The Art of Poeting Tarot

What is Poeting Tarot and How do you Poet Tarot?

These are two questions that I am always asked when I introduce the idea of Poeting Tarot to clients. Believe me I understand, you go to a reader and want to hear the answer to a question or a series of questions that have been plaguing the shit out of you, right? Next thing you know, you hear the unthinkable. Have you given some thought to Poeting Tarot? What the client usually finds after a session of poeting tarot is that the heart of their aforementioned problem is only the icing, it is not the cake. In order to solve the querent’s issue poeting helps them suture the wound and not just reapply a band aid.

 When the querent is forced to look through the image to a deeper message and then sitting down, creating a poem from a card’s vibrations is a form of spiritual therapy that makes the querent put his or her spiritual essence into the outcome. They own what comes next. They own all those deep-seated emotions that the card or cards bring forth.

How long have you unanimously traveled this earth believing that the issue you assumed was the pinnacle of torment in your life. When you create a story of poetry or prose from tarot you immediately become immersed in a subconscious vortex where the only thing the mind wants is to own its truth. When the querent is poeting tarot there is no distortion of reality recreated by any reader. The power of mysticism becomes a two-way street.

Look at it this way, both the reader and the querent’s subconscious share the same plane of existence. I like to think of it as two people traveling down the same highway at different starting points. While traveling each person comes in contact with experiences that may at times overlap at others their meaning is wrapped in the experiences of the writer. And yes, I do every exercise with my clients not just as a show of solidarity but to walk my own path of clearing out the clutter of past incarnations that have nestled into the crevices of my own life.

So how can a person poet the tarot? You take a pen, pencil, or you can even record it with your phone, and you give into the image. Your job is to trust that what comes out is necessary and potent enough to heal you past what you thought was troubling you. Not to mention, we all become caretakers of our own healing.
I will be sharing my writings in the blogs that follow. Feel free to look at these images and do the same. Keep a journal just got your poems and watch how much agency you begin to hold over your decision making. Feel free to email me and share your journey.
Many Sacred Blessings!!!

 


Ectoparasites 12/17/21

Divorce closes in on me 

like the tropical storm warning

blaring from the weather radio

stuffed between the headboard and mattress

these days I find myself

 forging checks to make up for the fact 

that you took more shit than you gave 

these five children got to eat 

and they won’t stop blessing my ears

with chirps

I remind them often that

I am not a mother fucking bird

we must all wear our feathers with remorse 

worms are scarce

as scarce as their father’s touch

here even hunger is too weak to die

under the carport

the pick-up is bleeding oil

weak and frail it hums across the road

a crone afraid of stepping through the veil

with both feet so she pokes at death  

with the cartilage of her index finger

the washer is on its last leg 

the valve that disburses water 

from the wall into the machine’s drum

has lost its mind

and like all sparrows

ruffled and aggravated by parasites

it has taken to spitting-up water

all over the double-wide

me and the children harbor

more of it than we can drink

so, we fill an old, galvanized wash tub 

and pretend we are floating in the indian ocean

the beer is hot

the chickens are not

the roosters have taken to 

fucking each other

reminds me of you and Wyatt

in the back seat of what use to be your pick-up

funnymenhens

facts no lies were told here

I sort through zipperless backpacks

finding only lice letters

from the school nurse

Josie told Nurse Causey   

she was a baby sparrow

preening specks of creepy crawlers

along the edge of her feathered scalp

the uncontrollable itch got 

Josie, Eli, Jhett, Miller, and D.J. sent home

for a week or until

I can afford that treatment in a bottle

Eli is the lighter thief

I know where there’s a smoking reading log there’s fire

I know where there’s fire there’s my lighter

and I could use a fucking smoke right now

The sparrows splash around in their bird baths

I wonder with the unlit cigarette

straining my bottom lip

if there was ever a prehistoric mother bird

who ate her children

saving them from a world where fools build

nests along dirt roads 

In a valley of pecan trees 

where men.   fake their deaths by dynamite

in a musty coal mine

only to be reborn

in rhinestone leather boots

accented in peacock feathers

maybe this time it's you

playing the role of lighter thief

maybe it’s stuffed deep beneath seeds of lint

where the crumpled remnants of a marriage license our vows

found scorched from end to end

I flutter from room to room

until i find a book of matches

under my lingerie and i decide then

to shave all our heads clean

where there is love lost

there are parasites

bleeding tomorrow

out of this fool’s journey