awaiting the new

 

Winter Sky

 

 

Straw sky

Westerly

Moonless, Sunless, Starless

Leaveless trees point gnarly fingers

to the heavens

deepening into darkness.

 

Frayed and tattered demons

Lucid praying

A feeling beyond touch

Beyond fear or sadness

A feeling unlike hope

Without reason

Formless

Yet delineated

Like constellations

 

I make motions with my hands,

move my skin into contact

with ineffable realms.

Move, oozing miasma.

Creating signs in faint luminescence.

Bit by bit they encompass

the night's horizon.

 

But there is more.

It comes to me in brief emanation.

Droning, encircling, swooping in and out.

I organize a study chamber.

Pull out maps and ruler.

Set my quill to taking notes.

Images engaged in excited conversation

pull me in to their heady company.

 

I can feel the sky breaking around me.

Bits of colored prisms falling.

Make a wish.

 

 

 

 

And Why Not Now?

 

 

The 4th dimension embraced to spatial 3.

Length, width, depth --

will may move within.

Yet we travel always in time,

whether we want or even know.

Ever onward through duration;

moment to moment

encompassing all of our lives.

 

And yet they say there is no time,

only now.

 

Every precious second, every interminable hour,

every slippery slovenly unrelivable day,

an unrelenting onward and inward and outward,

soulesque surrounding.

 

Where is now?

Yes, everywhere, of course, but how do we divine,

make sense,

manifest intention,

measure meaning to instant that

expands into infinite unknown?

 

How do we comprehend what extends true and real,

stands the test of time,

that continuous emergence, strands

playing in the breeze entangling and evolving?

 

How do we tame Now

and make a dance of time, swinging and swaying,

executing formal twirls of shadow

and light to uplifted applause?

 

How do we account for time,

yet spend it like raindrops,

yet savor forever awakening?

 

If it must be done, it must be done now!

There is no waiting room in eternity.

Yet there is no being done.

There is only doing, and being,

and bravely swimming uncharted seas.

 

 

 

Not with a Bang

 

 

Stillness.

Light calmly shines

through bare-branch silhouettes.

Ice, frozen in time

sparkles, giving no reasons.

Still.  Cold.

Natural cycles.

Out on the battlefield of man,

brutal bleeding,

shattering of bones and dreams

too loud and crazed

to be heard

reverberating in shattered brains.

Once a molten planet

shot out of star stuff

creating plains and seas,

rocky terrain,

spinning so merrily

with no idea of sadness

set into motion.

Spiraling cycles.

In crystal stillness

frozen tears break and fall

slowly, silently, into time,

knowing not what we have wrought.

 

 

 

 

ago and away

 

 

    Long ago and far away

    In the inner plains of time

    A fair voice was heard to say

    We will meet to love someday.

 

    Through centuries of waking dream

    Varied tongues have shared the rhyme

    Each meeting, new though it may seem,

    Another pattern in the scheme.

 

    Running now through you and me

    A thread, a wisp of fleeting song --

    An ever-mending tapestry --

    This treasured bit of life we see.

 

 

 

awaiting the new

anticipating deleting

old reviews,

debts no longer due

hoping that greeting

"Happy!  Celebration"

proves true

 

12th month - 21

What year has this been?

Caught up in days’ parade; now take it in.

Peaceful moments safe with friends and kin.

Joys of open grace, sad tinge of want.

Simple blessings, taunts of goals beyond.

Under rambling clouds, upon solid ground,

jaunty walk intent on happy thoughts.

 

 

December 21, 2013

http://yprophecies.wordpress.com/

Remember, remember the 8th of December

In Remembrance

 

 

Imagine no John Lennon

His visions undescribed

No Beatles to remember

That music still inside

Imagine all the people

Never crying when he died

to unite through imagine Nation

 

More than a generation ago today

A madman blew our Lennon away

Yet, the import of what he had to say

Can not be taken

 

It is up to us who know

His words are seeds to sow

We can help his message grow

as inspiration

 

 

12/8/13

happy Sagittarian celebration

music of the spheres

 

 

In the quiet of night sky

while starlight and peace prevail

a haunting rhythm,

music of the spheres,

slowly soars, entrances,

embracing fear,

kissing taunt of pain away.

Well into darkness, watching, 

hoping for a passing meteor

to swoop down and carry me

far into another space,

where kindly constellations

tell stories of joy and thanksgiving.

Celestial fusion crackles and strains

like an old jazz recording.

Melodies of another age

written on a mighty, sacred wind

told like Homeric verse

by the wanderers --

heavenly nourishing guides

leading us home.

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

Outside

 

 

Lake so dark

I can't see into it

swallows the sliver of Moon

as clouds roll through to

cover the sky.

Quiet, simple.

No life; nor conflict.

 

Meaning is that quality allowing sensation

to mature into sense.

Sudden chill wind requires response.

I turn

back, front, crouched down

into my own shelter.

Why am I not safe in a heated

room, exploring pleasure?

Context quotes:

"That was another stream,

a dream not taken."

No road enters here --

circle closed, unyielding.

Stories, fading candles, flicker.

Sweet wealth of warmth.

My fingers draw ritual from

patient water.

Sensation condenses.

Sense evaporates.

Scent of warm breath.

Taste of cold wind.

Wet, dark, silent.

Outside of meaning.

 

 

November 28, 2011

 

 

 

 

Thanks for sharing

 

 

Thanks for sharing

your intimate secrets

guilty despair

"How can  anything matter?

I am too dark,

no fun to be with."

It is not a birthday without

cake and good wishes.

No cure can take hold without

a get well card,

expressed courage

from caring others.

I have no rhyme, no rhythm,

no choir to calm me

into soft healing eiderdown.

Searing potions,

shocking wires,

disconnection from

harried continuity

cannot weave wholeness.

Kind touch, open

reveling in shared humanity

paints a loving pattern

for integration,

incentive to dare creative leap.

Re-merged, charged with fuel for 

healthy fulfillment.

!

Multi-hued singing fountains

rejoice in new found dancing.

 

 

Not in Gratitude

 

 

Gratitude implies obligation

Shining happiness implies

free acceptance, grace.

I am graciously embraced with joy.

Happy in my natural rhythm,

open to pleasure;

warm, melting sunshine,

complex luscious nectars,

elation, charismatic exultation.

I am in awe, a true believer.

I am not on my knees in supplication,

but supine, open to grace.

11/11

11/11

 

 

Honoring peace

Honoring lives left behind

not in consecrated fields

open to air and sunlight

tended father to son,

mother to daughter.

Dust to carry forward.

Lives not given, not shared.Taken.

Ripped asunder.

Limbs, guts, glory.

Shrieking abandoned waifs,

wailing inconsolate lovers.

Screaming bombs, squealing tanks.

Arms shattered,

vision scarred

for peace, for Fatherland, for prosperity.

Today, cold, raw, ice flecks

obscure a longed-for Sun.

 

 

 

Support Our Troops

 

 

Bravery?

What if they gave a war

and nobody came?

What if our ethos gave up

on targets to blame?

March of disorders;

unstable bonds break down,

crush frightened innocents

to dust.

We meant to serve our nation.

We meant to save rights, defend

threatened treasure, stalwart

bulwarks against disaster.

We meant to honor sacrifice, work of

our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers

for the good life:

family, God, country

and a wholesome recompense of pleasure.

Not executors of horror so intense

as to reverberate through our

remaining consciousness.

Who is advanced?

Who left in pieces that never heal?

God is on the battle field

not as commanding general or inspiring

mascot,

as witness

and gentle minister

of last rites

to shattered soldiers.

 

 

 

Not in Our Name

 

 

Nobody wins in a war

(well, maybe a few financiers of war industries, but)

Not us, not them, not humanity

Not the dead, not the living

Not the yet to be born

Not the land, water, air, our natural resources

Not the roads, buildings, pipes, utility lines, the infrastructure

Not love or peace or morality

Not human nature

Not Right

Not Justice

Not God

Not the battlegrounds or the cemeteries, or the unhealable wounds in our souls

Whatever we may hope to accomplish with war,

There are better ways.

the political is personal

Live Revolution

 

 

Revolution comes when it is ready.

Sparks so many times seem sure to light, embolden change.

Only when the tinder is sufficiently arranged will fire take hold.

Blaze clear fidelity to this erupted moment, charging forward.

After images, ash flakes in settling dark, take flight,

swirl within echoed breeze.

Readiness, relative to chaos, free range of human whim.

Revolution is but a shared anthem, parts of anger and revenge,

parts of reaching toward a new religion.

In the aftermath of violent schism,

what bright vision will sustain?

 

 

 

 

 

New World Order

 

 

Post-feudal society

obsessed with security and place

lock-step shuffle of obeisance

counting corners, counting on

science and leaders of order

counting on gospel served cold,

filleted, and layered just so.

Fashionably secured, tied and

corseted, made up for easy recognition.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Buy me

the pretty fire." So mesmerizing, so

certain to tell me who I am, how to be.

Casting savage spells, they are,

far and wide, telecommunication.

Tying up and tidying with vast

imaginary whips and wheels,

spinning like a Pied Piper's tales.

No wonder.

We get it wrong and twisted.

Throwing out the wheat to eat

the chaff.  Poisoning the well

that no enemy may drink our bounty.

Burning our bridges and tunnels

to save them.

Embarrassment of riches.

Gorging on fine cakes and

sugar water champagne.

No wonder.

Eerie daylight marching

timed by mechanistic masters

armed with decisions directing

torture, incarceration.

Power derived from the people

constrained of memory

mistaking some paranoid parody

for a promise of life.

 

 

 

politics

 

 

infinite regression of change and resistance

multi-rhythmed rhyme

singing into the winds of change

to move their vector more in line

with where we wish to arrive

 

 

 

Power

 

 

What is power?

Power is a word.

Power is an idea.

The Word is power.

The Idea is power.

Power is a distribution of energy, wealth, strength:

Physical, material, mental, metaphysical,

social.

Power is that which allows us,

Or we allow others, to have

sway over their/our actions, emotions, limitations.

Power is a rush of air, of water, of electrons,

of words,

of weapons, of will

-- the force behind movement

or stasis.

 

 

 

 

Feudal Diffraction

 

 

It's not the color chart; it's the hierarchy.

Hoarders of permission slips for supplies

thereby decide what gets prioritized,

which brick gets laid, or even fired,

who lives well,

who scrapes til they no longer get by.

It's not our genetic code that compels stupidity.

Perhaps it's a kind of manic compulsion,

depressive obsession,

mass psychosis,

St. Vitus line-dance to a zombie

caller's tune.

What to do?

Meme-web reconstruction in increments

paradigm warping incidents

realign the pulse of macro/microsphere

benign gibberish cy-phones through?

Take back your time.

Take back your right to self-valuation.

Take back your place

outside of the lines.

If our needs, self-fulfilling desires, greater

ecstatic glory and grace

are to be based

on solid infrastructure,

on fruitful interplay,

on free and freeing expression,

let us take hands in

undulating, beatific dance

multi-rhythmed

direction.

Let us be and do and feel

that which gives us permission

to be whole.

October 31, 2013

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIE2ajK2n0Y

 

Pink Floyd vs. The Beatles - The Creepiest Song You've Ever Heard

 

 

Night Air Reflection

 

 

Archetypes

walk city streets, ride subways

costumed as commoners --

subterranean trickster consciousness,

ethereal siamese twin

to the mundane.

Shadow and substance

entwine as before

the incursive divide.

I long to tell you,

yearn so I loudly whisper,

but only if you really listen.

I cannot say these things twice.

Memories seep through,

acquire form.

Stand straight and true

as soldiers or Marines

gifting full allegiance

to any who will take that load.

There are Gods foaming in excrement,

demanding relief in sardonic

sacrament

potent and deadly.

Angels and

Demons wage stochastic war;

dice from a grail

foresage trial or comfort.

Hungry Ghosts wail.

Vampires and Creatures

made of night

seek shelter before

travails of fablers

break them.

Morning Star

winks salaciously.

In wild’s kingdom

all manner of beings

thrive.

Eagles soar.

Lions roar.

Whales sing.

Humans open a

veiled third eye.

The World rejoices.

.

.

.

 

 

http://web.archive.org/web/20091027151908/http://geocities.com/libramoon.geo/cosmicpoetry.html

 

Samhainic Verse

 

 

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html

~sharing(secret)water~ EV13 

 

night's pages

{patchwork narrative} a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence

originally featured (and still appearing) on my PostApocalypse tumblr site:  http://postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/ 

now appearing on this Blogger spot for easy editing and viewing. 

The last entry, which is what you see on the home page, is the first “patch” of the story. Go backwards, down through the previous posts to see the whole story, or as much as you like, or some now, some later ...

scorpio intimacies

On the Threshold of Silence

 

 

Absorbed by rabble noise my tired voice trails unheard.

How can it matter what I say?

A fool, I record hard travel truth in written word

to scatter as if for use someday.

 

Realize that my eyes see uncommon visions.

My mind seeks to find unlikely decisions.

My lips may seem gripped, but that’s not done on purpose.

What I know doesn't show on my nondescript surface.

 

How can I explain,

entice suffice to hear,

what isn't always clear?

Notes of refrain

jumbled with pain;

I must be insane.

Lyrics

play with my inner ear,

keeping me guessing.

Burden or blessing?

Of course you don't care.

Just turbid notes on passing air.

 

Weaving through aether,

permeating atmosphere,

essence I ache to share

already everywhere.

You never heard it from me.

 

 

 

 

Infocontainment

 

 

Valerie Plame, Valerie Plame

The very fact that we all know your name

is a crime.

So, who's doing time?

American splendor,

a pop carnavale.

The greedy get famous.

The poor rot in jail.

The glitter and star light

is doing its job:

distract and divide while

they rape, kill and rob.

 

Is that a pimple on my face?

Oh, I'm such a big disgrace!

I can't keep it all together as I should.

The only explanation's I'm no good.

I want too much.  I need to much.

I never learned to mind my p's and q's.

I didn't toe the line and pay my dues.

Now my opportunities

ooze beyond reach,

bleed out,

disappear.

What am I even saying?

If the right people hear, surely

despair's  a treasonous crime.

And, unlike those Whitehouse lackeys

I may well end in a cell doing time.

 

 

October 23, 2007

 

 

 

Persephone's Breakthrough

 

 

This is where the idea is born.

 

soft green meadows gently disappearing into fall

sounds of dying, scent of woodfire and candlelight

no separation between what is becoming

accept and be revealed

 

summer's wild adventures

spring was a torrent of clarity, precious rain,

Earth coarse, ready for fecund pleasure

Queen of night in daylight's realm

obsessed in flowering

roses and daffodils

valleys and nubile hills

all is vanity and laughing vice

"But, Mother, I'm not a nice girl.

I'm a creature of the breeze; secure in shadow;

alive in the cutting edge of the storm."

Myth in revision

standing at the back of the playground

learning theater, tucking metaphors

through interstices of sense and dream

In spring, kicking stones along sandy riverbeds

reading the classics

expecting valor, glory, dramatic lines

 

Summer deceives

the stink of rot where flowers bloom

ancient feuds, retaliations, rage

tyrannosaurus feeding future waste,

absorbing a zeitgeist of want, of predation

 

within greed swollen seed infectious fear

search for further truth

mythology frustrates, curls back on its own ash

burn with hazy summer wine and dance

feet connecting dust to sky -- but only in designated

spheres, with designated peers, self-selected inhibitions

sweat out poison into the ground; now, eat the bounty

midsummer farce, far from clear, far from sunrise,

counting out the chimes as if time were treasure

silly summer madness as if what matters

is so circumscribed, so predictable

 

Early autumn firelight

reminiscent of witch hunts, ghosts of cavalry,

dire warnings and endless hide and strike

the game, the funhouse, turns deadly

sanctuary calls, demanding sacrifice

the noble phoenix fed on frankenseed

can not rise

 

skies descend, dark mirroring

smell the woodsmoke, intoxicating, soft and sweet

masks the taste of bitter bile, secret vomiting

starving despite harvest's gay array of treats

faded, nearly blind, falling in and out of

shamanic fever, primeval native dancers beyond sight,

ripple of tribal beat at the periphery

ecstatic vision dark/light/agony and brilliant breaks

starbright constellations

 

Traversing worlds

seasons, years, moments of clarity

no need to travel, to invent boundaries

dance of the highlands warmth and sustenance

permeates

makes whole

 

 

October 23, 2009

a little Moon music

Moon Light Triptych

 

 

Silver bracelet of Moonlight

night prism of serene

delight

casts lines, luminescent desire

emboldened in reflection

 

 

Masked Lady Moon sneaks

into my room,

speaks of fantastic adventure.

Dare I question her

abundant gesture?

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, illusory rock, cold, dark

so far from my daily chains.

I have no home

but clear, quiet salvation

hiding like Moonlight

unmasked in my mind.

 

 

I tell you the moon dreams of beauty.

I tell you the soul is but a butterfly,

sweet and fluttery, without the substance

of a cloud.

I tell you that this is what I adore:

You, here and now, a shower of acceptance,

telling me to tell you more.

*

*

*

 

 

as out, so in

 

 

Lake silent, dark

mirror to reflective Moon

complete in stillness

 

Wind escapes blackened maples,

catches crackling leaves

to whirl, to fall

 

Integral, self-contained, this world knows

mystery, bloodlines, senses unspoken,

helpless ecstasies eternity allows

for now

 

 

October 18, 2012

 

 

 

 

Lunation

 

 

Passing mist veils/reveals Moon glow

as she moves through caressing clouds

trying to reach me

so far below.

How can I know

it is me she desires?

My mind is on fire,

moonstruck, some might say.

Flying along the Milky Way

fueled by moonshine.

She flashes her shadowy eye

through cloud-studded sky

and I feel fine.

website update

http://nightspages.blogspot.com/

night's pages

{patchwork narrative} a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence

http://om2317.wordpress.com/

 

OPERATOR'S MANUAL

notes playing to a theme

nightly poetry posts

 

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com/

Emerging Visions visionary art zine

http://caelastory.blogspot.com/?zx=789275b45023aa62

http://caelastory.blogspot.com/

Something Sacred – metafiction

 

 

http://www.tumblr.com/blog/postapocalypse13

 

PostApocalypse blog includes original patchwork narrative flash fiction serial

 

http://dreamsjourneys.blogspot.com/

Selected Works 1968-2005

http://yearprophecies.blogspot.com/

Year of Prophecies as a page

 

 

http://yprophecies.wordpress.com/

 

Year of Prophecies as blog posts  and posts beyond the project

 

 

http://web.archive.org/web/20091027151908/http://geocities.com/libramoon.geo/cosmicpoetry.html

 

Samhainic Verse

 

 

http://dancepanacea.wordpress.com/

beginning soon, posts about healing through dance

 

 

Seers and Seekers ten years along

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/seerseeker

 

Seers and Seekers: A forum to discuss and explore topics of the occult, speculative art, and philosophy broadly defined. 

"Seers and Seekers" originally occurred to me as an occult/science fiction bookstore in which patrons would discuss the ideas presented in the literature. Today we have a wealth of inspirational, philosophic/metaphysical and artistic websites to play among. I hope we can create exciting discussions relating to this wealth of ideas.
I envision this forum as a place in which to expand our consciousness, put concrete form to our grapplings with the big questions, and encourage creative thought -- a place where visionaries can feel at home.

 

October 17, 2003
8:52 pm EDTBoston, MA

 

 

http://alabe.com/cgi-bin/chart/astrobot.cgi?INPUT1=seers+and+seekers&INPUT2=&MONTH=10&DAY=17&YEAR=2003&HOUR=8&MINUTE=52&AMPM=PM&TOWN=boston&COUNTRY=USA&STATE=MA&INPUT9=&Submit=Submit

joyful Mabon ~

HARVESTING MOONLIGHT

Today the dark approaches, loosens veils of entropy.

Pixel colors whisper, soft hum of trails diminishing.

Lumbering, tales sweaty from slumber sweep

crumbling crusts, twigs and dust,

unencumber twinkling.

Luscious Moon, brilliant, rises

like a sacred flower unbinds, radiates,

smiles indulgence.

Celestial song, deep-breath effulgence,

lofty spirit.  All we who hear it open our wings.

This night we fly over poignant fields of work requited,

imbibe euphorious mystery of peace.  Labor’s release,

rewards of harvest, ritual feast of play.

Uproarious dance with moonlight; voice, arms, soar

in embrace so strong, complete.