Intuition Of The Beat by Vanessa Jubis

The raindrops pound the roof above me.
The whistling of the wind brings a familiar sound.

Have I been here before?
I may stay a while longer…

The white sheets are crisp
ready for sweat.
The scent of lavender is hypnotic.

My skin is brushed upon,
with the caress of his warm breath.

Tiny hairs are standing.
Skin is familiarly bumpy.

The sweet rain sheds its tears upon the fruitful womb of mother earth.
The cyclical seed is waiting to be fertilized.

The rise of expansion and contraction

a friction of steamy flesh
burn to fruition.

My sacred space is reserved.
The vacant spot waits for its tenant.
The intuition of the beat.

I offer myself to the instant
of the pulsing throb.
I am the vessel upon which a new breath will emerge.

I can hear the flawless cadence of his presence.
I have arrived at my destination.

I am complete.

I am in union with the shadow of my intuition.
I share my sacred space with bliss.

Two beats become one.


Sage Femme by Vanessa Jubis

I must wait for present to become past
As the wind blows and I watch the heavy showers
The day becomes dim and the skies overcast
My body takes over and I begin to fall
I tumble into the land that they call “out there”
Time is still and meditation takes over
The only breath that I can watch
Blowing like daisies from my mouth
My full womb is speaking nothing but “surges”
The pain is like watching the departure of birds
They come and they go and they sing
I chant “let it go” and “let it be”–
“let it go” and “let it be”–
I must be patient and the patient
That does not watch the clock
In this meditative hour–
I trust the process…

And the sage femme simply waits.

A Poem After Li Po by Heather Ann Schmidt

I want to sit by the Yangtze river,
let my veins open up–
tributaries to the wild.

Wine-soaked skin,
a miracle like Jesus performed
at the wedding.

Enough bliss to wash over the broken metronome.

Would it keep moving under the current?

Would it remember how to move if it almost drowned
and was revived?

Summoning Leaves of Grass by Heather Ann Schmidt

I celebrate myself

during the dawn’s tears
on the soles of my feet

like when you lie under
a tree and petals fall on you
and it feels like some heaven of light
because of the aroma of lilac

and this deeply colored world.

I celebrate when my irises open up
and catch the flecks in the atmosphere
and imagine the layers of molecules
woven underneath.

I celebrate the way my muscles move
when I run, dance, walk, make love
during a thunderstorm and the sound of my heartbeat
mixes with the tandem stomping of Earth.

This rain dance, this moment, this second
that reminds me what is is to truly be alive.

I celebrate the way stars die and then the womb
of a planet begins in colors streaming, sparking
against the black.

The way the universe could be held together
by strings, by light, by chance, by the idea
that we all have ideas.

I celebrate every mistake
because it shows what true goodness can be
and all suffering because it defines my joy.

Afterbirth by Heather Ann Schmidt

She left me

& I was hollowed out–
carved heirogliphics
on my insides
made from the scar tissue
of birth.

But the ghosts stayed
& would not go out
into the world
even though I tried
to blow them out
with my cries.

& so I starved
the fear out
& my bones began

to show through rice paper skin.

…………Each fear,
……………….another layer
……………….another day closer
……………….to death.

Until I saw the lotus flower,
felt its skin
& longed for change.

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