Gaea

It's really a simple story. Beings find planet. Beings treat planet badly. Planet goes about her business.

Beings start to realize that they need planet, and had best learn to make friends rather than futilely keeping up enmity.

 

 

Gaea: A Ritual Performance

 

 

layers of imagery, music, tribal drums, futuristic dreams

 

 

Gaea was there, in the beginning. Gaea was all. Gaea was wise.

How could we not have seen, in the blindness of pride, of avarice,

of service pledged to false gods?

 

The journey was long.

The journey was harsh.

The journey was lonely.

 

Asleep in a box with wilderness dreams.

Or awake on the watch, wondering what was to come.

 

Thus it was those false gods bespake us:

Out of the cold vastness of desolate space,

out of base fear over years seeped in to overtake us,

out of a need to deem our fate Someone else's scheme,

out of a need to believe all would be well for our kind.

 

Our world was dying.

We did what we could to survive.

Survival we find

an appropriate end

to any means.

Survival will give us

the time we need

to find a better way

to survive.

 

The bravest of us,

the proudest of us,

the meanest of us,

would not allow us to die.

We took off in our ship with the barest of plans

 

to find another land

where our kind could live ...

expand.

 

Now,

hybrid children evolved

from refugees

fleeing a hostile star,

Skygods and Earth Mother of ancient lore.

 

When will we relinquish hubris, ruinous hatred,

accept Gaea as partner and home?

Build strength of unity so all may thrive?

 

The land, when we found her was warm and inviting.

We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow.

 

We ate of her fruit, fish, herds.

We built with her trees, stone and clay.

We drank from her beautiful streams

which we soiled with our waste.

Gaea was saviour and womb.

We repaid her with rape.

 

We didn't understand,

thought her merely land,

thought ourselves masters from afar.

 

Gaea sent storms to bring us to our senses, wild winds and seas.

 

Gaea tried to shake us off: Earthquakes, Floods, Famine, Plagues

sending us scattering into hiding,

intermingling with her primates, Gaea's ape children.

Without question or shame, we murdered what we could not steal.

Without honor or remorse, we laid waste to our host,

to our adopted home,

then cursed her for not giving more.

 

By accident or design, chimera adapting to nature’s marketplace,

creating stories to redefine our origins from outer space.

We lied to our halfling children, denigrated their Gaean kin,

twisted their virtues into a false concept we called "sin."

 

What Gaea did to us? Cruel, evil, in need of the whip.

We seal over her bounty

into mad parody of Mother Ship.

Unforgiving of the mess of living, the miracles of life.

In ignorant pride we gave ourselves law to decide

propriety over fate,

turning

in our minds

mother love

into a mirror of hate.

 

Frozen in fear and rage, children swept out in the storm,

trapped in a self-made cage we had hoped to protect us from harm.

 

Gaea, we cry, why do you treat us so angrily?

What will it take for us to wake up and see it is we who are wrong?

To hear and be aware of Gaea's song singing in our blood?

To learn the cycles, the seasons,

the reasons for fire, wind and flood?

 

To redefine our race,

to find out that our place is here among our Gaean kin?

 

The telling of new tale must begin.

 

Gaea opens to sunshine to ease our agitation.

Easy winds, breezy gush of summer rain.

Feeding the greedy young grains,

growing along the plains, the flowers of the storm.

Feeding the beasts of the field,

celebrating the cycle, as all is revealed.

 

Love is the web,

craftily spun by great mother spider,

Gaea's familiar,

weaving magestic grace

no longer concealed. It was never our place

to control, nor others' to steal.

 

Gaea creates in intricate arrangements,

feeding us all of us all, a transformative stew.

So much energy wasted; painful lies to find our way through.

New beliefs, guiding stories to provide for, enthuse

children, reaching out to become and be free,

embrace our destin,

as Gaea's beloved.

 

Arising in the circle, giving voice to release pain --

grateful to Gaea's grace, dancing in her cleansing rain,

we sing, rejoice, united:

 

It would be so nice (paradise)

You and I

Floating in the sunlight

Ready to break free

To be

Exactly who we are

()

()

 

Gifting Gaea EV22

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com/2012_04_01_archive.html

Sacred Earth, EV#7

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html

 

 

 

Earth Angels

 

 

Speciesism.

That boorish arrogance.

Deaf to wisdom, portrayed in

ominous myth, faery lore.

Slay the goose;

destroy the whales.

Uproot untold trees

bearing fruits that may have

saved us staggering pain.

Crucial for well-being

microbes, photosynthesis,

symbiotic

processes ignored, misunderstood.

Focus expended on ephemeral

opinion, petty greeds and rivalries,

diatribes on evil and good.

Realities we have yet to account to,

acknowledge,

fall, collateral damage

to insolent bravado.

When will we ever let go,

rethink this mad master plan,

relinquish need to command?

 

420 eve

420 fledglings escape pie and fly

  *

  *

Silent night, pensive night.

Carefully managing intrepid flight,

serial soaring heightened insight.

Self-sabotage may be a right.

So is a paradigm shift, excitement of

quantum array;

a quick turn through reality's rift

into a fountain of play.

Happy day, glorious day.

Why would we have it some other way?

Revise decorations -- more brilliant, more gay!

Dialogs weave beyond yay or nay.

Reveling in destiny's space/time/what may.

 *

4/20/10

 *

 *

 *

Escape Velocity

  *

  *

RRRRRunning--Spinning--  rising to fly, to reach

and conquer the sky, the rooftops, the treetops,

outside the city crowds.

To elevate,

escape gravity.

Ascend beyond all those petty groundling woes and fears.

Climb past the clouds,

among stars and moonbeams.

Catching sight of 

those celestial omens foretold by fantasy.

Catching hold of tickly, teasing, zooming ecstasy.

Catching up to steep snow peaks.  Peering in lofty windows.

Prancing gaily so many feet above fields and roads,

glancing below -- can't catch me

not you dour, sour, 

glum-faced cons down on the street.

Learning to fly, to soar, to race up high

where I can see for miles, 

and miles recede.

Learning to say no to ordinary normality

and break free.

Learning to say yes to magic, and make magic me.

Spinning--running--dancing--flying

unlike anything before.

Learning to break out of bounds and take in more

Ain't nobody gonna tell me I can't fly.

 

 *

 *

 *

Smoke and Mirrors

  *

  *

 The calmness of night

with no one

but me

and the cat and the music.

Sentient spirits

out of reach, out of time

feel me yearn

for soft waves, perfumed

ozone,

a secret moonlit ride.

Gentle, waft breezes

carry, caress calloused cares

into quiescence.

Loving seas, cradling essence.

Paradise state of mind.

  *

Some are born to battle,

to die of sadness on rocky

foreign terrain.

If I could give them ease,

could discover

words and gestures

that bind us all

in happy equilibrium,

I would gladly reach out

so far my arms might break.

I would sing above the fray,

soulfully

mesmerize.

I would open the walls

that hold nirvana at bay.

Would you exercise escape?

Would you swim into bliss,

drink the nectar of precious contentment?

Would you be so elated

to play

swept away

in potent beatitude?

Or defiantly never

look past the sign:

No Weapons Allowed

?

 *

  *

April 20, 2008

 *

 *

 *

 

 

 Celebration

  *

 *

Caught up in the whirl as the world evolves

We weave by the light of the moon.

A fabric of fancy, sunbeams, pansies, mist.

A trail of bluebirds embroider your tresses.

A veil of gossamer softens your eyes.

A breeze of belief to embellish your breath.

Dressed for the fete in the finest of jewels

Alive to excitement, shining with love

Wrapped warm in a floating cape of wishes fulfilling

 *

 * *

 

Mythopoesis

  *

  *

Reality enrobed in symbols.

Where would we be outside our trance?

Ecstatic in sunrise.

Open to the rainbow rays.

Whirling, life within the dance.

Each cell, each system, synchronized.

Vibrating to celestial tones.

Each jagged lonely fragment

joyfully bonded, tethered with love.

Sent on to chance.

  *

    Listen then, and hear anew

    A melody so swift and free

    It's memory can carry you

    Floating on a magic sea

    To the inner facings of your soul.

  *

    Look, and feel with lover's sight

    the polished crystal jewels of time

    that catch you in your secret night

    and send you tumbling down the mire,

    through vortex lambent rabbit hole.

    Expand the seconds of eternity.

    Find your way unwinding.

 *

 *

 *

Joint sessions

  *

 * 

Joint sessions

In a hovel-hole basement haven.

We keep the faith and

Drop-in

Turn-on

Tune-out.

  *

And it was told . . .

How the everlasting presence

still isn't very old.

How the Diamond got her ring

How the matchgirl got her king

How we all got everything

And how everything got sold.

  *

Reeds bending in the wind.

A haunting sentimental song.

Breeze saunters by.

The neon letters "PEACE" light up the air.

  *

A poem in pictures and sound.

Rather like a spell, you know.

Those dawning tendrils

sneaking through my windowshade.

But it's much too early to be rising.

So I'll dally in enchanted romance

without recalling

I've no one to wake to

beyond the dawn.

 * 

Reaching to the stars,

tarry in eternity:

This is all.

 * 

Soldiers marching in a desert,

remember not their daily cares.

Remember only endless marching.

Caught suspended, unawares.

The crackling fire.

The sweet cascading smoke.

Light another match and start anew.

As pinwheels and starbursts float

through brilliant trails.

And visions of all our wanderings gently

drift in liquid air.

 *

 *

 *

 

mix phor meta

  *

  *

double, double toil and trouble

mix in moonbeams dripped from Hubble

with a pinch of housing bubble

dump in tons of scraped off stubble

just a taste of wry

with a twist of lime

seconds cloned from time

and, Voila! a rhyme to rollick

swing your partner, tase your Dalek

what a party tea for frolic!

double down, but “Don’t Panic!”

brewed up for fun – enjoy the manic

d a n c e

 *

 *

 *

There is a world here that knows itself in the way we all do.

That is to say it has a surface personality, a proper social mask

for formal wear.  Underneath, plots are hatching like fish,

bubbles display quick new life -- snatched into oblivion

barely formed or growing fiercely strong beneath the surface waves.

  *

Was it a warm, wet Spring?

Is the Sun supplying energy without heed to the people's stated needs?

Are ocean waters cursed with pollution born disease?

Do ill winds suffocate a nation's glory?

We could weave this world a better story, play more mindfully

constructed games.  We could take back our focus from blame,

realign.

There is a saying that what one knows is merely that

which has not been denied.

 *

 *

 *

 

Dazzling Genie, weaves 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

 * 

  *

Etherized

 * 

  *

Will o' the wisp wending a land of glee.

Daisies, bright blooming weeds,

mellifluous, grand.

Whoosh! Genie arms-wide smiles

above foamy sea.

Beyond mere illusion,

absorbed by awareness – horizon

confined by no mind, reason, expanse.

Who imagines,

and in that magic space settles

to reside?

Women in velvet and fur, swan necks,

arrogant tresses,

sip marvelous narcotic, sweet as fire.

Upheld mirror paintings, glowing wire strands,

prism hues, released.

Vibrant perfumes call to wander,

to stray.

Will-less, free, each step,

each feather fall

a gift of mystery, of mystics' play,

caress of bliss.

 *

 *

 *

astral vision

 

 

Mystery mists of history holy crescent lightening sky.

Calm anticipation early pinks ascend from eerie violets.

Thunderous Jove twinkles like a happy kitten,

tummy extent for adoration.

Omens, prophecy, hope for endless happy returns,

quests into/out of space/mind.

(without gravity, how can we fall ... or love?)

Aching for stars, planets, dreams,

silent assent that means all is promised.

I touch a cosmic peak,

breathless at such altitude.

 

poetry month

Poetry Month

 

 

Resonant phrase aligns.

Mystic fire sprites manifest, 

call to neural chambers: "Come to play!"

Sparkling children fashion effervescent flares.

Innocence against random nightscape

extols, reveres.

Humbles savants with unknown unknowns.

Nascent moment flown, eyes carry amazement,

enticed by fun, perhaps an epiphany or two.

Inner ears

merrily engage, swept up in daring code.

Intimacy, kindling as heady lyric,

spreads, ignites.

Muse lit lanterns take wing,

illuminate eternity.

Incite.

 

 

~

 

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.

Brays to bequeath the

power to stand, to breathe.

Moira appears, macabre hag

preens her wares.

"See how it was, how it could be.

Drag and drop your face, your failures

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

metamorphed into Helvetica.

All that acrid sorrow

tomorrow's poetry.

 

~

 

 

Pop Quiz

 

 

What is more useless than a poet, and why?

 

Cloistered in my artist's garret, threadbare garments more holes than whole,

paint spattered, unruly and unkempt,

barely aware of the need for sustenance or even air,

entranced by the necessity of exploring, exposing my vision

I am the essence of romance.

 

Typing, writing clever syllables, I am merely effete,

despite my black attire and permanent scowl.

Even if they are good words, finely wrought, express deeply true emotion,

they are almost literally a dime a dozen.

To expose my wound is inelegance, to explore my essence a narcissistic malaise.

 

I am the real deal -- the poet-philosopher, the idealist dreamer, the journey's fool.

Surely I should be surrounded by acolyte worship, at my feet, honored to breathe the sacred

incense of my magnificence.

 

Yet here I stand with bills unpaid in the squalor of a rented room,

unadorned by idolatry.

 

 

~

 

 

 

We are a well at the center of the Universe

suspended like a spider spun out from

webbed space evolving.

All that ever is, like sea rain

catalyzed by light, is processing

rainbows,

manifest illusions,

into effervescent poetry.

 

~

 

 

It is a poem because evocative nature

seeks language, because will intends to speak

more than prosaic words.

Massage to revitalize imagination.

Lines break, imply stage direction phrasing. 

Histories, mystic pleas, lovers’ epiphanies

both oral and visual, as well as

experimental

genre melding and overturning.

Look/listen for what speaks to you.

 

~

 

Voices in my head speak

in poetry, prose, creative nonfiction

stories of courage, adventures in change

 

Tales, whispered spells, hypnotize,

wrench veils between epiphany and sleep.

Deeply darkened mists of memory

prismed in poetry

arouse such imagery.

Be at peace.

Breathe in glacial wind

to warm in secret private seasons.

Breathe out

a better world.

 

 

~

 

 

 

Perhaps we constrain ourselves by our definitions

of "poetry" whatever they may be for each of us, or collectively.

Perhaps we would better serve the honoring of our

deeper, more carefully observed,

more cherished, more reflective,

more hormone evoked or thoughtfully

worded communications by freeing

our critique from "poetry"?

 

When we call "poem"

expectations climb aboard.

Is this one of those silly word games

or a test of my ability to please authority?

Rhymes herding phrases out

of clarity,

over-ardent attempts at sincerity?

What if I just want to explain

beyond the scope of everyday chatter?

What if I want to say how

and why abstractions matter

or work out ways to scatter

bits of emoting on a page?

Words with the precision and ambiguity

to save visions, ahas! glimpses.

Capture gaze at nature's seas

and stars.  Bring immediacy

of horror or wonder, or aid grappling

to decipher commonalities

that could increase

conviviality.

 

 

~

 

 

 

You expound tale of private familiarity simple, trivial, self-contained.

Profound sincerity, eternal poetry

 

 

~

 

 

 

Poetry is about meaning and wonder

Poetry can say:  "Yes, we feel the same"

and "Yes, we can go further, together."

It's not the rhyme or word or name

that creates this form we ponder

to say what we've seen, how we came

to be who we are, how another's

ways of making sense have made us

more ...

 

 

~

 

 

poetry mice

nibble nimble syllables

feed on grainy meaning

scamper renewed, enlarged

 

~

 

 

Binary stars blink celestial code.

Music of spheres, of oblongs, of ellipses

twinkle far beyond the constant light.

Cycles within cycles within rhythms within

the magic of rhyme, within eternity's tricks

of repetition and mutation.

Crystallized, brought to sublime fruition.

Poets taste, express cosmic recipes,

tongue to tongue.

 

 

~

 

 

 

Poker as a Metaphor for Poetry:

Play the cards you are dealt,

inflated for the gaze of your opponents.

Don't squander emotion reactively.

Enjoy the thrill of being in the game.