slowly the mighty waken
barbara marlowe (for my husband and friends Thanksgiving, 2003)

I keep hiding the papers that hold ideas
I’m not supposed to know
Getting close to my powers is
daunting.
I’m tempted to reign back my fiery gray and wild horses.

Grimaced, shoulders hunched tense,
I pause to see what of past has not leftand still trembles,
the child fled long ago.
Embodied now, all ages welcomed,
I loosen my mind, polished senses and multi-colored toes.

At age fifty, I become a writer and sexy dancer
honoring and moving held-in expression
joy, healing, sexuality and physical health.
Why not abundance?
I surrender defeat. Changing, abuse melts.
I began again, this time scoring a Norwegian.

Did you notice that my male companion and your dear friend, hit a home run
of inner galactic proportions?
The occasion he willed and rose to was not easy, having been out of the game for so long.

Quick, with grace and grinning, he jumped right in
Pleased at what he was able to manifest while still half asleep.

Slowly the mighty awaken.