Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Earth sings

In the garden
()
()
In the garden
rags and broken bits,
trailing paper ribbons,
shards and excrement,
weave a picture, a scene
a thumb reel of protected vision.
The garden grows
though abandoned by light
and conscious thought.
Tangles give way to magical gates.
Imaginary flowers bloom,
twist absurd
mangling shapes,
evoke scents
unknowable in common categories.
Once the garden was ripe and lush,
fed legions,
earned prizes in the canons
of great literature.
If other gardens vied in performance,
it was for the grander glory of gardenhood.
Abundance
Lovers trysting
Children's play
Old philosophers walking,
speaking deliberately, deeply,
breathing in heaven.
A garden of substance,
tradition and grace
where sore of heart might
find tender comfort, growing wild
in sweet evening breeze,
a calming call to prayer,
mending meditation
on the ways of Earth and sky and rain.
Walking the garden,
old, papery, withered of breath,
dreaming yesterdays, tomorrows,
screaming silently
a hope too desperate to speak
for vibrant new seeds
to take root.
()
()
()
()
()(
Back to Basics
()
()
 
Walking backwards, over the cracks, the broken glass, the crying shame.
Looking in and out.  All the hostile visions I never want to see
damning me.
They say to give is blessed, when in doubt give it all away.
I say
we are each a universe, so many worlds, so many stars
we lose track
we look back
whoosh into the vastness of possible trajectories.
Without crossroads, without stones of demarcation,
we would fall upwards eternally.
()
()
I am digging a well,
a holding place for tears.
When the hole is of the right proportions
I will fashion a tight container of stone and clay.
The excavation uncovers rotten cadavers, old bones
twisted from unhealed violations, bits of broken treasures,
shattered expectations,
here and there
pieces of nursery toys no longer loved.
I crawl through the earth, exulting in sensuous pleasure.
Moving like a snake at home in the elements,
shedding my skin, becoming silky sinuous sense cells.
It is so beautiful here, under it all.
Fertile soil, made of the cast off, the ruined, the dead.
Seeds try again to perfect the expression of dna.
It would all fall together naturally.
()
()
But nature did not make me.
It was self-flagellating nurturance of worlds and stars
trying to cast off their earthly heritage.
()
()
()
()
 
Sacred Geology
()
()
 
Rich earth.
Consecrated life.
Imbued myriad layers
nourish omniscient spirit.
Starvations, immolations, decay
scarred into the land
making it holy.
Bounty of beauty
irrigated by tears
and less voluntary bodily fluids.
Teeming loam. Revitalizing
luscious fruits
giving forward.
Partaking of the feast
we are blessed,
renewed in empyreal essence.
Each at our pace,
nature’s cycle reclaims
all that we are
that we may become
yet more abundantly, complexly ()
layered.
()
()
()
()
 
 
Eclipse Dream
()
()
 
Jump!  Jittery.  Nauseous claustrophobia . . .
l e t t i n g  g o  s  l  o  o  o  w
Whoosh leap faster than my breath can catch me.
Dizzily, half-blinded, out of focus,
slant view along tree-strewn path.
Enchanted forest?
Smoke curling upward.
Gingerbread cottage in the woods.
Do I rest here, recoup my losses?
Savory soup simmers over tender hearth fire.
Shadow gloom occludes unswept corners.
Yet the center of the room
is surprisingly clean, radiant.
I sit, mantra embraced.
Nestled by magestic silk wings.
Outside winter is falling.
When I awaken from my trance
planting season will begin.
()
()
The wild rains of spring
have caught me napping.
They catch me up in torrents,
swing me along,
a cradle in the sea.
I descry mazes,
wondrous pageantry
woven into  stellar stories.
Celestial spray anoints me.
I commence secret ceremony,
believing the Earth to be my home.
()
()
()
()
 
Earth Angels
()
()
Speciesism.
That boorish arrogance.
Deaf to wisdom, portrayed in
ominous myth, faery lore.
Slay the goose;
destroy the whales.
Uproot untold trees
bearing fruits that may have
saved us staggering pain.
Crucial for well-being
microbes, photosynthesis,
symbiotic
processes ignored, misunderstood.
Focus expended on ephemeral
opinion, petty greeds and rivalries,
diatribes on evil and good.
Realities we have yet to account to,
acknowledge,
fall, collateral damage
to insolent bravado.
When will we ever let go,
rethink this mad master plan,
relinquish need to command?
 
()
()
()
()
 
 
Risen
()
()
Sky born, lifted above
Water, Earth, primordial mud.
Bare breath and lilting light waft up, carry ephemeral
tongues, frenzied yet exquisite. Exaltation, daring
to swoop, touch, climb, pirouette.
Path briefly complete in hover, amazed over
flowering waves.
Winter Gods freeze-glaze mountain peaks,
rocky rivers, mother's eyes.
She gives suck embalmed in vision trails,
engulfed in smoke of smelting flame,
gasping, tropically turning, blind, yet
beyond mistrust.  She regurgitates paste of
air, dust, instinct, steeped with spit
and love.  Taste her sacrifice.
A world drifts.  Black night backlit in
pinpricks.  Atmosphere composed like bioluminescence,
symphonic, symbiotic.  Listen as rippling elements
grow words, symbolic histories, into a Summer game.
Out here, sparkling rain weaves rainbows.  Reverence
casts poetry as shimmer and shadow play.
Up here, beyond boundaries of ordinary days,
the only Commandment to penetrate --
Be Peace
 
()
()
 
()
()
Eco-Location
()
()
It’s not the landscape, but the ambiance.
Emanant surroundings suggest fantasy motif.
Just that evocative forest green, desert rose.
Waft of lilac, vibrations of tidal reveries,
cast off, buried.  Reclaimed, exposed.
()
Gracious glory.
Terra spins through stories.
Webs of sparkle and synapse
suspend on delicate balance.
Work and love,
expression and assimilation.
Venture in search of food, air, stimulation.
Ideation, imagination, mood impels
self-aware cells, each with place
and passion.
Busy interchange
at market and field
combines power to wield, grow
beyond personal boundaries
permeable to trade, exploration,
creative generation.
Each iteration fuels further spring to
essence.
()
Gaea's laughing.
Silly scrapping scavengers
groomed in self-importance
rarely see the joke.
Long has her fete entertained.
Sol to Gaea, flirting seasons, night and day.
Eons slip through alignment.
Mud to worm
to facile mind
wondering at starlight
as constellations parade
in siren mystery.
Common wisdom, basic observation.
If river, then water and silt,
mud, clay, pottery, etched hieroglyphs,
television, robotics, space aeronautics.
Rippling along sinuous riverbed
()
I can smell the salty sands of yesteryear,
taste tears of copper, touch sparkling rain,
feel the lift of storms in formation
fill evening breeze with electric potential.
()
()
()

()

Friday, April 17, 2015

in the beginning

Pre-Genesis
 
 
Before the Beginning
Before imagination,
sound or fury,
in a wraithlike pocket
outside of time and space
none to command
none to hinder
how does the spark ignite?
Spontaneous combustion?
Multiplicities of zeroes
encircling void
before chicken or egg or seed.
Was there a silent prophecy?
If the system is closed,
nothing created or destroyed,
where does all come from?
How far can it expand?
If the system is open,
how far does it go?
If there is no system,
chaos endlessly realigning,
helpless to demand rule of law,
form but temporarily
delimiting substance,
no matter.
In our space and time
we play at definitions.
"In the Beginning . . .."
Words upon a screen,
analyzed
over millennia.
 
 
 
Genesis
 
 
In the beginning
we fell apart,
thrust out, expanding,
becoming the heart
of time, space, and life.
The division of darkness and light
into binary code,
the linear sequence of time
growing older each moment.
Catalytic stimulation, element assimilation.
Systems and cycles ignite.
Wavicles swirl in excitement,
bumping and grinding unite,
build this grand reality,
seed ethereal possibility
long before divinity
could be defined.
 
 
 
Birth Day
 
 
In the beginning,
before integral threads unfurled
for reassignment,
feral forces churned, thrashed in
throes of creation.
Telescoping backward,
witness chaotic magic
explode,
riotous storms,
vivid electricity,
eternity singing in words
unfathomable.
Over vast escapade,
threads weave into fabric.
Recognizable forms
coalesce into destinies.
This great projectile vitality,
infinitely recombining.
Locate pleasure in distinct moments
tied in gaily colored threads
for remembrance.
 
 
 
 
Be(gin)ing
 
 
Soft bliss of night.
Far drift of stars; open carless road.
Kicking up bits of stone and dust.
Saying:
I could be anyone.
I could start here.
 
What is beginning?
Aware of the first rays,
conscious aloneness.
Sunshine is harsh on
fragile skin, newly opened eyes.
 
They catch on eager forays,
studies in elucidation;
simple truth hidden in rules,
squalid mine-like cages, punishing
rewards that bind and itch.
Beginnings are not the point.
They are portals, not the
mystic river,
the sand so burning insubstantial,
the forest enchanted in
eider and lace.
Beginnings never warn of battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant possibilities.
 
A brief eternity before dawn,
supplicating the night sky for
solace, this soft moment before 
an unmarked road.
 
 
 
 
 
 
PROLOGUE
 
 
Sun and Moon embrace
as one
for brief eternity
all mystery reflects recursively within
 
Black and White
create gradation
radiate kinetic energy
We can achieve,
believe,
begin, begin, begin
 
Gardeners, planting vibrant fields,
planting food,
planting future flowering in
nurturing soil
 
Healers,
perceiving wounds
to be sewn,
relieving loneliness,
revealing pain denied,
held in; applying benevolent medicines
to salve twists of ardent toil
 
Teachers,
adoring mentors of their wards
discover with them
questions, keys and doors;
realizing history is only destiny
when explorations cease;
invitations from ideation over 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, animated acts on stage,
multi-partnered murals, painting onward age to age
Taking up the challenge of the tale
that twists, turns, meanders,
provides kaleidoscopic opportunity
ever to begin again
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Make Peace The Issue
 
 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Fools Parade

It's so cruel
all we learn in school
is mocking behavior
reciting some rule
not that life's here to savor
for each free playful fool
 
)
 
)
 
Enter dear Fool upon the Precipice, prattling ditties of daily airwaves.
She is whirling blithely, eyes upon a distant rainbow, breathing in clouds.
Breathing out daisies and daffodils and a brilliance of pansies.
She is dancing to her own symphony, entranced in her deepest essence.
Without thought, without prayer, without a government authorized identity,
there are no guarantees, no happy ending.
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
Brief infusion
of giddy illusion
glows
just enough to guilefully entice.
Sparkling Neural net
smiles,
a secret
clue revealing
purpose, meaning;
engages
wild eternal child,
ages' flamboyant fool,
Glorious
Muse
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
Here’s to the weary.
Here’s to the fun.
Here’s to the berry that makes us all young.
Here’s to the rulers.
Here’s to the fools.
Here’s to the toilers and tellers of truths.
Here’s to the end of another decline.
Here’s to the best of our time.
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
April’s Fool
 
 
A Fool I've been,
jogging behind visions,
cringing from derision,
seeking solace from a merry Moon
too soon gone old.
Peeping back on follies,
sticking pins in pain -- jolly?
no, morose, cold ...
Harridan crone.
Have my wanderings sown
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?
Daze of failure insists I mistake
castigation for a goal?
A Fool can be a cherished, merry soul,
lightly traipsing heroic mountain trails,
reveling in freezing rain and snow,
tasting bite of ice and flame without bitterness.
This I know.
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
Somnolent glide, sinuous, silvery stair.
Burnt eyes still, closed to the world.
What glimpse might I witness
if only I dare?
Is there purpose to wandering Earth?
Should I care?
But what if I'm missing the thrill?
What would carry me there?
*
Over the boundaries; into the wild.
Not a safe task to commit to a child.
A quest full of questions.
A fool's 'oliday.
And, have I mentioned,
no promise of pay.
Just a born again supplicant
reshaping the code,
creating the tale I'll tell
when I'm old.
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
Mood’s choral turns to Spring.
That special lethargy that poets faux affect,
reflective as a silver pool.
We like the love that lets us play the fool,
exudes good humor, respite from
sober shame of longing heart.
That flame, that spark that arts
wish power to capture,
that rapture.
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
Let the goodtimes roll
down fresh verdant hillside,
winter's sorrows
spilling out like seed.
Cleansed free.
Elegant foolery open to bountiful showers.
Flagrant flowers, emergent liberation.
Layered legend long ripens, tangled,
mired below in
torpid traipse through dust and gloom.
Swept into light as destiny,
revealed by labor of cultivation,
excavated, bestowed honoured place
in ritual chorus.
Celebrate
‘round hallow table, exultant vibration.
Energies blend, fuse.
Recombinant winds call timeless tunes.
Rhythmic movements re- and un- engage,
ever changing,
never wholly new.
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
Wrested from Mama's warmth, from
the cave, to play brave.
And it's ladies' choice as you squirm
in fool's corner.
Such a chore -- kissing at this
and that for a chance to score
the shame, the blame from stuck-out
tongues, the bloody laughter.
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
Penny Fools
Pound Fools
run ruinous errands,
rush past threshold of Hell
in cheap reticules.
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
Cast into a class that laughs at rules,
what holds grimy chaos at bay?
(Fools at least are pure, are gay and
without malice.)
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
 
Smoke simmering black deliciously divides while cackling
into echoes far seeking.
But there's that puppy-dog barking need for love, for
status, for a wise old fool to follow into certain death
and beyond.
Who believes these mutterings?
Who would want to?
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
I tell Your secrets
in riddles, rhythms
If those fools would but
smile and dance
the sands would fly into music
Play on
 
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
 
 
People I became over ages.
Foolish sages.
Slave to wages.
Humble servant to whomever
gave a glance.
Always ready for a game with chance,
burning bridges to
swim in fate's brave waves.
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
 
What fool would risk stability,
shame, neighbor’s hostility,
to resist?  Stripped of private self-determination,
could such fools exist?
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
What can I say?
*
There’s valid point in
all this farce?
That the fool on the precipice
dances beautifully?
No matter
what the cost
there's a prize worth the price
of steadfast duty?
There is bountiful advice
in the stars?
There's a lucky star;
and it's ours?
There is magick,
to believe in?
Requited hope, ecstatic grace?
There is more than we imagine?
There is gold in inner space?
There is danger; there are dragons?
There are knights and righteous cause?
There are chaos taming tactics  --
There are underlying laws
that we obey?
 
)
 
)
 
 
 
 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

woman's worlds

Your Philosophy
 
 
movie plot as object lesson
boys find valuable object
boys lose valuable object
boys fight to get valuable object back
 
 
I am woman born
no source of father's pride
too early in my days, they
track my aroma
I know not to hide
use me in some back room
until my womb rises with a new slave
for their diversions
 
I am sacred mother
tit tied to feeding, always feeding
(agonized bleeding in secret shame)
No more than a tether, a trough, and
tantalizer of the profane. I am a wrecked
train, a vehicle left to rust, blamed for
slatternly stagnation,
never quite thrown away.
 
Reject me; reject hard truths,
long trod on diamonds, golden geese brought
to slaughter.
Obscured like icebergs, amphibious myths
kept subdued, symbolic
work songs, prophetic exaltation,
labyrinthine gardens,
we who are only dreams in your philosophy.
 
You may well be better
stuck, your own
wheel of clay.
My lesson, when I am ready,
is to leave you to your way;
cleave to ecstasy
loose, fanciful, subjective,
heroic.
 
 
 
Athena's Gift
 
 
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.
 
 
 
Here at the bar again
 
 
Here at the bar again, bar nothing to me.
Deepest Scorpio, gusts tinged icy.
Onward toward Chumley's  2 pm Village poetry reading.
Searching outside book stall for bargains,
found a Paul Goodman
with cat and dog and baby photographs
to give to Cindy
a gift of love for a fragile child
stranger/sister.
Still affright from last night's heavy scene,
wherein the police took my man away again,
this time with my blessing and accomplicement.
. . . A man is a hard thing.
Also a drag on my developmental aspirations.
When all he does is loom and threaten
Big Brute Violence
to storm my sensibilities.
(What's frustrating is he doesn't hear me
plead for shelter.)
Laughing in the park we loved
Crying in the night we parted
Oh, beseech I, gods above:
Why must you leave me broken-hearted?
(and I know he'll be returning with more disregards
and diatribes and possibly pistol drawn to fire)
So I sit here in the bar, again.
Drinking sweet Kahlua and awaiting the poetry.
Taking a respite, you see.
Oh, Goddess, for this while,
bar nothing to this troubled child
(for child I feel, though woman grown).
Let peace alone assail me.
 
 
 
Pink and Blue
(and red all over)
 
 
Fist shakes from rage
channeled, coursing,
flailing bloodlines.
Caught, snarled,
stagnant dying ocean
willing to be taken down
from fear to violence.
Call wild arms,
breast, sinew, shame.
Chemistry surges, overplays.
One mortal coup de grace
burst sword to heart
that never lived
beyond desire.
 
If man is fire, dissolved
into greater waves,
why does Woman weep?
Why does not the flood
of pain absolve and
succor?  Why should fate
deny blessings of mortal
release in wash of blood
to lady fair,
snakes and thistles to braid her hair,
expose her tortured face?
Eyes that kill in silence,
stone lips, wrinkled nose,
washed out in times of
stoic denial.  Why must
she kneel, vile, victim
of violence, not its cause?
Who makes these laws of
natural selection?
Who takes the stone?
Who takes the stone's projection?
 
 
 
 
 
cubicle woman
 
 
The moments slither by if you forget they're there.
Sucking in sweetness,
hot sugared coffee, aroma of memory.
It might be a sluggish, clammy
descent of 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, subdued.
It doesn't matter that we are never more than strangers,
passing faces, complaisant.
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.

Monday, February 2, 2015

for Brigid

Bearing Water for Brigid
 
 
Sketches for a water vessel --
united, bottle and message elide on waves.
Voice of Brigid calls.
All who hear: Imagine.
Exposed to wind, to grit, to rain,
shifts of vibration,
rock faces erode.
 
Vessel
Designated fixed space
Seaworthy container
Conveyor through fluid
separates
fluidity
Creates place, surface to paint
tableaux for amusement,
diffusion of emotion,
beatitude against foment of dueling farce.
 
Harsh edges polished,
pure shades
blend in the dark.
Brief infusion
of giddy illusion
glows
just enough to guilefully entice.
Sparkling Neural net
smiles,
a secret
clue revealing
purpose, meaning;
engages
wild eternal child,
ages' flamboyant fool,
Glorious
Muse
 
(Voice pours from within)
 
A wound is a sacred vessel.
Pain carves into flesh
sense memory;
carries the seed
of its own demise.
Sentience
engulfed in life
learns anew to be whole.
 
Wounded with the potential for wisdom
when eyes are are pried
from seeping, sucking, suffering
aching to censure what future we admire.
Redefine the schizm.
This wound is our project.
To heal, discover the vision;
realign the seam to fit
self-framed landscape.
 
Let loose that genie of desire.
Ride rushing blood streams.
Build a roaring pyre of grief,
insane belief in wrath-filled deities.
Revile that old refrain: "life is pain" or a game
to be lost.
No Faustian bargain.
Just a 
rambling adventure
daring
to explore
essence of ecstasy.
Don't wait for the rest to see
and demur.
Stretch your sail.
Take sight of your guiding star.
The only failure is self-denial
in favor of the vile lie
that pain is destiny
instead of faithful friend
lending energy
for change.
 
Slice vivid memories.
Exult in the tastes, the textures.
Enliven your way.
 
In the end
the vessel breaks.
There the Goddess stirs.
 
 
 
Scrying on the Moon
 
 
~twilight of the goddess, call to song aery dancing, lady fair your fiery trance rewinds our souls; enjoy these offerings of fancy: all art is yours ~
 
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 tight 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,
disperse through 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"
 
 
 
Goddess’s Way
 
 
With passion!
Outpouring elixir fills our mythic spring.
Sparkling flame of peace abides within,
licks battle wounds.
Not ignorant fools;
no pleas for altruist beliefs.
Relief of hunger completes us.
No cunning deceivers could ignite malice,
steal our good.
Unbalanced need reaches to heal through
magical interchange.
Energies when well-purposed, understood,
replenish, undiminished.
Why meanly measure 
scores in morality play at “who deserves”?
Healthful work, flowing contribution, 
bestows focal point for cyclic rain’s reward.
Fortune’s gift, this benevolent wishers’ well,
replete Goddess blessing.
Sacred vessels,
dip in for contentment, good will, joyful
self-regard.
This is not belief or even knowing.
This is breath of awe in motion.
 
 
 
Bride’s
 
 
Novitiate strong and true, my Lord.
Trained to service as is due, my Lord.
Sweep snowy threshold; chop roots for stew,
my Lord.
Domicile clean, tidy, warm.
Hearth fire charmed; wicks ready to light at dark’s release.
Kitchen enchantment, smells that spell succulent sup.
Holiday breads, hunt’s victory,
fruit sweet and spiced, preserved against winter’s insurgency.
Stalwart, luscious vintage ever replenished to
toast-raising cups.
Fragrant pipe passed ‘round; copious wine.
Feast sumptuously satisfied.   Night of dance
with hallowed candles cast in magic.
Rhythms wax and wander, discover heroic tales, grand to recount.
Bawdy poetry regales, playful competition gains momentum.
Energy escalates, fans profound merriment.
Family, beyond embarrassment, drunk on high spirits and love.
Goddess blesses, gently kisses, wafts through
artful celebration.