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.