Monday, April 30, 2012

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
Mystically lit fireflies
resonate without end.
April 30, 2012

Monday, April 23, 2012

poetry month day 24 (after Earth Day 42)

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,
Unencumbered by old terrors,
Ready by necessity to make do,
to start from simplest principles.
Who am I, today?
Tomorrow will take care
of itself.
April 24, 2012

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Gifting Gaea has emerged

Emerging Visions visionary art 'zine #22
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

Friday, April 20, 2012

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

Wednesday, April 18, 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

Tuesday, April 17, 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

Sunday, April 15, 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?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

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
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

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

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


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)