May Day 2012

Imagine May Day

Brazen witches fly, legends say,
dark Moon nights; arise, stealthy, silent
in their joyous revelry.
Bonded to Earth's creation;
learning at mother's breast
to manage life's gifts and lessons.

Historic Man may proclaim, may murder
for fealty, to swear allegiance to
their hunt's command.
They may elevate their One True King
to kneel and obey.  They may employ
counting measure, ceremony and sacrifice,
taunting and torture or other trials
thus finding for each loyal swan a pond
to plunder, to parade in royal colour,
their place of pride.

Cruelty descends, more master than tactic;
it is the enemy of joy, of flavor,
bonding, works of love and honor.

Yet men, on real ground, work companions
to soil and rain, engineers trained to each
moment's urgencies, philosophers of stone and mud,
reason and toil, persist.  Their sinew and bone feed
the ages, build clay and richness on which
wealth relies.

Wisdom knows the sweat of practiced movement,
flexible to unexpected obstacles, able to modulate
quiet or loud as the crowd ebbs
or grows in credulity.
Where wisdom seeps through, counters
prevailing poisons, invigorates blood to nourish
minds and hearts, look there for blessing.

Arise, lovers!  Bring forth better days,
ours to play in open revelry,
neighbors enjoying shared labors and our fruit.
Accept truth of magic; imagine life into this world.

Beltane 2012

30th day of Poetry Month

Resonant words align.

Mystic energies manifest, 

call to neural chambers: "Come to play!"

Sparkling children firefly dance.

Innocence against a random nightscape

(humbling the wise with unknown unknowns).

 

The moment flown, eyes carry to the next entertaining bit.

We've had our fun, perhaps an epiphany or two.

 

Inner ears listening,

merrily engaged in lingering song.

May dance displayed as heady words

sparkle.

Mystically lit fireflies

resonate without end.

 

 

April 30, 2012

poetry month day 24 (after Earth Day 42)

metawakening

 

 

Sharal the Hunter runs from the Warrior of Destruction.  She has lost all honor, all reason, all possessions but the skins that cover her.

Her village burns, all she has known forever ashes. 

This ought to be a nightmare.

Here, now, it is horribly ... overwhelming.

Heart, blood, breath, these are what matter understands.

Mind is elsewhere.  It has screamed into submission, reptilian --

Heart, blood, breath.

 

 

Terror reverberates

shakes tree limbs, wavers

vision.  Terror waits ahead.

Grabbing strength enough to veer,

steer clear,

running thoughtless through loss,

unafraid of the unexpected, uncharted,

new.

Unencumbered by old terrors,

expectations.

Ready by necessity to make do,

to start from simplest principles.

Who am I, today?

Tomorrow will take care

of itself.

 

 

April 24, 2012

Gifting Gaea has emerged

Emerging Visions visionary art 'zine #22

 

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

 

 

On Earth Day (April 22) 2012, our Gifting Gaea has emerged.

Share our Gift; Enjoy our Earth; Blessed Be

 

 

 

 

Sense caressing meadow

Green grain and brilliant petals

Lovely buzzing, lively hopping

Warm, yellow light at play

Luscious wash of pleasure

Fragrant, rolling, mellow 

Miles of flowering moments

Celebrate today

420 for Poetry Month

420 2012

 

 

Dazzling Genie, weaving scenes of wizardry

upon the dusty window of my gaze.

Champion of crazy crippled dreamers, lazily

giving wing o'er wondrous glades. Simple,

serene days; nights of stars, Moonbeams,

ecstatic serenades, mystics' bliss.

My nightmares exchanged for a kiss of your majesty;

enduring pain relearns its place, energy

refocused by your trail.  Enthralled, at peace,

inspired by your tales of labyrinth space and time.

Honoured, awed by your divine gift, I become

at one

with grace

 

 

4/20/2012

Poetry Month Day 18

Picture This

 

 

Miles of silken meadow

Green grain and brilliant petals

Lovely buzzing, lively hopping

Warm, yellow light at play

Mellow, serene 

Luscious wash of pleasure

Rolling flowered meadow

Fragrantly clean

 

Humming jewels of moments,

Senses open

Bare, free dancing

Caressing grassy meadow

Awakening dream

 

 

April 18, 2012

Poetry Month Day 17

Sacred Calling 

 

 

Cloistered for warmth in this area between.

I've learned its scenery, like lattice worked into my eyes.

Slowly turning toward a wise relief, pausing at this door,

portal to awesome wonderment, pure radiant bliss

dispelling knots of pain and betrayal.

Magnetic psyche searing brand,

archetype of mystic dreams carried through

into the world of Man -- I come to the promised land,

potent stream of prophecy. 

Commanded, I lay down my burden, weight against my back

of gathered assets I was certain to require.

Freed to meet my mission, to accept desire,

immortal pleasure, the opportunity to sketch,

to draw out beauty, to paint leisurely upon prism glass.

Have I reached the bridge upon the crossroads, the glimmering?

Magick's sea through which I now may travel, native soul

returned, having earned my keep, my long journeyman's

wage.  I have looked at age, a deep reflective pond.

A wild road calls, beyond this threshold, sculpted by

oceanic power, drifts and meteors.  I feel self-created destiny

shudder slowly, seismically, move me as I prepare

 

 

April 17, 2012

 

halfway through poetry month

Class Conscious

 

We make them monumental in our minds

Assertively attest:  "They're not our kind.

How dare they go disguised in human form!"

How dare they speak, to criticize the norm?

To suggest some claim to what I've mined,

refined to specs we define as wealth?

How dare these filthy beasts expect my help,

relief for degrading and disease, consequences

of our industry?

on the 12th day of Poetry Month

Glow World

 

Go with the glow, bioluminescent
inscrutable bright night flare
a grove of ashes
a nest of vipers
a tangled garden lair
 
The forest is old,
wild road stained in adventure,
obscured in ghosts and mysteries,
sculptured by drifting seas, meteors,
exulted pleasure,
eternal embrace of decaying leaves, sad savagery.
There is primal fire here.
Glowing coals that never relented
keep warm our restless slumber,
feeding us through famine
burnt remnants, perennial weeds, piquant renderings.
The glow screams of escape --
our demons free
through fingertips, lips, oozing.
Cauterized wounds re-inflame, never heal.
Scenery, like lattice work
slowly turning toward a wise relief, pauses at this
portal.
Destiny
shudders seismically.
Angels of light,
diamonds in the night
shatter into rainbows -- pristine
honour, repose, strength --
of charismatic grace.
Go with the glow.

 

April 12, 2012

poetry month days 1, 2, 3 (year of prophecies)

Pageantry

Could Christian Fundamentalism be the dread AntiChrist,

and greedy Wall Street his ravenous Beast?

Could the Second Coming be prides of young

claiming back the streets?

Could Prophecies feared and hoped

to bring Sinners to our knees

to lift the Holy into just reward

by Blessed Hero's mighty sword

defending, avenging the meek --

Could that parade be before us,

just not the scene we believed,

preached to prove the righteous right?

Has the final fight foretold been taking form,

storm clouds positioned for a hard rain to fall,

untidy time of transition as soothsayers call,

alarm bells chime?

Is the end of this trial of dependence nigh?

Can we break the Jesus code, create out of

Apocalypse our own golden age, reign

of Peace?

 

 

April 3, 2012

We Didn't Know

 

Efficient development requires deprivement

No profit, no playground to feel alive in

Those few groomed for career cheer, mocking

"Can't you hear; that's freedom knocking."

"Work for rent, or stay in school, dude."

You get no cake for being a loser.

Orwell warned "Big Brother is watching."

We didn't know he meant on you-tube.

We didn't know our life was a crime

Sentenced from birth to pay all our time

Cast from the truck to the roadside to rot

Drawn outside of luck, all about what you're not.

Media screams their required truth feud.

Sell saturated garbage labeled food.

Orwell warned; we were warned:

"The best of you will be co-opted."

We didn't know they meant on you-tube.

 

 

April 2, 2012

Scryed from my mind, upon this cyber page

 

It's not that everything old is new again;

or that nothing unique arises under the Sun.

Creative thinkers derive and develop ideas

already in their psychic maze.

Meanwhile, unfazed, unasked reality evolves

along its merry way.

New maps for old appear each day.

Most of us just follow the crowd,

caught up in focus on our current task,

using what tools come to hand,

what we've been taught.

(Badmouth the disorderly man -- the message lost,

never usefully discussed.)

We want to believe in stability,

in natural laws that are fair and make sense.

Convinced, we are happier to float in a bubble

outside of duration,

insured against consequence

of change.

 

 

April 1, 2012

(from a fool's journey)