Winter candles

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.

(c) January 20, 2009 Laurie Corzett/libramoon


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

(c) January 22, 2009 Laurie Corzett/libramoon



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.



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.



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.

(c) January 25, 2009 Laurie Corzett/libramoon


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


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
Engorged in her
orgasmic depths
bursting with vision
splurging words of
potent musky imagery
Worshipping Beauty
loving her every countenance,
her every secret ecstasy
Pleasuring me
in our co-creation

(c) February 9, 2009 hours before lunar eclipse


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.

(c) February 16, 2009 Laurie Corzett/libramoon



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

Get people talking,
Minds moving,
Interchanges and connections
Excitement
Generation of synergy
Diversity flowing uniting
in colorful array
Creating another day
Unlike the past
Finding magical phrases together
to break the isolating spell
our silence cast



Immolation

Red Dragon glorious
Rising to flame
Cleansed of tumbling towers,
poisonous pits,
no refuge
Caustic breath invigorates
Hard smoke billows out challenge
Burning gloriously
ember threads
seer's memory



Life Science

It's all experimental
Line, word, rhythm
Placing of feet
Meeting of eyes
Under my mind
in a quiet place
of enchantment
vast wealth of images appear
Plucking sea anemones and urchins
tasting the poison, the pain
the deep understanding that passeth
all knowledge
If we were not meant to learn
why would mistakes come so easy,
leave so hard?
Yet, where is the lesson that finds me
within your eyes?



Metaeconomics

Trading craziness for madness
Giving praise in my time of Gladness
Opening my soul to be ruled
But if in the eye of my self-made storm
I build a shelter safe and warm
You've but the power of a fool
believing wealth is gold

(c) February 2009 Laurie Corzett/libramoon


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.


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.