgotten

That I am in person in the mirror

Who is awesome in so many ways,

And who shouldn't spend so much time

On the flaws and foibles.

What if 

The image in the mirror

Is asking me to spend more time

On the love and beauty within me

So that it can shine out?

What if

The image in the mirror is

Trying to show me

The real me
Who is playing

Hide and seek with me?
And every time I look in a mirror

The real me is hiding in my eyes.

It's Necessary To Talk About Being Happy

I hear Coyote sing her howling song

Inviting me down the worn dirt path

Along the tree and fern lined ridge.

The aroma of moist mossy mud

wafts into my nose.

She gooses me and laughs

And then she wiggles between my legs,

and circles around to take the lead.

I follow her to the pond where

Abuelita, my grandmother, sits with her feet

splashing the water.
Coyote lies beside her

As I start to sit Coyote jumps up

and pushes me into the pond

I gulp, and splash, and climb out,

laughing along with Abuelita and Coyote

“It's necessary to talk about being happy,”

Coyote says.

Abuelita pulls me close and whispers

“She knows a secret,

It is necessary to listen now”
The water lilies float in the pond,

the birds sing in the trees above me,

Coyote places her paws on my lap and speaks,

“You do not make the sun shine.

You can not make the Earth turn

the way you want it to.

But You can view the world anew

and see the beauty all around you.

You can be the bright smile

that lights the world and makes

the people want to be like you.
Surely, you are happy.

Yes?”

Abuelita puts her foot in the pond

and splashes me

I smile and nod.

“Yes, it's necessary to talk about

Being happy.”

Coyote's De-anger Dance

Coyote’s De-anger Dance

By Mushroom Montoya

Coyote laughs at me

Tossing up his snout.

When I yell at the morning news.

I glare. “Stop ruining my mad.”

He laughs harder as he runs around

And then he gooses me.

I can't help but to laugh.

“You should take a picture of your face

when you are stressed, 
angry, 
and especially

When you are furious.

Although I have not seen your

Furious face for years.

I laugh whenever I think about it.”

My face is hot.

He lifts one leg up and pisses

on a photo of my angry face.

“You've got to learn to piss on it,

And laugh at yourself.

Hell, I laugh at myself

All the time.”

“You pissed on my face!”

I yell!
His mischief giggles,

“Don't Take yourself so seriously.

Ain’t life hilarious?

It really is.”

I crack a smile.

“More! More!
Don’t stop there!”

Coyote coaxes and cocks

His pointy eared head.

“When you feel pissed off,
Piss on it. 
And then dance.”

Coyote rolls over on his back

Laughing.

Making me laugh, too.

“I love how you dance.”

“What?” I stop and ask.

Coyote whirls around me

On his hind legs, goosing me again.

“You should dance more often.

You can’t dance and stay pissed.

“I can try,” I say.

Coyote howls,

“I love to dance with you,

To dance through you.

I love the sensual flow,

The way your body undulates

and sways to the music.
I feel wonderful
When you invite me in.

Thank you for that.”

I bow.

He grins. 
“I will reward you

By showing you more things
To laugh about.

You give me so many opportunities.”

I Glow

I glow inside

I can't hide it.

It sneaks out

Through my smile.

My glow whispers

To my toes, my legs,

to every part of me

To everything around me.

I am a blessing.

I am a blessing,

I repeat.

Be it

I am it

And so it goes throughout the day

The latte machine sings bass

while the birds chirp their soprano

to the words,

I am a blessing.

I glow

and it grows

all around me

igniting the glow of

the latte machine.

The espresso pours out

the steam foams the milk

and I am engulfed in

the latte's glow

As I take each sip

I hear,
I am a blessing,

Today.

We glow our blessingness 
out To all.

I am blessingness shining

for myself.

everyone I meet,

Everything I see,

The people, the birds, the latte machine,

we all glow.