
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
