Friday, June 20, 2014

poems of summers past

 
Welcome to Summer
 
 
Myth-laced lunar light,
infuse long summer days
with magic and romance
a’glee in joyous play.
Wild fantasy takes flight
above earth’s rule-bound maze.
Passionate heat-stirred night awaits.
 
            Waves of windblown flowers blooming
 
            Scent enlivens sense to peak
 
            Warm, warm breeze and rivers flowing
 
            Endless miles running free
 
            Let summer magick build up steam,
 
            simmer into thrills supreme
   
        ‘Tis season raised to rejuvenate
 
        So play on ...
 
 
 
 
Be(gin)ing
 
 
Soft Summer night.
Far drift of stars; open car-barren road.
Kicking up bits of stone and dust.
Remarking:
I could be anyone.
I could start here.
 
What is beginning?
Aware of the first rays,
conscious aloneness.
Summer is harsh on
fragile skin, newly opened eyes.
 
They catch on eager forays,
studies in mimicry;
simple truth hidden in proverbs,
squalid temporal 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
to ride along home.
 
 
 
 
peaceful moment
 
 
Like a warm evening on the beach, all woozy from sunshine.
Tingle of sea breeze, that ocean scent of the wild.
As the sun recedes, cooling, refreshing, yet still a lazy summer eve.
Oh that luscious feeling, that overflow of quiet liberty.
In and out of drowsy reverie, so gently washing through pools, reservoirs
of elation.
Like languid balmy breath caressing.
 
We give what we can; we take what we need.
Marching, in orderly fashion.
Or beatifically skipping to a sacred beat.
The horizon shifts through daily duties, nightly prayers.
We take what we can. We give.
Without edict, without rational equation,
we give each outward breath, and take in what is given.
 
Like happy inspiration, song springs from memory to lip,
moves the fortunate mind into momentary ecstasy of music.
Moments meant to linger, to haunt as loving ghostly guardian.
Wrapped in ethereal glow of grace's reward.
Summoning iridescent spirits to play joyfully,
ubiquitous harmonies.
Like the words we tell ourselves to bring us peace.
 
 
 
 
Joy to the Season
 
 
The Moon is adrift in the wind above
our sheltering craft in the sea
and all the world of Summer is ours
to ride the fire, toast to the stars
sway with warm desire, open our hearts
create a Summer of Love
 
Celebration waves the streets, with drums,
lucid bells, a call to play
Carnival cheer brings heat to flame
Chants blend to sing with drinks and games
Grand gestures expand, to applaud such a day
fueled by smiling Sun
 
 
 
 
Midsummer
 
 
Of course you come to listen.
Intoned to woo your fascination,
whispered primal code from lucid crystal climes.
Warmly floating on cool jazz,
mellow wine,
intimate, intoxicating garden party
'midst apparitions of simpler time.
Back from the rabbit hole.
Back from New York City, Boston,
Detroit, LA ...
from yet another backstabbing
grind everyday.
Rewind, recall.
Fog dense morning walk
along a rocky roadside,
unruly hair, distant eyes.
Tumble
into
song singing hallelujahs,
place of play, haunted
by pretty memories
tinged gold in sunshine.
Midsummer twilight,
fairytales brought back from sleep.
Sprinting across that abyss,
goblin mouths, hungry ghosts.
No longer keeper of my brethren's sorrows,
I don mischievous costume,
stomp out power, glory,
love gentle as a summer evening's rain.
Blossoming countryside,
dandelions and clover,
bounty of Earth blooms with elfin escapades.
Listless children whine.
"Why does no one let us rise?"
A world of sullen children
overdue for naps and coddling,
blueberry jam at teatime.
Flourishing prophets,
delectable, potent, wise
in the ways of demons,
oracles, gypsy Queens,
ascend into sacred muse-ways.
Every day a new day,
standing ground against a grinding
down to profit’s dust.
It can't be a secret
if nobody's listening.
But, listen:
places in your mind
will answer.
 
Each bounding leap more distant.
Inviting opulence, opening vistas
vastly
flowering.
 
 
 
 
Three Penny Opera and Grateful Dead:
What They Mean to Me
 
 
I was listening,
under a shadetree on a summer evening,
to the morals of our time as displayed
in popular music,
and thinking of the many tiny travesties
of personal moments all around me.
The seatide ebbing/flowing of the music
more than hypnotized
as I watched people flowing
through an inner newsreel
of pride and misery.
People marching in various uniforms
to a beat of pride and progress in the marketplace
and war zones;
people marching or being trampled or
sniping from the rooftops
all in rhythm.
And a friend said to me
on a starlit evening,
"It's so hard to know anymore what to do."
 
 
 
 
A Dog Carrying a Frisbee Is a Very Nice Thing
 
 
Sunny Sunday, summertime seaside breezes
Bicyclists, joggers, old men asleep on benches
Rollerskaters, sunbathers, and sailboaters
A dog carrying a frisbee is a very nice thing
As are the shade trees and greenery
and rippling blue river
under a blue and white sky
overlooking Cambridge, MA.
I tell you this to let you know
There sometimes is a perfect day.
 
 
 
 
The Longest Day
 
 
Earth of sea and land and air
ignited into opportunistic luminance
by her mother star.
Energy for you and me to
burst into bloom
flit fly in
busy devious thievery
cacophonous ramble.
 
Surging through veils,
storms breathe ice, sand,
the fire of prophecy,
the flood of repentance.
Glacial migration
bequeaths rage, rampage,
rapacious gratuities
boiling beneath.
It's not winter here, nuclear quiet;
all's right for the longest of nights.
Not yet.
The eternal balance:
rocks, meteors, dark
inconsistencies with
metaphors of the righteous,
pilgrims past the age of bowing to scriptures.
Tomorrow, the Sun will rise.
The Earth will revolve.
Life will adjust, compromise.
After the workday, we celebrate
potent evening light.
 
 
 
 
Under Solstice
 
 
Swinging
in phase
with natural rhythms.
Shadow to light
entrained
with greater cycles.
Time through space.
Do ages collide?
Do stars expand
into tragic brilliance?
Do simple little twists
change worlds and consciousness?
Very early in the day,
just beyond the penumbra
of night, as magic
clashes with reason:
That color so enriches
my palette.
 
Air giving way to water.
Arid emptiness anticipates days filled with
joyful abundance,
emotional sailing on vast
turbulent (and/or) calming seas.
The desert is so fragrant
exotic, mystically inviting.
Dusk whirls of wilding sands,
stoic creatures,
surprising discoveries.
The desert in forms, sculpts,
creates crannies of secret
delight throughout my imagination.
A no-man's land where cognition
can hear inspiration
blow through, encompassing
senses.
I will not leave the desert.
I will merge with its becoming,
allow imminent floods
to rise into thirsty pores
rendering sand squishy, unsettling
into ocean floor.
 
Ride with me.
Open raft beneath firmament,
unguided, unplanned, unafraid.
Changing winds have always been my home.
 
Enclosed against starlight.
Sacrosanct images
meander,
keep close their
mystical meaning.
A touch, a brush,
an entanglement.
Awake in the dream,
breathing cool greens,
intense shadings,
pregnant intimacies
bursting into
the magic of life.
 
Trail of effervescent Mercury's abandon.
Charming trickster,
plays upon seasoned winds  -- Quicksilver surf.
Exhale old air’s detritus.
Inhale and whoosh,
under sea-change brew.
Sentimental, far from gentle,
whirlwinds gasp; ambitions,
expected conditions,
wavering memory,
caught up in flying breeze.
Blown out to wailing ocean,
forgotten gills respond --
mer-mind wakes.
 
 
 
 
City Summer
 
 
Let the games begin.
Let the long luxurious summer days begin.
Let us harken back to when
our schooldays' end
would send our thoughts adrift through 
    dazzling fields
    of daisies and daffodils;
    sandlot games & swimming holes and
    endless flights for fantasy's fulfillment.
And let us not forget the nights.
The hot & sticky summer city nights
that send us to the streets in colorful array
    like firefly lights.
Joking & drinking and starting sudden fights
'til the thunder rumbles through and blessed
cooling rain relieves hot-headed strife.
 
As the heat-soaked summer skies once more descend,
let us drift down sleepy sun-drenched streams
till summer ends . . . .
 
*

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

theme party

New American Century
 
 
 
After Shock and Awe
booms  transitional time
of untidiness
 
We bombed in Baghdad
now fight over meanings and means
to clean up this mess
 
Let common folk suffer,
pay daft debts of hubris
compounded and raised.
 
Buttressed by destruction
against the rest of the world,
triumph of the crazed.
 
 
 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Sagittarius Full Moon

astral vision
 
 
Mystery mists of history holy lightening heightening sky.
Desirous anticipation.
Early pinks ascend from eerie violets.
Sun’s lifting eye twinkles like a happy kitten,
tummy exposed for adoration.
Omens, prophecy, hope for enduring happy returns,
quests beyond horizons now observed.
(without gravity, how can we fall ... or love?)
Aching for stars, planets, infinite,
silent assent that means all is promised.
I touch a cosmic peak,
breathless at such altitude.
 
 
 
Sagittarius Full Moon
 
 
The many faces of illusive Moon
reflect starlight in her artful glide,
entrance the sky.
My mortal eyes want to believe
gleaming quests, brave truths, romantic rhymes.
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in sacred moonlight,
swaying from your ivied castles
to mystic mountain
legendary glades,
tell me why I should give credence
to magic codes of
spells and sacrifice.
Is the wisdom of the ages
so constrained?
My species may be blind to
naked eternity,
but we mutate,
find and define
new ways to see.
Fixed space is far too limiting
for me.
Dear Sister Moon, separate entity
from birth, entwined destiny
with Mother Earth,
patterns re-cycling reveal
what we regard to be real
is but reflection.
Face to face to face, fluid

to change.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

may-june

Fish Tale
 
 
I didn't know the fish would die
flapping on sun-warmed metal.
Peacefully domestic afternoon.
Children discover death
and other worlds.
 
Sitting by the well
to draw inspiration.
Spinning yarn, weaving words.
Dusty work.  Flakes of skin
embed the fabric.
Struggling through childhood,
the tales get twisted.
Little boys & little girls
separate language.
We think we know our place,
our destinies,
from the games we're given,
the words we've learned to imitate,
rhymes, reasons, rituals.
Imbibing passion body to body,
we awaken rules of blame.
The woman tempts.
The hero conquers.
The sad boy desires a
self-fulfilling fantasy,
stomping upon his heart to
start the flow of real blood,
real rage.
Out of water, out of earth,
out of air,
flopping upon some inert surface
the tale mechanistically repeats.
What world can we discover
nurturing life?
 
 
 
 
bird songs
 
 
I've been through this before,
pre-dawn morning
birds chirping, infiltrate my airspace,
awake when I should be long oblivious.
Good girls dream of princes,
subliminal desire to be slain
by love piercing enshrined virtue.
Gold hued birds in crystal cages
incant witchery for food --
hair of newt, spleen of worm; smoky
syllables induce pleasure.
Warm hearts beat together, no bond
of pact
or sentiment.
Lore is explicit; no crime to commit.
Vexed, inconvenienced by the regular
comings and goings of
the natural world.
Birds of a feather exchange their
social pleasantries.
It is I who should be sleeping,
conjuring brave new worlds;
ambient noise translated into
neoteric lullabies.
 
 
 
duet
 
 
Rambling through fields of daisies in spring.
Hoping to find a new feeling.
Coming to terms with what each moment brings.
I'm making a bargain with time.
 
Not getting tired of running around.
But wanting to know where I'm going.
Trying to measure my meaning in sound.
Trying to keep it in rhyme.
 
Hoping to answer a call to my heart.
Quest for passionate focus.
Adrenalin pushing, I'm ready to start.
Making a bargain with time.
 
 
 
 
FAE OPERA (excerpt)
 
 
A joyous encounter with life
A joyous encounter called my life
I've swung from trees in tropical climes
And swum the seas of paradise
And learned to breathe upon the earth
You've got to see me; you've got to listen
to these wonders that I've learned
 
Traveling, traveling a hard-stoned road
Working my legs, my back, carrying my load
Journeying for countless years
Seeking out the sea of tears
Eyes bound behind innocent’s lace veil
I break my trail
(As in my mind my song unwinds my tale)
 
A marvelous secret, a hidden treasure trove
While unicorns play harpsichord
within a blossomed grove
A newborn child with something wild that
plays in rainbowed eyes
Has been declared of druid laird
Born to hypnotize
Been borne to hypnotize
Sing lullabies
Reward all the heathen with sleep
And dreaming dreams as such who waken
Find their very core earthshaken
Thus made to believe in possibilities
They set their sites, reshaping all reality
And of them they've begotten me.
 
Sound the magic pipes of Pan
All who hear may understand
The fluid waif who walks the land
Spawn of Diana's fling
With the clove-foot forest king
 
Vibrate to music, music, music
In every cell of living fluid
'Tis alright to be a druid
Of forest borne to roam through future lands
Touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me
Become my hands.
 
Floating, wandering, restless shades
Call me to respond.
 
I rode a mountain faire
Picked daisies for my hair
Learned to know the name of every weed
I dwelt the night alone
In a crevice made of stone
And never thought of what I next would need
I dreamt of castles bold
And the language of the Olde
And struggled to bring my dreams alive
And whistled as I rode
The songs I'd oft been told
At parties seen
In waking dream
Another place and time
Another tune, another rhyme
And I'd sit beside my campfire
And gaze into the flames
And yearn of learning other places,
Atune to other names
Traveling over other lands,
Seeking secrets, other plans
Or just remembering another song
For the secret of each soul is in its song.
 
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Twisting twig upon an aery sea.
Luminescent way
Whatcha gonna say
Songbird, whistle your wisdom to me.
 
A maid of golden wings
In lullabying sings
Of white sails racing in the wind.
No two are e're the same
Of the tales she can name
Oh, nightingale -- take me in!
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Journeying upon a vessel rare
Silently I sing
To hold remembering

Magic castles in the air.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

555

E.L.F.  5/23/14
 
 
Please, never mock at Eris
Lest Eris mock with you
She of star hot temper
fells any who upset Her
You haven’t got a clue
 
It isn’t that you’re stupid
Or even that She’s wise
but that’s She’s wildly puissant
You aren’t dealing with Cupid
mere love spells to hypnotize
 
She wields power of Chaos
She cares not about Right
No honor for high status
What Eris wants She fabricates
from that within Her sight
 
Will charged up with magic
Slights small or large revenged
Express desire, She grabs it
Though for you it’s tragic
She laughs and strikes again
 
Best mortal, mock not Eris
Lest Eris mock with you
Unfazed by fear nor reason
She razes as She pleases

You haven’t got a clue

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Under a Wesak Moon

Under a Wesak Moon
 
 
...here we plug along.  Sense is a human
construct. 
Silent knowledge that can’t
be quantified, measured.  It is more subjective,
contextual, subtle,
ethereal. 
Yet vital. 
Such instinct, lore, ought
not be lost, drowned in prideful ownership,
nor discounted for quick profit on the popular market.
 
Traveling through water.
Unraveling.
Rebelling.
Revel in loud telling
fancy tales for a shilling.
Skillfully fade; still outside of jail.
Intimate with rambling river --
advised never expect a binding code.
Love ‘em or hate ‘em
we club ‘em and mate
‘cause it’s all we know.
Tomorrow is only a threat.
Tonite is the moment we met.
To live by chance of regret could do us wrong.
Listen to me.  I’m a song.
 
Why invoke Love, so imprecise an instrument,
when desire craves divine-like acceptance,
adoration of sparks within us,
all that can inflame
madness, empathy, a symphony, a cure for anything.
Love can become rational answer if the world of we
define it as sanity. 
Health, enlightened cooperation, love’s inspiration
to keep us all at the top of our form.
Love fresco of swooping angels,
vowed to fly us to our highest goal.
Bliss,
aspiration enriched.
Taste bittersweet long accumulated heritage.
That metallic tang of blood, carbon bonds descended
through rock, dust,
skeletons deconstructed to reclaim from waste.
Black swans, dragons, screeching birds surge through flame,
ever re-emerging,
carry potential energy into consecrated deserts.
Sleep well in comfort of serene will. 
Tomorrow

we learn to bloom.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

mother eve

Mother and Child Meditation
 
 
Think back to the bond between Mother and Child
Do you imagine it broken by
internal jealousies, shyness against intimacy,
cringing before angry gods of tribal culture,
dying of a thousand casual wounds, volleys
of will and grievance cast into fragile frays?
Or do you see a pageantry of unfailing matriarchs.
Strong sons and daughters waltz in attendance.
Flowers bloom from every slip of finery into
fecund mud.
Mothers of our species tend toward
adaptability, bear challenge of balance.
Trying out touted trends, begging for guidance
when their own experience ill fits today's
terror and tantalization.  Always someone must
be blamed; sentiments must be appeased.
Where is the ease, the joy, the sharing up and down,
familial care and comfort?  Where is that not our fair
Command?
A child is a gift to the future; a mother is a gift
of nature and nurture.  Each brings, receives
all imaginable possibilities.  Each is a present day.
 
 
 
another road song
 
 
Not all mothers are loving.
Not all grandmas are kind.
DNA can marry hate, terror.
People arrive shamed in error,
in need of mentors, friends that share
connection,
release rejection, reverse lessons from
blighted start.
Transformance art merged with concentration,
consecration to a sane desire --
What would we require?
 
 
 
 
I remember
 
 
Mother mine,
I tried to mother you.
What did you do?
You lashed me from behind,
expected more from anger
than kind eyes, caressing smiles.
Intimated I endangered your true child,
who followed, the one
resembling you.
Scapegoat for resent to represent your robbery,
unfaithful promises not of my time.
 
No regrets.  No graveside confession
of apology.  I have learned to be
a creation of my own obsessive mind.
 
 
 
Eternal Chao
 
 
Eternal rumination through
tangled elaboration.
Taking respite a nonce
to enjoy the adventure,
or stationed to caverns of woe
for a decade or so.
No dragons nor maidens have I,
no trade in answers.
Conveyed by sky,
falling as I yearn to
through luminous translucence,
layers gorgeously etched.
Glorious.
Feathered and free.
Reassurance, Earth’s embrace; firm, gentle.
I tell the ache of ages:
break out, grow
angelic arms.  Malleable,
able to reach each troubled
artery.  Ease the anger,
dissipate insanity.
I am Mother, Daughter, Holy Crone.
I am eternally
my own.