Saturday, September 25, 2010

Your Stories

Your Stories

Plot keeps us moving
conflicts, obstacles
from here to there
Showing our qualities,
our characteristic strategies
how those change
dramatically, comedically,
through relationship or revelation
or how we resolutely refuse
to change despite ardent
catalysts.
Sitting in your kitchen
drinking wine and sharing plotlines
leading to the lives we share
here and now
I feel the joys, the moments of doubt,
the tragedies and resilient reclamations
Your brilliant smile, contagious laugh,
ebullient embrace carry me through
enduring sorrows.
A fallen bird nurtured,
a flower coaxed to glory,
a simple girlhood story spanning wars,
historic empathies.  Cuttings
cultured from long ago continue chains
of living, plotlines leading me
to you
our brief exchange
strands of dna
carry us forward into more complex
adventure.

words of power

There is nothing wrong with the words
strong hard tools, carrying us through
signifying what must be said
What there are are conventions
of conversation; rules of etiquette
demand polite locution
We need to know where we stand
along the continuum
among peers or those
above, below, and just how far
Stand down, soldier.
We are in the realm of informality.
Speak as ye will (and none be harmed).

wisdom

A Fool I've been
walking behind visions
cringing from derision
seeking solace from a merry Moon
too soon gone old
Checking back on follies
sticking pins in pain -- jolly? 
no, morose, cold, unlovely crone
Have my wanderings grown
no happy harvest, no cozy home?
Snuggling into punishing remorse
"You knew you should have run a better course!"
"You know you deserve to be alone."
Is that true?  Am I the Fool careening
down the precipice,
broken, no meaning;
is this my hapless fate?
Or my self-hate insisting I mistake
a journey for a goal?
A Fool can be a cherished, merry soul
dancing the golden mountain trail
reveling in freezing rain and snow
tasting the bite without bitterness
This I know

Wind Song

Wind Song


Caught through cobwebbed memory 

Falling into the calm within the storm

in enchantment

join the merriment of dancers
gliding movement
choreography, poetry,
mindful motion
poignant wisps of song
wyrding sympathies
a chance to beatifically play

where love is a whisper
from which breath expands
each to each
for a brief season

In the wind
stories, blowing, whirling
whisp purring gentle, insistent, strong
going, going wide, long, dipping below
a galaxy of whirlwind lights
blink bright, dark, invisible for a slow
millennium or so
only seen deep in night worlds
obstructed by veil, by shadow, by
"No, that can't be real."
Until a softly swaying memory
caught still in some fantastic siroco
casting about for local color
finds outlet in one needing succor
 
The field dances
hungrily with wind, with wild
In the eye of eternity, wise
as any child, as any wizard
myth could conceive
This One, This Master of
enchantments (believe, my kin,
believe) takes fluid stand
Takes true command
raises eyes, mind, arms
to conduct transcendent music
Sky and ground converge
lightly, in grace and supplication
make merry conversation,
soothing wild beasts from
fiery space with gentle charm
The few picked to observe, perhaps
learn to carry on these tales,
loose all sobriety,
enthralled by mighty magic
work a new reality
Ride high on dragon scales
spirits entranced

War and Peace

War and Peace

Blanket bombardment by human vibrations
Canary choking on carbon-based fumes
Any poison to dull sensation 
will do
Pollution cruelly
engorged
gross extrusions
cold to the touch
Escalate pain,
beyond numb
the discomfort's
too much
Caulk up the cracks in the wall
with hatred
Security calls for
alienation, 
separation, disdain
All in vain
Vanity demands arrogant command
romancing with approbation
validation rewarded in the Name
Hear this simple whisper in the night:
easy flowing means you've got it right;
pain is not a punishment you earn;
it's a lesson:  be aware and learn

cubicle woman

cubicle woman

The moments go by if you forget they're there.  Sucking in sweetness, hot sugared coffee, aroma into memory.
It might be a warm, clammy late summer afternoon.  Hints of autumn like blackberry spicing the air.
The people here are decent.  They smile to make conversation a pleasant bit of business.
They want me to feel safe, cared for.  It doesn't matter that we are never more than strangers,
passing faces, smiling.  They bring me coffee with sugar and plastic sticks for stirring.
In this moment all of the world turns so skillfully I move along without pause for acknowledgement,
stealthily aware.

terminally unique

How unique am I?
When the product dissatisfies
When the project just up and dies
When the object of my desires
tells me my time has expired
When the last of my stash is nothing but ash
When I've set all my bridges on fire
When I haven't a hand or a plan
When I'm lost in a strange, hostile land
When I no longer believe that I can
understand how to try
How unique am I?

Trans gender

Trans gender

My groin twinges
are not gender based
They arise from intangibles,
faery dust,
glimpses

Tourists

Tourists

Visiting
in human suits
for a chance to wager
to unspin a tale
full coloured, full throated
spurting endocrine residue
to spray-paint our masterpiece
as if we could thus mark our
territory, save our place
as if any of this
mattered
back home

tis the season

As we strive through painful cold, treacherous dark, 
dodging danger, palpitating heart, 
anxiety our stark true friend
Dream of this season's end in joyful meeting,
reunion, reward.
Dream loving happy family, aglow
in warming fire, festive lighted tree.
Pocket snapshot from a gentler age,
we ache to reclaim.
Raise high the revelry of feast
and frolic, space for sacred play,
miraculous day to carry like inspiring song,
a beacon through the storms
yet to rage.
Live this vision 
embracing grace.

Post-trauma

Post-trauma

A child of my own
rape, it shaped me, made me
less and more
Memories stored, to 
when I can't go on implore:
"You'll feel better
when you're gone."

Ice-breaking

Ice-breaking

Get people talking,
Minds moving,
Interchanges, connections
Excite
Generation of synergy
Diversity flowing uniting
in colorful array
Create another day
Unlike the past
 Magic phrases together
break the isolating spell
our silence cast

Star Stuff

Star Stuff

Slippery sensitivity
Fragile
Encased in chitinous shell
Aeons growing, minute by minute
Coalescing, becoming
more solidly sure
in dynamic fluidity.
Swimming vast currents
Slowly, instinctively
deepening coils
Sensory input explored,
digested into the whole.
Briefly crackling dreams,
unconscious triggering
synapse structures,
neural entanglements,
Reaching, groping, grasping
Letting go.
Process becomes SOP
encoded, empathically translated
organs, systems
delicately evolve.
As in the blueprint,
scaffolding collapses
no longer safe abode
allowing growth.
Cosmic dust and waveforms
require subtle interchange
exquisite fulfillment
a habit of spontaneity.
Structure inherently implied
need only whisper,
hum wisps of familiar tunes.

spokes from fate's wheel

A hard snow, sleet, hail
is soon to fall
You won't be ready;
but you need to clear out space
for impending



I dreamed I was awake in a place I had often dreamed of.
I said:  "This is the place of my dreams."
Then, an icy dead hand grabbed my shoulder,
revealing my fear.
'I do not fear you."  I said.  I lied.
"You are only my imagination."
She cackles, pushing her scaled hand
into my subconscious flesh.
This is not how the dream is meant to be;
not how I remember.
When I wake, as I always do,
I am disappointed.
Again.



Such a common hothouse flower
wilting alone without the power
to take a stand
to make a plan and see it through
Won't you buy me
before I die
Take me home
Make me cry
Give me a plot to root in
Let me bloom
in this tiny room
for you alone.



The human experience
made disappointing by 
a vastness of assholes
shitting without responsibility
leaving a mess the few who care
can not possibly address
so we become resigned to
drowning in shit
until we do finally drown
and get out
Or,
are we destined to be
eternally frozen 
in shit?

Shell Game

Shell Game

Eggshells - viscous yucky shards
a mess, better left unbroken;
walk softly, whisper, agree
to be agreeable
breakfasting on soggy cereal or
just a cuppa
smiling lamely through the
livelong day
"Please don't let me be a burden.
Please, allow me, walk upon my
crooked spinal stairway while
I carry your parcels
in my cracked, bleeding teeth."
Eggshells breaking monthly
inside my womb
But we don't speak of that.
Not polite.  Not politic.
Like religion and horse races --
squandering addictions
'cause we're alright, ya know.
We've nothing to complain of.
Got our daily cakes and tea,
obeisance to the Queen,
jolly good, jelly roll.
On Easter, in the blessing of the Spring,
we paint sweet pastels
gently upon hard-boiled shells,
promising to be good little lambs.
The crust of the Earth,
protecting primeval fire and
gemstones,
seed of the Sun
baring a glorious array of
multi-hued fruits
upon which we feast
for energy
part of this complete breakfast
rounded with an omelet
for growth and repair.

Shades of Real

Shades of Real
 
I am in that place of bonded service to the shadows.  Strong brick and stone, tarnished by long years of miasma, are my walls.  There are rough chinks.  Sometimes sunlight shines through in bright bits of warming rays.  I have no memory of seeing outside, though faint hazy echoes of sunny airy landscape seems to have familiarity I can't quite apprehend.
 
There is disturbance.  I am called to a shadow chamber, given mission to carry a message between worlds.  I am outfitted to detract notice, given instructions, missive, and coin of the realm to which I will travel.  Before I fully reach my destination, I am overcome with not unexpected fatigue.  I find a shelter among a cluster of wild brush and rusting trash to await clarity.
 
Awakening to a bed of eider down and an array of concerned faces, I am drawn to my target.
 
"The shadow commands you."  I say, simply, directly, without inflection, as I have been trained.  No one else notices.
 
Satisfied with my task completed, I am allowed to sleep, dreaming of that other place.  The shadow releases me from bondage.
 
Walking carefree in the sunshine, I smile to see elongating shadows.  Soon balance will be restored, one world not of service and bondage, but reciprocity.
 
I don't know where this thought has come from, perhaps words of a popular song.

Prophecy

Prophecy

And He became The One
as we all came together
in His direction
anointing Him our Saviour
We, so ready to be saved
from evil history
from slavery and hate
looking for a better fate
for our kids
(and, don't kid yourself, ourselves).
Caught up, trapped, in the trappings
of fashion-conscious
altered consciousness
Drugs to cure us of our many flaws
because if you're not flawless you
haven't got a chance
in the marketplace fierce competition.
A youthful escapade can ruin you
for the life
of our peers' and elders' expectations.
And then where are you?
May as well be burning in eternal
damnation -- at last
At least Satan wants you
for your sins.
In a mythical colony,
far from their petulant King
it is said a people
fought and died, and lived again
for freedom.
It is said such pageant plays
are still performed today.
"Freedom is not Free; but based
on blood sacrifice."  They say.
Freedom dependent on militia,
on strictly disciplined troops
firing into pregnant crowds.
Ancient dreamers foretold
potent prophecy.
We will not listen.
We insist on martyrdom
worshipping, as we do,
cults of murder.
This human life leads inexorably
to eternal death,
just as we demand,
when we all come together
anointing yet another One.

Prologue

Prologue

Sun and Moon embrace
as one 
for brief eternity
all mystery within

Black and White
create gradation
radiate kinetic energy
We can achieve
believe, begin, begin, begin

Gardeners, planting flowers,
planting food,
planting souls in
nurturing soil

Healers
perceiving wounds
to be sewn
relieving loneliness
revealing pain
held in, denied
twisting ardent toil

Teachers
admiring their wards
finding with them
questions, keys and doors;
realizing history is only destiny
when explorations cease;
invitations from space and time
come complete
with choices

A choir of voices
from softest spark
to fervent blaze
Troops of effervescent players
Symphonies, 
drums at dawn
Inspiration and instruction
carried forth through song and stage
vibrant murals painting onward age to age
Taking up the challenge of the tale
that twists, turns, meanders
providing kaleidoscopic opportunity
ever to begin again

prides

Abysinia rises on her heels
claps her hands with glee
to see the rangers clear the field
for her jamboree
Her noble guests arrive at last
the table's set to break their fast
such a feast for the upper class
to cheer their victory
The royal band breaks out in waltz
for dancers to employ
nary a note may ring out false
we're all here to enjoy
A raucous tribute to our fleet
so raise your voices, stamp your feet
privileged as renowned elite
to treat the vanquished as a toy
To those who watch beyond the gates
silly revelers at play
feeding the fire of long held hates
this is a different day
"Fiddle dee dee" they may say with scorn
mocking the starving and care worn
But soon they'll rue the day they've born
as the world turns dank and grey
as a new star rises over the fields
leading a different way

Self-regulating System

Self-regulating System

The holistic architecture of the Universe
Bubbles bright, dark, defining colour
Gradated activities -- still to
exploding, brilliantly consuming,
tasting infinite combination,
excreting stars 
and their progeny.
Living clocks and compasses
dare to create language
unaware that nothing is created
nor destroyed,
but open to interpretation.
Healers, trained in discrete modules,
move pieces on the field of battle,
"acceptable loss"  "collateral damage"
Language to limit liability.
Dull, sluggish bubbles
seeking wider distribution
eagerly await Armageddon.

Opening Night

Opening Night

Empty branches yearn for
darkening breeze.
Eerie singing echoes
from the horizon.
Slower days, longer nights
made for reflection ...
And wind sings, trees dance,
stars laugh in the moonlight.

detached

detached

Where were you when I was dying?
Now that I am all but  (merely nearly) dead
you mock me
beg my assistance
to mitigate
the dark fall-out 
of your fantasies.
Blind to my bleeding, and your own, 
how can anything I say
reach you anyway?
Return your pleading to your
silent Lord.
Leave me to my resolutions.
Strangers all these years,
I feel no desire
for meeting
in your dream.

Pray for Miracles (the merely improbable we can do for ourselves)

Pray for Miracles (the merely improbable we can do for ourselves)

Be not stingy in your prayers
The point is not bargaining with your God
"Please, Sir, I will be at peace with my loneliness and low IQ; just bring me a man who won't beat me."
"Dear Lord, thank you so much for my severely deformed son.  He does not know me, or himself, or anything but excruciating pain.  At least he is alive."
No!
While you are praying, dare to create the most wondrous of visions, your best possible life -- the whole enchilada:
The rich savory meat, spicy sweet sauce soaking through chewy luxury of melted cheese, wrapped in such satisfying crunchy manna.
Dare to open your soul to the grandest of feasts, that you may share with those your prayer guides you to love.

placebo

Terrible,
beautiful stories
keep me calm through terrifying
brutal nights
so I can sleep, dream, 
hide, quietly
keep calm, crying quietly
don't harm
the silence
the charm that makes it
all right
if they don't hear me
if I'm invisible
if my pattern fits exactly
shadow's safety.
Can't give in 
to jump out of my skin
anxiety.  Take these pills
and chill.
No one can kill what 
can't be found
subject from ground
undifferentiated.
Protect me from hate,
from those I'm afraid of,
from trying to relate
with what is left of my mind.
Time travels on.
Worlds collide or pass by.
Industrial waste learns to energize;
cycles within spirals within
ticking plotlines.
Better beautiful than wise.
Beauty is its own reward
in the terrifying dark
turning fear
to wonder

perceptual shift

perceptual shift

Ecstatic movement past revelation
from which there  is no return
to what you used to see
who you used to be
That ultimate step to transcend
eternity's threshold,
magic's trick of the eye
Mind when it moves
so easily
shining newly emitted
light that belies
primeval storm,
primal fear, the attacks
unclear of meaning
Reset
Dance reveals new landscape
Eyes, now excited, aware
ready to venture forward
Intuition follows
this blazing trail

Persephone's Breakthrough

Persephone's Breakthrough

This is where the idea is born.

soft green meadows gently disappearing into fall
sounds of dying, scent of woodfire and candlelight
no separation between what is becoming
accept and be revealed

summer's wild adventures
spring was a torrent of clarity, precious rain,
Earth coarse, ready for fecund pleasure
Queen of night in daylight's realm
obsessed in flowering
roses and daffodils
valleys and nubile hills
all is vanity and laughing vice
"But, Mother, I'm not a nice girl.
I'm a creature of the breeze; secure in shadow;
alive in the cutting edge of the storm."
Myth in revision
standing at the back of the playground
learning theater, tucking metaphors
through interstices of sense and dream
In spring, kicking stones along sandy riverbeds
reading the classics
expecting valor, glory, dramatic lines

Summer deceives
the stink of rot where flowers bloom
ancient feuds, retaliations, rage
tyrannosaurus feeding future waste,
absorbing a zeitgeist of want, of predation

within greed swollen seed infectious fear
search for further truth
mythology frustrates, curls back on its own ash
burn with hazy summer wine and dance
feet connecting dust to sky -- but only in designated
spheres, with designated peers, self-selected inhibitions
sweat out poison into the ground; now, eat the bounty
midsummer farce, far from clear, far from sunrise,
counting out the chimes as if time were treasure
silly summer madness as if what matters
is so circumscribed, so predictable

Early autumn firelight
reminiscent of witch hunts, ghosts of calvary,
dire warnings and endless hide and strike
the game, the funhouse, turns deadly
sanctuary calls, demanding sacrifice
the noble phoenix fed on frankenseed
can not rise

skies descend, dark mirroring
smell the woodsmoke, intoxicating, soft and sweet
masks the taste of bitter bile, secret vomiting
starving despite harvest's gay array of treats
faded, nearly blind, falling in and out of
shamanic fever, primeval native dancers beyond sight,
ripple of tribal beat at the periphery
ecstatic vision dark/light/agony and brilliant breaks
starbright constellations

Traversing worlds
seasons, years, moments of clarity
no need to travel, to invent boundaries
dance of the highlands warmth and sustenance
permeates 
makes whole

past midnight

pages curling in rage, dusting out
cosmic meltdown
nothing to see here
buildings immolate, self-absorbing
rings of posies like rainbows threaten
the skies, the sickening, cloying
"cancelled the series; i'm at loose ends
hanging around
can't seem to find my
happy medium crone
seller of mystery that all is unfolding
perfectly."  Beached, white as foam
winded, wound down,  not on the clock.
The black-eyed honeyed one
hear her laughter
sinking in the sunlight
tsunami wide

Parasites

Parasites

Bleeding over time
ubiquitous miniscule bites
too small to feed anyone
or note for disinfection
Besides, I'm already dying
of the disease
Feel the thinning throb
energy receding
All the same in the end
swollen distended lives
spreading poison
through the foodchain
without noticing;
intent on what we
nibble out

Paradigm of Death

Paradigm of Death

Cut off within
and without connection
"Why am I so alone, so 
desolate?  Look at
what I've done, 
coloring inside the lines
even when shocking pink
was the style."
Longshoremen, in early dawning
stinking of dead fish
seagulls' wet crying
Desolate, the sea entwined
with sky casting about
into another day.
On city streets
homes hide those inside
but out here
rabid eyes, aching tense
grimy and sore
another and another day
Cutting bright bands that swell,
fester, invert pleasure
sticky stench grinding
Laugh with angry spittle
into God's eye
hoping to be struck on this spot
"No!" defiant "No excuses --
the service is lousy; no tip for
you scuttling scum."
Echoes can shatter through canyons
erupt abruptly seeping through sleep
settling into stones and weary sand.
"I told you!  Don't disturb me!"
Working, negotiating plans for
more effective extermination
Organic stink, putrefying
must be extinguished.

of, not in

Childhood memories
imaginary playmates, wondrous fantasies
disappointing realities
I build my gingerbread cave
burn off bits as needed
against the cold
Deep in the woods of childhood
every tree, every lizard, toad,
bramble creating
tunneling stories, glamorous
productions, adventure, romance
Opening eyes upon petty spites,
lonely habits of duty
I look behind to shining grace
realize my place
out, far from grim, grey dawn
upon dawn
listening for enchanting pipes
of Pan to follow 
past the painted sky




Gonna build our army for God
Oh the glory, Oh the rapture
millions of souls marching home



Pushing me
sad, shadow memory
I never know what to answer
Hard harsh faces
leer, jeer, beg for tears
I dare not cry
Held by my arms
fiercely protective
Stale tears drip through
the valves of my heart
caustic, bred of poison
A lonely infant cries in the night,
learning to be human



Blind old seer, wizard, holy prophet
stumbling over rocky hillocks
toward the sun
beseeches, sings, ululates
opening passage, veils, gates
free to breathe, drink, be absorbed



London Bridge is burning, burning
The towers are struck and fallen down
With time and tide a'turning
What was lost may still be found
In a world of lads and lasses
Hale and strong, brave and true
Joined in singing, 
Raise our glasses
And do as we must do



Masked Lady Moon shines
into my room
speaks of fantastic adventure
Dare I question her
abundant concern?
I a masked gypsy
painted in gloom,
a taste for wry humour,
impossible promises,
resplendent terrain.
A woman insane,
taken in by the Moon
fair sister, sparkling cold
so far
I have no home
but that clear, quiet salvation
hiding like Moonlight
unmasked in my mind

A Little Night Music

A Little Night Music

She appeared
out of the night
dark mystery, arousing
my curiosity
and concern
(when will I ever learn
to let these heartbreaks
in the making
pass me by?)

Voodoo of the night
sacrosanct delight
do not let my days be privy
to your fragrant ecstasy
Do what you will with me
in our secret rendezvous
then let me go
back to my wastrel ways

She grabbed me with such force
I felt I could die
And that was just her eye
pulling me close
to continue
our conversation
Great conflagration
arose in my heart
so adept at her art
of igniting
imagination

Cruel fate
mocking my fantasies
Yet, here I am, again
facing dualities,
the wrong and the right
easily selling my immortal soul
for her eternal night

She tastes my sin
drip from her laughing knife
I freely forswear my life
Lunging in the for kill
There's no greater thrill
Falling into dark mystery
We disappear with the night.

night blooms

Come, say I!
Enjoy the desert night blooms --
rare, exquisite, alive.
Quiet, the primeval cold,
parched, freeze-dried.
No purposeful future
divined.
Old, alien
unmarked steps upon the Earth.
The stories I spin ...
no meaning
no warmth.
I walk primeval, exquisite landscape
dry, old, eternal
to enjoy the blooming.

The Myth of Doorways

The Myth of Doorways

Infinite, eternal, these are words
maps to definitions, not what is
creation never ends, never begins
again, not repetition but reflection
what gain, what vain destruction
won't  imagine
movement generating heat, generates
excitement, entrainment, collectivity
builds tension to move more
purposefully
self-organizing systems catching
brave mutations
exceeding expectations,
so why not expect ever more
Doors only close or open
in our minds
unseen eyes project
without
 limitations

A Mudlem Melody

A Mudlem Melody

Strict and stern
with a mouth full of jellied peas
and a pocketful of lost toys
he really oughtn't be surprised
that the neighborhood bullies and bad guys
found him a delight to mock and badger.
One innocent night, drinking hot honeyed gruel
and watching the one-eyed gorgon
prance upon his video box,
it occurred to him to open his wayward window
singing a solemn hymn to the great and beneficent
old goat in the sky.
Some bully boys passing by thought of pissing
along his immaculate gate
but then
hearing him wailing his catechism
thought what a pisser it would be
to take him with them on a merry little date.
Just a joke, you see, to while a bit of time
until their later larceny.
They took him to the graveyard, of course, 
boogey woogeyed and pushed him down
into the rancid rain layering the ground.
Thus planted, he made an awful sound,
a pealing wailing cacophony, so loud, and
unappetized they all fled, laughing in glee 
to make it a farce.
As he was becoming quite hoarse,
and perceived his alonement
he lowered his voice in atonement
to the spirits disturbed in their sleep.
Settling down to his new abode seemed appropriate.
You might see him there yet, ranting about the Reaper
who keeps him out in the wet and won't let him sing.

Mother of shadows

Mother of shadows

Nyx, Goddess of Night
Dark encircling
womb
fed from sacred firepit
Feeding dreamers
the potency of stars'
cosmic light
concave distortion
reflected through myth's
shadow

Mother Love

Manifestation, brilliant and
gratefully desired
Yet streaked with disappointment
Nothing is perfectly rendered
I prayed for you;
sent missives of tears heavenward
and wished upon a magick toadstool
Leaving nothing to the vagaries,
divine agendas so noblesse
Yet, when presented with my
prayer's request fulfilled
I am not.
You are not what I bargained for
when all my virtue
was on the line
You are hideous, hateful, spiteful
a devilish sprite sans remorse
How dare you mock me?
Have I not bestowed upon you 
the very gift of life?
Have I not become your idealic
Goddess incarnate?
Worship!  I command you!
Yet you cry, turning red and blue
unwilling to grant me my due
Satan's child --
an answer to hormone raging
prayers
sinful thoughts -- "Oh, Father,
forgive me."
Nobody should suffer as I do
Thankless teething serpent,
yowling at your fairytale Moon
What must I do for your eyes
to shine on me?

Scrying on the Moon (for Brigid)

Scrying on the Moon (for Brigid)
 
By sibylline light
images I recognize,
creviced captures of my life.
I know her judgment to be my own.
 
"Nourished by Moon rivers
mythical cavern blooms
unseen by sunlight
glow green."  
Thus she sets the scene;
becomes the prophecy.
 
"Purest white simplicity
curved to suggest fragility
faith fed maiden ready for 
plucking,
given in bondage to womanly woes,
hard rows to hoe
for that human hug through  
crying of night.
 
Fate of mortal soldiers, sacrificed to lust.
Seeking relief, beg for the boon of drama
high adventure
sneaking into sad hotels
for a fix or a tumble.
Laughs,
deadly play,
danger, a real chance.
 
Barefoot in the snow
icy roads
winds so strong
I could not make you hear.
I thought you were my destiny.
Crazy thoughts, far from clear;
but I believed
song lyrics from Saturnine deities
would not lie, leave me
dying, fading into winter's grey
drifting clouds,
endless sorrow endured for naught.
Lost on this careless corner,
dreaming of oblivion, intent on visions
like rain
tapping against eternity's
vast windowpane.
Scenic serenity.
Nature's gradations of green
soothe tired eyes,
trembling nerves, throbbing  veins.
Slivers of moonlight reflect
in withered refrains, unearth secrets
embedded in song
effervescing through cool pure air
 
cleansing the uprising nestling
set aflame
resurrected
tempered mettle,
pure, wise, tested
engorged with the will
to rise"
 

 
 
twilight of the goddess, call to song to aery dancing, lady fair your firey trance rewinds our souls, enjoy these offerings, flights of fancy, all art is yours 
 

Moonmirror

The many faces of the Moon
reflecting starlight in her many moods
Entrance the sky
My mortal eyes want to believe
adventures of myth and mind
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in sacred moonlight
Dancing from your castles
to mystic mountain
legendary glades
Tell me why I should believe
in magic, in codes and
spells and sacrifice
Is the wisdom of the wise
so constrained?
My species may be blind to
true eternity
but we mutate,
find and define 
new ways to see
Belief is far too limiting
for me
Dear Sister Moon, separate entity
from birth, entwined
still with Mother Earth
Patterns re-cycling reveal
what we regard to be real
is but reflection
Face to face to face, fluid
to change

You Can Be My Metaphor

You Can Be My Metaphor

Someday
my metaphor will find me
lonely, stooped in my
alcove room.
How can I know for sure
this is my metaphor,
expressly fit to guide
my destiny?
Will the hand of fate
grab my metaphoric testicles
send waves of salty rippling
across my skin?
Will I awake to a world in which
I win, consistently
(no painful taxation of tragedy)?

Dear Metaphor,
Please be good to me.
Clear eyes I can depend upon,
not a judge;
strong arms made of hugs.
Some wyrd wizard's spell
kindly
focus my mind,
release valkyries
raw cacophony
glorious song.
Someday my metaphor
swoops in on shaman's wings
scoops me up
takes me along.

20 Minutes into the Future

20 Minutes into the Future
 
Mercury Trickster
lithely larfing pixels and waves
Happy adventure
creating mayhem silly and brave
wandering worlds, leaping between
with the flick of a dial
bringing a soul feeding smile
to the lips of a beaten down child
slyly ass-kicking evil demeanors
dancing outside the scene
to quicksilver change
Flickering out of range
of censor or brute
soldier or suit
to give 'em the boot
when their attention is taken
up in their infernal machine
Immortal mixer
in our mundane affairs
playing at musical chairs
or the game of the day
unattached to our daily cares
merry and gay
spreading that sunny moonshine
then dancing away

In Lust We Trust

In Lust We Trust

I ache for you in the ancient evening
Prowling tigers, howling prairies,
ice melts,
all in rhymed refrains
in iron chains,
gasping saints,
flagellations
in restraints
swords fiery, fierce
sorcerer's
Oh my!  They pierce
O-ver O-ver Ohmygoddess
Yes!  I bless the Suns and Moons
and Stars
Burning, Crisping, Smoking,
tasting tongue to tease
lapping up honey, engorged
buzzing bees
Emitting pleasure as we please
Tactile tantalation
erupting sublimation
caressing, cresting
stimulation
I'm on fire
for you
(boop boop be doo)

Returning

Returning

If I could turn again
If I could turn
If I could
If I
If
I

Flying too high
confused, losing oxygen's fire
infused with inthusing desire
Touch me
Don't take me down

You, who never knew me
grasping at space where
I may have lain
Laugh to my face
exploding in pain
while you writhe
O', that's no way to survive
I'll encase you in goo that
allows you to see me inside intricate mind
Each molecule of remorse
creeping out of your eyes
replace with sweet water
of life, grace effervescing.
I want you to thrive
be better than 
still life man.

Rocky mires face all who
walk this ridge
Patience, take time to build up
bridges, irrigation ditches, 
inch by plodding inch, plotting
fields of grain, barrels for rain,
roofs, walls, windowpanes,
chimneys for warm hearths below.
Flowing rivers reveal lines for exploration,
mining ores, 
mine and yours, 
that element missing from accounting calculations,
Earth and her hordes, minions endemic to every
ecosphere
Wherever did you hear that enmity
would take you anywhere but here?
Dear, darling man, so wrapped up in
some plan you think you've sussed;
giving up your birthright and your trust
without second opinion;
believing written history makes mystery clear.
How can I find a way to make you hear?
Why should I any longer care?
Off am I, breathing higher air.
No need to share with those who 
daren't climb.
Sublimity, subliminally inclined --
nothing more to reach for.
No need 
If there is a you, and you choose,
touch me.
Don't take me down.

Lunation

Lunation
 
Mist passing the Moon
as she moves through the clouds
trying to reach me
so far below.
How can I know
it is me she desires?
My mind is on fire,
moonstruck, some might say.
Flying along the Milky Way
fueled by moonshine.
She flashes her shadowy eye
through cloud-studded sky
and I feel fine.

Something Like a Love Poem

Something Like a Love Poem
 
That's what we do.
We fail to come through.
No voiceover narrator keeps score.
I know I told you to count on
my adoration.
In shame, I lose your face
slip away from every trace
that you once gave me.
Anonymous streets, single tables
dark cafes, jukebox blues
I done me wrong
Funk up that song, white boy
as if you taste the craters of
my soul.
Like you, I've learned everything
I know
from late night movies
lyrics on pre-dawn radio.
No one at home has time to do
more than pretend we're all just fine.
How was I to learn more than my lines?
That promises have consequence?
That I am more than dreams
that don't come true?
A quiet stone cottage
outlined by life-bearing 
pine, firs, maple, birch
nature's hues and cycles
my heart relaxes.
Meet me here.
You, with your piercing mind,
languid manner of movement,
voice like sunlit stream over
random pebbles and glass
I promise to listen.
I promise to breathe the fruit
of your nearness.
I have bargained for this chance
with all I am.
Before I ever saw my true face
I heard you cry
I felt the ripple of your laughter.

Loosing my religion

A fizzy springtime libation
sweet tinkly jazz
a moment or two of vacation
reverent, levitous fantasy
I enjoy being me in these moments
that nobody else can see



Loosing My Religion

Eye of newt and heart of quail
Winds that whip up in a gale
Southern seas, northern Moon
A fairytale that ends too soon
Joyous romps in forest glades
Gentle men and handsome maids
A quest to find the finest gold
and learn too late you're lost and old
Someday soon the piper calls
a merry tune you're too afraid
to answer;
you are no dancer
Still afraid at dawn
chirping birds upset you
Those who have not met you
no longer matter
Mad as a hatter
you open your soul to the night
and find though blind in your flight
better ventures than fright
now bid you to believe
your fate
It may not be too late
too close to the dawn
I hear the nightbirds pleading
for just one more song
If you need a sidekick, stranger,
can I come along?

In Memoriam

In Memoriam

Oh my children
Not so very long ago
probably in many places still
we lived in communities
in which we had pride and dignity
Small enough for everyone to
know your name
Large enough for a diverse
resource of skills
and personalities
Caring, squabbling, challenging
as family 
Able to leap tall edifices
and find a way when a way
must be found
Entrenched in lessons of former days
while planning for breaking future ground
Not just a pretty myth
like solidarity of kith and kin
Community, living within
a solid sphere,
a social network of mutual support
often said to be what we are here for
(I hear you sneer; you who tear down magic, 
hope, and love)
It could be, community,
our prayed for cure (balancing salvation)
to the follies of humanity's
deadly love
of war

In Appreciation

In Appreciation
 
I open my dreams to you
revealing to me my mind
I take a longer view
through your eyes;
with you I can be wise
Alone, within the mirror
visions arise askew
In my dreams of you
they become alright
Your world shines on mine
the grace of light

(Hollow) Theme Party

(Hollow) Theme Party

Bleeding across the page
Not pretty
Naked self-pity
a turn off
better passed by
Rather, let us speak of
solitude, the advantages
of wealth
kept to oneself
No beasts lessen my load
No supplicants beg to share
Luxuriously wrapped in my lair
laughing and dancing on gold
acutely aware of thin cold urchins
out on a distant plain
They are no kin to me;
out there for atmosphere
I am Deity within this domain
blood you see splattered
on this page
fell from other veins
some poor unfortunate
released from pain
How pretty!  Let's party!
A gala affair, enraptured
alone in my lair

Gospel

Gospel

Sally, won't you go
downtown
Pick up some teabag party
clowns
We'll teach 'em tricks of trade
from streets walled in by
degradation
Ain't this nation grand
for glad hands raised in celebration
of shames we dare not name.

Hallelujah  Hallelucinations
Hallowed ground baptized
in blood
Saved from the cleansing Flood
by sticking to our kind
however we're defining us today
If we were meant to live
a different way
wouldn't He have told us?

Thank God, Good Friday

Thank God, Good Friday

He came back
And we can worship, believe
Not like everyone else
He did not abandon us
Dying in a far off war, leaving
ashen legacy
never enough
starvation for affection, attention
pummeling harsh walls with
bloody fists
Banging against the icy windowpane
crying salt, oceanic sorrow
"I tried to be good.  I hated hearing
your screams of disappointment
muffled shameful despair
because this was not the life
you bargained for in the
promised land beyond 
hot desert wanders"
Desert, resurrected sea
where we all began
Sliding along rock formations
begetting, begatting, belonging
to the Earth, mud creatures
breathing molecules of air,
baking in the Sun
Ready for sacrifice
carrying crosses along a huge column
era to era
Atlas's and Eves
burdens of responsibility
our sacred contract
broken every time you speak of God
"Take not my Name"
for words have consequence
A cross requires two lines meeting
A Crucifixion
requires juxtapositions of history,
people in bondage
to their own ideas

Hungry Ghosts/Wounded Planet

Hungry Ghosts/Wounded Planet
 
Ubiquitous disarray
Angry obfuscation
Deep, wide, incoherent 
roar
Not what was promised in
the Golden Books of yore
I dreamed a childhood Eden
ate succulent fruit as
Uncle Serpent bade me
Old stories ever renew
Washed clean of sins of
concupiscence
Holy River, heal me!
Drowning in tears of centuries
under an evil hand
Demand what ye will
Demand and be obeyed, oh Goddess
None may resist Your Glory
All the stories are clear on this one point
We who rejoice, who bare our souls,
who dance naked under the Moon,
reflect upon Your stunning beauty,
reject Overlords, unsuitable suitors
for Your hand
We who see through Your modest veil,
sing your praises,
escape into the splendid vestibule
Your grace provides
for all your brides and maids
Feeding the ghosts on Your wedding days
this desolate world

Full Moon Harvest

Full Moon Harvest
 
I could
if I willed it
go inward
beyond the stratosphere
infinite bliss
the whole of the real
I know, I feel
eternity pulls me
grasps my ambient air
into awareness
all ways my destiny
incandescent transcendence
resplendent artist's delight
 
Still
here
in these moments
stuck in migrating vibrations
attached to this Earth
mired (but not beyond mirth,
cosmic inspiration)
miasmically
to throes and woes
undefined transformation
laborious birth
I am dignified, made whole
giving service to vision
corroded, corrupted,
yet shining below that surface
I see 
and uncover the light

from Into the Woods (Something Sacred)

from Into the Woods (Something Sacred) 

 

 

At first she walked without thought, mind caught up in languageless reverie, body exquisitely attuned to every sound, scent, touch of living plant against her skin.  Feet and arms bare to ground and air, though toughened by years of work and exposure, Caela moved into this landscape bare of expectation.

 

Scurrying, hiding creatures, peering out curiously slowly came to understand that she could be safely ignored.  Walking into a rhythm in tune to the forest sounds, she could feel the music.  She could feel very alive, a creature in this natural world without guide, constraint, responsibility or companionship of human kind.  Not thought, instantaneous panoramic realization of another level of being outside of society, inside the ecology of the forest.  There is a restfulness to shedding roles.  There is an energy that comes from rhythmic movement, a relaxation from moving in tune to the natural music of the moment.  Habituated ways of sensing, of perceiving, of thinking can silently fall away.  Without preformed valuations, what is speaks for itself.

 

Moving through purposeful actions as if in meditative ritual, Caela felt herself getting caught up in a quietly graceful dance, each movement blurring into the next.  Bright sun star shining into rippling water, trees standing their ground as branches play with breeze, rustling scratching chirping squeaking creatures playing out their destinies, dramas, simple cycles of life. 

 

Darkening forest, ebbing, flames, tired body ready to sleep.  She found her way to a nearby sheltered grove noted in her earlier brief exploration.  Having improved it for her purpose in rudimentary fashion, Caela lay down upon the soft forest floor and relaxed into dreams.

 

They had assembled in ghostly presence.  Shifting positions, faces, garments, props, several of these dream ghosts bespoke her, as if acting out a morality play, vagabonds in the woods begging for favor.  The ground around her shifted as well, quaking, dream sand turning quick, sticky, flimsy, unstable.  Yet she was not falling through, but with this slow-motion molten panorama.  Voices, figures fashioned of old friends, memories, and memories of what had never manifested past dreams and musings, continued their performances into the changing scenes.  Too amazed and swept up to notice fear or her own reactions, Caela dreamed unlike any dream she had known before.

 

"Somebody called me.  Was it you?" she asked of each ghostly presence.  They all had their stories.  These became a song of endless verses.  When she awoke with the morning light, Caela was still singing.  The feelings evoked by the dream lingered.  Still dreaming, she resumed walking, perceiving multi-layered forest imperceptibly interweaving with the many layers Caela had never realized she contained.

 

Caela felt the memory of tears.  She wanted to give comfort.

 

Opening her heart to these long festering injured spirits, bespeaking her in their desperation to be heard, feels natural, an outgrowth of who she has always been becoming.  The forest and its spirits accept her love.  They love her in return, not as a representative of her kind, but as her own unique entity.  The seed growing in her since her birth is flowering.  Multiple gradations of coloration, complex heady perfume, this flower, this Caela, is as beautiful as they come.  Human hag, old, wrinkled, grey, yet what she projects transcends such definitions.  Walking, traversing light and shade, consciousness as well moves.  First cause, first principle:  keep moving.

 

"Something vital was taken from us.  We don't know how to respond.  We are wounded, unwhole.  Tell us, healer, how do we reconcile?  How do we grow new hearts, neural pathways, create what we need to feel alright?"  Caela too felt severing losses that had overwhelmed her, wrenched away good lives, those she most depended upon.

 

"Did you grieve?"  A grey solitary ghost came forward with open palms, tears dripping down her cheeks, thin, wan, faint, but with intense presence.  The forest became a sanctuary, a shrine, a temple of worship and sacrifice.  A dark pit slowly manifested, a well for sorrow.  Each ghost contributed tears, wrenching sobs, wailing, whatever they could give.  Caela felt herself dancing around the pit, drawn irresistibly into the music of ghostly crying.  Coming into her notice, she saw her longed for long dead loved ones among the ghosts, crying with her over her loss.  Slowly, hypnotized, she moved toward their circle.  They embraced her, an ectoplasmic affirmation of love, dispelling sorrow.  But what of those other wounded spirits?  How could they be healed?  Were Caela's deeply embedded wounds so easily  healed; or was this uplifting but part of an ongoing process?  If we can be ever moving in the direction of healing, no matter how slowly, Caela was thinking.  Silently smiling in the center of the pain, the wonderful gifts of intertwined lives leaving behind forever what has grown into who we become, better because of the beauty imparted.  When we can let go of the pain and be who the totality of our interchanges and experiences have created, will that be a new kind of wholeness?  Could this tentative resolution be useful to the forest's spirits? 

 

The well of sorrow metamorphosed into a peaceful pond in which graceful gliding silvery creatures glinted in the sunlight.  Caela sat upon a convenient large smooth stony surface enjoying the solitude and warmth.

 

This forest, so far from human, seemed to understand and take joy in her.  She felt welcomed as long wandering kin, with so much to catch up on.  As she walked again in the sunshine, she openly shared her memories as the forest, too, shared its stories.  They found common nonlinear, nonlingual, imaginal, perceptual language.  Was this how it had been in that mythical garden of Earth, the Eden for which this planet had been named by human invaders?  Was there a time in the early history of man when he and the Earth had been companiable kin?  Could that kind of relationship be formed here, now?  Could there be a reconciliation, a healing?  What is this primal wound that keeps humankind from wholeness, integration with life?

 

"Why do your people divide?  Not just here and there, spatial separations, but even within?  Mothers and children separate to expand living.  Death separates, but renews -- feeding the whole.  Yet your whole rebels, rejects connection.  No, some connect.  But not the whole, not seed to root to stem.  Even a healer can still be divided.  You have strong presence, strong awareness and integrity of self.  You are separate from your kind, also because of your own conscious striving to wholeness of self.  How is this?  To what purpose?  Feel your way along the division, healer.  Can you weave it whole?  See this spiral dance?  Reattach your shadow as a companion of play, and dance so sweetly, so free, complete in every movement, every moment, in living embrace of music vibrating eternally.  These are your pictures, your words, imbued with that which is love calling between us."

 

As other loves had implanted their brightly precious cuttings through Caela's being, she now accepted this growing loving friendship with sentience not of her kind, nor of the world her ancestors called home.  What is home but where we learn to be and feel alive?

Four, My Secret Muse

Four, My Secret Muse

I.

We try to tell you
explain so clearly
you must need so badly
to be blind
What twisted so
maliciously your mind?
Is it your God -- Created
that greedy leaders may 
more easily prevail?
Is it guilt and shame seeded
by consistent training insisting that you fail?
Enemies of chaos, steeped in fear
"Anything I will to you; just save me!"
Lost to balance, lost to whole
possibilities, splintering reality,
losing consciousness, losing
the ability
to be free
or sane
Fighting off complexity with
angry names, a screen of stones
thrown in bloody sacrifice
Eternal life is yours, we scream
While you destroy your birthright
in service to
a conjured dream
of denial


II.

We who endure that searing penalty
for being born other than imperial
for being torn into what we
are told is real
without power to protect
ourselves from venal human scum
brothers of the order
spreading hatred
like any venereal disease
We no longer need to meet you
cowering on our knees
Ordained in derisive delight
enlightened, relieved of our plight
It's yours now to decide:  flight or
frightened obeisance.
Karma's a hot potent bitch
unschooled in mercy
(education cuts don't guarantee
ignorance of what is taught 
on these mean streets)
Witches reclaiming noble heritage,
reframing herstories
can no more be beaten
by usurped power.


III.

Listen, little one, we will prevail
Though born and forced to serve in
our master's jail
watching every moment for our chance
we will break free
to adventure, romance
dancing away the chill of
foreign hills
etched in leaves and grass;
hiding in enchanted castles,
lost and lonely midst the masses,
masked to fit expected forms,
but it's just for a bit while we learn
new norms, learn to become what 
we were from the start
Each a creature alive to the beat
of our own-reasoned heart


IV.

Such ugliness in this beautiful world.
I blame us.
(No, not Americans, you anti-blame-America first crowd)
Homo saps --
amazingly creatively obscene.
Mundanely capable of barbaric acts
I don't want to imagine are we
It is hard for me to know how to feel.
Thinking peace, sweetness and light, 
to attract what I desire
feels phony.
Anger feels nonproductive --
a tightening in my heart shrieking:
"Let it be done with!"
Seeking for another world to find
a fantasy respite, tightly aligned to
a bright inner sphere, binding to what
I hold dear, holding on for dear life,
would certainly simplify my dilemma.
I wish I could remember when all was
certain, life assured by Jehovah, or one of 
His supplicants.  That was before the
Awakening, when everything
woke up different, less defined.
Somewhere in my convoluted mind I know
is the answer.
Penultimate questions line up
for Communion.  Holy guests 
fly in mage's mass.
Lightning strikes
presaging cognition.
Key's in the ignition.
Let's go for a ride to some other side.
If we ever get back, nothing will be
the same.  Unleashed from the pain,
designated renegade.  Learning to fly,
escape from the herd hate stone,
can't be as hard as learning to stand
alone.

A Flash of Movement

A Flash of Movement

She was notably physically expressive, flowing easily from one movement into the next.

"Gets it from her father's kin.  We were much more fixed firmly on the ground.  Not to say we didn't dance when it was warranted."

"I'll just have a cup of this lovely tea, thank you kindly.  Don't need to be fretting now about what I might want later."

We watched the children play.  It was almost akin to visiting another world, one much slower, more real.  Little ones dancing, taking on animal forms, sharing what they understood.

Older folks seem to have their own ways, very important, done just so.  Physically attuned to the Earth, swooping big motions, trenchant idioms, the young experiment.

Bodies -- first order of business -- our means of sharing, learning, taking on the world.  Simplicity, neuron streams relax, slowly integrating responses, building flexible modular collaboration.

She is my avatar, my sacred touchstone.  She moves as one, as all, as wholly defined in harmony and synchrony with that becoming that she is.

Excrement Portraits

Excrement Portraits

We are what we assimilate
Every crack in the sidewalk,
struggling greenery escaping through
every captured pebble harkening to
exotic seas
Children of the Sun, crazed
exuding melanoma, dark humors,
exquisite remembrances
peer reviewed and wanting
without desire
Slipping down some rabbit hole
futilely seeking adventure
eagerly, clumsily chipping away
gingerbread walls
Early childhood
before monsters or taboos
the primal artist
painting upon cave walls
unaware of the concept of
archeological excavations

Logic of Evolution

Logic of Evolution

Successful progenitors
survive to sow seed
by force or persuasion
or staying unseen
or banding together
that more may succeed
to improving conditions
enhancing the breed.
But, for successful teamwork
we must
learn to respect, honor, and trust
expect to give and take and share
accept the caring for and care.
In community varied seeds are sown.
Thus is a thriving future grown.
Now, brothers may squabble;
neighbors may scorn.
Barriers built up,
preparations for war.
Who is emboldened by
destruction and blood,
blowing civilizations
back into mud?
Are they kind people
of honor and joy?
Those who can do; 
the lacking destroy.
Guns, bombs, words, cruel
contempt, angry sneers,
promoting of pain,
preying on fears,
giving us naught but 
unneeded tears
and advancement of certain
unsavory careers.
We can see through the lies,
realize the prize
Here!  before our eyes.
Simple. Easy. Free.
Expect, accept, embrace
the abundance
of Peace.

Ever After

Ever After

Pan, old ugly friend
screams "You're alive!"
Respond?
Retreat into familiar fairytales.
Witch  Waif  Warrior
Who emerges from the
cold dark water?
Disgusting wounds ignite
in the presence 

Making every effort to appear
normal, sincere
(not veering on the edge)
(not dangerously explosive)
"Don't mistake my weakness 
for that loathsome foe
we daren't name."
Shame 
overwhelming homeostasis
Crawling, mewling on unswept floor
Unable to gain equilibrium enough
to walk away
Lock the door; hide behind barricades
made from
blood guts gore
human remains after they have
vermified, defiled
My core cries
"One sweet kiss.  A taste,
sense memory
stasis of desire."
I leap whole
into eternal fire
beyond pain; burning sensation
Pan smiles

ethical dilemma

The room, low in lighting, spare in furnishing, enclosed by walls, floor and ceiling painted in cosmic fantasies, existing as a box within boxes, surrounded on all dimensions.  Not so much a door as a semi-permeable veil that could, with an intense act of will, be penetrated to take in vast kaleidoscopic tellings of tales, all sides and all seasons envisioned in an eternal play.

...

Officer Mirsky had a powerful hate on for them witchy folk.  "Always messing with my head, telling me to do things.  And not nice things, either."  They weren't telling him to find himself some sweet young thang, fuck her every which way to exhaustion, cutting her throat when he was ready, then chopping her body into handy sized bits for easy disposal.  They never told him how to get away with such wholesome activity neither.  They just wanted him to be happy to serve their fine selves.  "Grateful I should be that they keep commerce running ever so smoothly, plenty of profit for all so long as well all know our place.  Think they have a right to act all superior to normal folks who leave each other's minds alone and get by on codes of unmentioned rules that everybody knows.  Keep yourself to yourself, fit in, join the crowd and take what you can when no one of any importance is looking.  If you're really swift, become someone of importance by stealing big and making the right moves.  This forced cooperation is for migrating birds, not human beings, each man king of all he can compile.

Don't look at me like that, you witchy folk, all superior, knowing, like I don't count 'cause you're better than me.  You're not better than anybody.  You're certainly not better than everybody.  We can democratically eject you.  Once we get you out of our minds."

Tune in for more; tune out for internal reflection.

Essence

Essence, scent memory
cinnamon, pine, family
wafting incense
fragrant air
redolent of antiquity's winds.

Trailing magick's mountain meadow 
Hard, sharp, cragged, creviced
Exquisitely strong, enduring, scarred, 
mending, calloused, engaging
Fingertips, skin, caress manifest existence.
 
Rippling bells, liquid voices drip 
replenishing wine.  Listen.
Reverberate back to the tribal pool.
Dancing drum beats, symphonic raining rivers.
Rise and quaff the choir's song.  
 
In ritual visualize the distant dawn.
Hearths to unseen worlds fade before Sol's majesty.
Incandescent homunculus eyes opening to flame,
krinkling sparks, glowing. 
Powerful torches burn through dark imagery.
 
Revel in flavor, mythic piquancy.
Peppery heat, sour sorrows, exotic ebullient stew.
Wisps of buttery dreams, savory bliss, 
divine delicacies,
bittersweet ecstasy.

Enriched Childhood

Enriched Childhood

I had to make do
with what I could get
No, not like that.
It always felt like a weight,
yet useless for keeping me grounded
It felt like tiny knives,
cutting, bleeding, surreptitiously
draining excess energy
to keep me in line,
waiting
for unnamed reward.
I sleep fitfully
Dark dreams, I lust for your
lush evocations,
secret encodings of sacred quest
My journeys so circumscribed
predisposition gates in
I know there is more,
cruelly elusive enchantments
I was never deprived -- always
provided with just 
the emptiness
necessary

Every New Deconstruction

Every New Deconstruction

That's not sunlight --
that's fire!
Bells  Gongs  Sirens
blast the night
proclaim blazing barricades
People can't take the heat
opening doors, windows, eyes
dancing naked in the conflagration
Fan those flames!
Toast to the afterlife,
afterglow cinder and ash
Throw in contracts,
cash, whatever has no
value on its own
Warmth to the soul
unlike we've ever known
Throw on sorrow, worry, guilt,
shame
No longer tied to marks
against a name, no longer
than this moment 
can be claimed
Released, peacefully 
enjoy the flame's
hypnotic bliss
Prophecy fulfilled

empire

Standing askew as the inexorable boot commands
squeezing out gems, polished and pure.
Paid in bread and circuses.
Bathed in raw entitlement
dreaming of ravaging, raping at will
drinking bright blood doped with 
ecstatic thrill
casting lot that promised reward
be assured.
Cold, this world.
Shadow sans Sun.
Listless lapping at sparkling carbonation.
Sinking below matter and form
into terror stories;
taking warmth from smoldering coals.
As tomorrow continues today
your dissolving heart
dispersing pearls of wisdom.

Dream Street

Dream Street

Bright colored lights,
Boisterous music,
Gaily chatting people
drawn in by wares.
Carnival beauty
painted so prancy
whirling romance
casts off daily cares.
At the dark end of the street
quietly peaceful
drawn in to the pre-dawn air.

Dream Lover

Dream Lover

I want to be adored beyond embarrassment
I want to be she who can do no wrong, because beloved
To be always gifted accurate reflective critique
as superlative reviews, with just a tweak suggested
here and there.
I want to fall securely into open arms and heart
expecting only me
I want each blessed day to start
gazing into shining eye that see so deeply,
so wisely, my precious wondrous being
I want what I have never had from lovers,
brothers, Mom or Dad
What I have taught myself severely
I can never have
Too bad.  So sad.  Can't let fantasy 
keep me from my daily dance with debt.
Only in dreams free to give and receive
that love
with that dream mate
never to be met.

disestablishmentarians

In the dark, light, between
complex landscapes painted in shades
gradations of greys
where is the weather?
who is our champion?
how have we decided 
to show off our eyes,
paste on our smiles?
Coloring inside lines, confined to a strict palette
images from unremembered dreams
marketed for quick profit
The fashion of the times
defines expectations
coloring lives.
 
 
Vastness
broken down
easily digestible steps
Mischievous sprites
capture moments
nibble out snowflakes
pretty flower patterns
ripples of sandcastles
dissolving as moats ascend
clouds billow
waves clap
sunset gleams softly
in a spellbound instant
syllable by syllable
 
 
Eating, assimilating
sucking marrow into dissolution
The way of the world
Protest, resistance, is useless
Survival requires cunning
strong resolve, stronger destiny
Whimpering will not do
To overcome implacable degradation
concentrate
synergize potency
catalyze energy
self-organize systematically

duelality

Duality, dichotomy, antipathy
All we see is
black and white
wrong and right
day and night
running blind into sharp edges
unneeded bloodshed
See:  the world round, encompassing dimensions

In the Details

In the Details
 
Beauty lives in curves
and correlations,
simple intricacies
fitting frame to frame,
the potency of exactly
naming
demons and destinies
Transformed, 
daily meditations
reach heights of ecstasy;
practice becomes mastery
 
Beauty must disturb
send waves displaying
meaning into neural crevices
thus saying:
Stay deeply in
this brief eternity ...

Demonic Position

Demonic Position

Foot fall overhead
demons behind my eyes
Plotting to be dead
if I can't be wise
so very sorry, don't want to bother 
anyone
My seams are tearing, splitting apart
I feel the stained glass searing
through my blackened heart
jungle drums, pulse beats,
encircle my dreams
better than screaming into a night
that others might hear
See, no one comes near enough
to notice.  I'm not really here.
So long as I go through the motions
they feel fine.

Cubicle Woman and me

Cubicle Woman and me

The minutes move slowly, floating
through non-uniform waves of air
Here is solid, always, interminable
A small, dark woman,
waiflike were she not so clearly lined
from age or weathering
Her movements almost frail,
yet surely determined,
movements like one in a dream
where objects may so easily
transform
Not like this solid place, this
monastery of healing
All in gradations of white,
air almost frigidly white
welcome in the fever
White walls, clarified air
take well to imagery
Vivid primitive paintings
cadmium yellow, vermillion, cobalt blue
flashing, mutating here to there
We are in an old movie
of danger and romance
Silently, without smile or frown,
she stirs sugar from bright white packets
into her curl of steam
hearth and home.

In the infinite recesses of a sigh

In the infinite recesses of a sigh
trembling hearts create a pact of solitude
invent machinations of separation, of journey through despair
invent war and degradation
elevate dysfunction from a rare disease to incarnate celebration
delve into mysteries
only to declare their truths absurd
Death comes not as surprise or quiet interlude
it is salvation from life, from burden of remorse's pain
from horrors built from gain and loss
Oblivious to cost, living lies, inventing rectitude
in service to a twisted course
too entrenched to question why

common divinity

I sing the body electric,
the body magnetic,
the body in chemical ecstasy
the body working mundanely
the body mind personality
I sing
becoming vibration
moving through time and space
moving mental cognitions
of paradigms and conditions
movement of formless masses
chanting together
moving together
becoming a people
becoming a common complaint,
a common solution
a body of common sensation
able at last to relate
difference to difference
thesis to synthesis
because we are not the same
bodies sharing a common name
yet each our own rhyme and reason
not about hatred or blame
curing a common disease when
body to body
mind to mind
we become each in our own way
divine

Clouds in formation

Clouds in formation

Scale down
Feel the dirt, hard concrete,
wary neighbor's stare.

I walk street-lined forests
parking lots
businesses closed for the night
flitting by, a ghostly presence
You never would answer my
Circe-eyed stare, babbling confessions
Less caricature than urchin hiding
behind the starlit screen
You were everybody's dream
You said:  "we are our own future." 
Everyone believed.

Stopping to remember
soot-encrusted steps
smoking Marlboro cigarettes
That core of authenticity
out of boredom, nervous waiting,
demon dancing fairy tales,
skittering dreams
I didn't know at twenty
any more than I do today
Over bright subway lights
people flashing drawn and green
stop to stop
popping bursts of bubble-wrap
Iridescent jellybeans
childish play
Seated at this well-worn window
watching winter unfurl
reminded of planetary inhibitions;
starlight only entices, never means to
settle down, to calcify
Looking backward,
whispers of dust
molecules in migration

There is a viscosity to twilight
Cut from the core
fruit of neural womb, gestating decades
sluggish, subject to cravings, livid dreams
Within the secrets of the seed,
occluded aspects of beginnings,
unfolding 
petal by petal
sacred in the morning dew
enticing fragrant fields
as if myths foretell our lives

The story I tell myself
may as well
be the best I can imagine
after years of imagining
Clouds focus attention on
divisions of atmosphere
Fire burns within
unaffected by sunlight

Singing to the Chorus

Singing to the Chorus

Getting warmer
Days numbered by travelers,
barbarians rushing in to conquest.
Taken in to longer view,
tumbling through the ages ~
Sundials exchanged for
binary spiders click-clocking,
tabulating the enormous sum,
only a summary of things gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving creatures,
pulling upward from bootie straps,
scrambling for a place in the pile
near enough to the top
that derision, pouring downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of Lords.
Merrily spending the pocket-change of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big top.
Solemn children in the circus stands
betting on which clown will fall.
They speak to you of evil, o' my children,
Church Fathers swearing to the sky;
cold, withered Mums hoping for a crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of Satan,
cloven-hoofed, dancing in the circle's 
centerpoint, playing the pipes of Pan.
Oceans made of blood boil
Leading edges swelter, crisping into
conflagration.
In Summerland children play, dancing to
rollicking pipery.
Naked under beaming Moon and starlight,
they act out tales well-loved by All.

Choosing Sacrifice

Choosing Sacrifice
 
Sweet teardrop rainbow
celestial, demure
bright drops of light
clearing vision
from clouds
clean sparkling flowers
of grace
Taste enervating electricity
Feel blood bathing brain
Smell the air of change
so easy
like falling off a cliff
anyone can
In the Future
houses will be wired
to spy
'No thought crimes allowed, sir.
You'll be coming with us
for regrooving."
Cats and mice will play nicely,
or feel the juice
from which none come back
the same
This is the way the world turns
from sanity or compassion
because we are cheaper than robots.

Capital Crime

Capital Crime

Sweet old daddy
Doing his will in the night
Keeping the mamas afright
for the plight of each
beloved child, so tender
so young
He really oughta be hung!
so say the neighbors, clicking
their tongues
Take him to the magistrate
Fill his ears with the voice of hate
while he's tied, defanged, prostrate
Let our will be done!
Tie him down in a prison cell
Make him feel the wrath of Hell
'til we all are bloody well
exhausted of our fun.
No need to delete old daddy
sweeping shit and burning bones
any toil we deem atones
to repay society's loans
of wicked sowing days
assuring he damn well pays
for the pain and loss his wicked ways
marred our happy homes.

The Business of Sickness

The Business of Sickness
 
Good Day, Good Sir, Good Madam,
I do hope all is well
If not, we've got a spell
to cure what ails
You have come to just the place
Let us take your case
history
to solve the mystery,
make you quite alright,
and collect our fee
What else could be our motivation
We entered into this vocation
quite consciously
to fulfill a need society
finds compelling enough
to be shelling out to us
big magic currency
So let us take control
of your health
your wealth
Whatever you hold dear
we'll make our business here
Make a fist and let me take your blood.
 

You Are Breaking My Heart (in two)

You Are Breaking My Heart (in two)

I would take
any plea for me
He wants it real, sincere
I'm through with all of you
demands without reciprocation
rape instead of love
 

 
 
She told me:
"Suicide is futile.
Been there, done that, doesn't help."
In the back of the dark cinema
watching life pass on,
(truly, wishing you well)
through Eternity's storm 

Breaking bred

Breaking bred

Ravenous beast
born from boiling seas
rampaging barely beneath,
breaking surface
exhaling snarling flame
riotous burning blame
tidal waves that never quench
the fire
All of desire pierces through
poisonous darts
We can't help you nor allow
your hearts to heal 
not while we steal your ire
to fatten our nests
Believe you are blessed
Believe you are doing your best
to be as Creation demands
Believe you are worthless
beyond condemnation
unless you are taking the stand
prescribed and admired
If you aspire to anything higher
you must carry the brand
on your forehead or hand
must be willing to kill
in the name of loyalty
to fulfill the prophecy
to feed the Beast

Black Arts

Black Arts
 
The black hole in the room
sucking all the light
can never be seen.
Hidden in gloomy night
reflecting eternal doom
seductively serene.
 
 
 
 
Coin of the realm
Not mine; not ours
Made real by decree.
Silver and gold
more precious than
water or air.

Bitter Dregs

Bitter Dregs
 
You don't get it.
You don't want to.
It would be too much to bear
if you let yourself.
Briefly unconscious, awakened to
hard concrete ground surrounded
by heels and toes, amazing
they don't crush me, but no,
like lockstep they walk around
though occasionally a(n unmeaning?)
shove -- I'm not a someone,
just a minor obstacle
unnoted in their day.
No worries.
Not like shoved down under
hard muscle and bone
stinking of beer and rage
or waking from brief unconsciousness
to broken pain, bleeding
tears, torn, bruised, a
colorful toy
made for pleasure.
Then there are the voices, echoes
Harpies and Sirens, Furies
and sad old women, fingers
shaking in disapprobation.
The voices tell me I am beautiful,
in the way that ugly things are.
So bad, so pitiful, it gives me
status among the neverweres,
struggling shadows, whispering
curses demurely lest anyone
notice and throw them further
down.
Never easy, confessing to degradation.
The sin adheres.  No one wants to know.

bird songs

bird songs

I've been through this before
early mornings,
birds chirping into my airspace,
awake when I should be sleeping.
Good girls dream of princes,
want to be slain
by love, piercing their virtue.
Golden-throated birds in crystal cages
sing sweetly for suppers --
hair of newt, spleen of worm, smoky
incantations inducing pleasure.
Warm hearts beating do not imply love
or sentiment
Lore is explicit; there is no crime.
I am inconvenienced by the regular
comings and goings of 
the natural world.
Birds of a feather exchanging their
social pleasantries.
It is I who should be sleeping,
dreaming of brave new worlds;
random ambient sounds translated into
strange lullabies.

Rituals for Worshipping Beauty

Rituals for Worshipping Beauty


Life's a Mad Dog in Heat; But At Least There's Art

I want a poem, painting, song
to be authentic
heart to heart,
mind to mind
Not to tell me something about you;
to show me more of me.



A Woman Disappointed and Disillusioned, Courageously Facing a Seemingly Empty Life

Dressed in sadness
Depressed to madness
Mad to believe in passion,
which never lasts beyond the hour.
Shrieking to bequeath the
power to stand, to breathe.
Time appears, macabre hag
preening her wares.
"See how it was, how it could be.
Drag and drop your face, your fate
onto a printed page.  Can you see
new meaning?  New lamps for old."
She cackles, like
a metronome.
New maps for a new age.
That charming village erstwhile 
known as Hell
has realigned into Helvetica.
All that pain and sorrow
tomorrow's poetry.



Re-birth

Making love with Beauty
Engorge in her
orgasmic depths
bursting with vision
splurging potent words of
musky imagery
Worshipping Beauty
enhance her every countenance
Secret ecstasy
pleasuring 
in co-creation

slapping the beat

slapping the beat

There's always steel-eyed suspicion.  Especially when yer poor, automatically suspect, haven't got the fashion or manners expected.  Though there's plenty of blame to go around, it gets stuck right here.
Stuff happens everywhere.  Those involved get special prayers, funds raised in school fairs, helping hands clapped across their back.  Unless they live across the sacred track, have papers that don't quite pass inspection.
Of course, we get what we deserve.  If we live beyond the pale, whatever be our tale, it's up to us to serve in silent awe.  Our cross to bear, because we're born impure.  It's lovely that your source can be so sure.  Insurrection 
can't be condoned, nor endured.  Suffer in contrition for the condition of failed dreams, unseemly scraping by.  'Tis not I who makes these rules.  Thus it's ever been, will be, until we choose to honor freedom,
admit reality into negotiations for solutions, until we can agree on this experiment's conclusion.  The power of fusion surpasses the power of dissolution.

Athena's valentine

Athena fair
stalwart daughter of Zeus
graces her time and place
with divine knowledge.
Today unlined face,
silken hair,
robust yet fragile form
are proclaimed as the graces
of womanhood.
Athena, lost in the pantheon,
whispers to the nightears
of her faithful,
saying:  "True woman's mind
inclines to wisdom."
But Daddy's girl
wants more recompense
for loneliness.