In the garden
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In the garden
rags and broken bits,
trailing paper
ribbons,
shards and excrement,
weave a picture, a
scene
a thumb reel of protected
vision.
The garden grows
though abandoned by
light
and conscious
thought.
Tangles give way to magical
gates.
Imaginary flowers
bloom,
twist absurd
mangling shapes,
evoke scents
unknowable in common
categories.
Once the garden was ripe and
lush,
fed legions,
earned prizes in the
canons
of great literature.
If other gardens vied in
performance,
it was for the grander glory of
gardenhood.
Abundance
Lovers trysting
Children's play
Old philosophers
walking,
speaking deliberately,
deeply,
breathing in heaven.
A garden of
substance,
tradition and grace
where sore of heart
might
find tender comfort, growing
wild
in sweet evening
breeze,
a calming call to
prayer,
mending meditation
on the ways of Earth and sky and
rain.
Walking the garden,
old, papery, withered of
breath,
dreaming yesterdays,
tomorrows,
screaming silently
a hope too desperate to
speak
for vibrant new seeds
to take root.
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Back to Basics
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Walking backwards, over the cracks,
the broken glass, the crying shame.
Looking in and out. All the hostile
visions I never want to see
damning me.
They say to give is blessed, when in
doubt give it all away.
I say
we are each a universe, so many
worlds, so many stars
we lose track
we look back
whoosh into the vastness of possible
trajectories.
Without crossroads, without stones
of demarcation,
we would fall upwards
eternally.
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I am digging a well,
a holding place for
tears.
When the hole is of the right
proportions
I will fashion a tight container of
stone and clay.
The excavation uncovers rotten
cadavers, old bones
twisted from unhealed violations,
bits of broken treasures,
shattered expectations,
here and there
pieces of nursery toys no longer
loved.
I crawl through the earth, exulting
in sensuous pleasure.
Moving like a snake at home in the
elements,
shedding my skin, becoming silky
sinuous sense cells.
It is so beautiful here, under it
all.
Fertile soil, made of the cast off,
the ruined, the dead.
Seeds try again to perfect the
expression of dna.
It would all fall together
naturally.
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But nature did not make
me.
It was self-flagellating nurturance
of worlds and stars
trying to cast off their earthly
heritage.
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Sacred
Geology
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Rich
earth.
Consecrated
life.
Imbued myriad
layers
nourish omniscient
spirit.
Starvations,
immolations, decay
scarred into the
land
making it
holy.
Bounty of
beauty
irrigated by
tears
and less voluntary
bodily fluids.
Teeming loam.
Revitalizing
luscious
fruits
giving
forward.
Partaking of the
feast
we are
blessed,
renewed in empyreal
essence.
Each at our
pace,
nature’s cycle
reclaims
all that we
are
that we may
become
yet more
abundantly, complexly ()
layered.
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Eclipse Dream
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Jump! Jittery. Nauseous
claustrophobia . . .
l e t t i n g g o s l o o o
w
Whoosh leap faster than my breath
can catch me.
Dizzily, half-blinded, out of
focus,
slant view along tree-strewn
path.
Enchanted forest?
Smoke curling upward.
Gingerbread cottage in the
woods.
Do I rest here, recoup my
losses?
Savory soup simmers over tender
hearth fire.
Shadow gloom occludes unswept
corners.
Yet the center of the room
is surprisingly clean,
radiant.
I sit, mantra embraced.
Nestled by magestic silk
wings.
Outside winter is
falling.
When I awaken from my
trance
planting season will
begin.
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The wild rains of
spring
have caught me napping.
They catch me up in
torrents,
swing me along,
a cradle in the sea.
I descry mazes,
wondrous pageantry
woven into stellar
stories.
Celestial spray anoints
me.
I commence secret
ceremony,
believing the Earth to be my
home.
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Earth Angels
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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?
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Risen
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Sky born, lifted
above
Water, Earth, primordial
mud.
Bare breath and lilting light
waft up, carry ephemeral
tongues, frenzied yet
exquisite. Exaltation, daring
to swoop, touch, climb,
pirouette.
Path briefly complete in
hover, amazed over
flowering waves.
Winter Gods freeze-glaze
mountain peaks,
rocky rivers, mother's
eyes.
She gives suck embalmed in
vision trails,
engulfed in smoke of smelting
flame,
gasping, tropically turning,
blind, yet
beyond mistrust. She
regurgitates paste of
air, dust, instinct, steeped
with spit
and love. Taste her
sacrifice.
A world drifts. Black night
backlit in
pinpricks. Atmosphere
composed like bioluminescence,
symphonic, symbiotic. Listen
as rippling elements
grow words, symbolic
histories, into a Summer game.
Out here, sparkling rain
weaves rainbows. Reverence
casts poetry as shimmer and
shadow play.
Up here, beyond boundaries of
ordinary days,
the only Commandment to
penetrate --
Be Peace
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Eco-Location
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It’s not the landscape, but the
ambiance.
Emanant surroundings suggest
fantasy motif.
Just that evocative forest green,
desert rose.
Waft of lilac, vibrations of
tidal reveries,
cast off, buried. Reclaimed,
exposed.
()
Gracious glory.
Terra spins through stories.
Webs of sparkle and
synapse
suspend on delicate
balance.
Work and love,
expression and
assimilation.
Venture in search of food, air,
stimulation.
Ideation, imagination, mood
impels
self-aware cells, each with
place
and passion.
Busy interchange
at market and field
combines power to wield,
grow
beyond personal
boundaries
permeable to trade,
exploration,
creative generation.
Each iteration fuels further
spring to
essence.
()
Gaea's laughing.
Silly scrapping
scavengers
groomed in
self-importance
rarely see the joke.
Long has her fete
entertained.
Sol to Gaea, flirting seasons,
night and day.
Eons slip through
alignment.
Mud to worm
to facile mind
wondering at
starlight
as constellations
parade
in siren mystery.
Common wisdom, basic
observation.
If river, then water and
silt,
mud, clay, pottery, etched
hieroglyphs,
television, robotics, space
aeronautics.
Rippling along sinuous
riverbed
()
I can smell the salty sands of
yesteryear,
taste tears of copper, touch
sparkling rain,
feel the lift of storms in
formation
fill evening breeze with electric
potential.
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