Human Nature
Raging winds.
Cataclysmic connections.
A wild ride through ever disintegrating
times.
Can we assimilate where we've
been?
Ancient footfalls inexorably emerging
into
battering rams, explosions, fiery
projectiles,
grief, despair, immolation, utter
destruction.
Can we feel the pull into the
maelstrom,
powers rip our being into basic
components,
the essence of nature?
Perhaps there was/is/will be
a time of peaceful reflection,
hoped for abundance,
shared joy and laughter,
ecstatic attainment
moving higher through an upward
spiral,
feeling so good, so free, feeling so
loved.
Perhaps it is just here, around an unseen
corner,
ever available to those who can
perceive,
let go of misperception and
it's
pull of hate, push of shame.
Perhaps the only solace is in stolen
moments,
the vibrant taste of summer
wine,
the innocent joy of uncomplicated
affection,
the pure sensuality of passionate dance.
Perhaps these will tell us,
if and when we stop to
listen,
will lead us to the promised
land.
Be(gin)ing
Soft Summer night.
Far drift of stars; open carless
road.
Kicking up bits of stone and
dust.
Saying:
I could be anyone.
I could start here.
What is beginning?
Aware of the first
rays,
conscious aloneness.
Summer is harsh on
fragile skin, newly opened
eyes.
They catch on eager
forays,
studies in
elucidation;
simple truth hidden in
rules,
squalid mine-like cages,
punishing
rewards that bind and
itch.
Beginnings are not the
point.
They are portals, not the
mystic river,
the sand so burning
insubstantial,
the forest enchanted
in
eider and lace.
Beginnings never warn of
battle
flame or drunken
dares.
They only promise
vague
adventure, valiant
possibilities.
A brief eternity before
dawn,
supplicating the night sky
for
solace, this soft moment before
an unmarked road
to ride along home.
Rainbow Shop
And she sold me
rainbows
shining gaily 'cross the
window
windchimes in light.
And she smiled me
daisies
and bursting bright blooms of
summer.
And she told me,
maybe,
if you're looking in
the right direction,
a miracle may grace your
sight.
And I beam,
dancing
into the day.
Song of Sun and Earth
Driving beat of nature’s
grand
choreography
Call for the cheer that carries
carefree souls.
Stars far from here guide our craft
home.
We've made our career a matter of
energy.
Sing of Summer surf, held close to
mystery.
Undersea caves cradle chests of
gems, shining like starlight.
Beautiful child,
enrapt in wonder
cradles a ball of
ladybug colors
swaying to music,
smiling to play
growing through
summer's most perfect day
Singing to the
Chorus
Getting warmer.
Days numbered by
barbarians.
Travelers rush in to
conquer.
Taken to a longer view,
tumbling through the ages
~
Sundials exchange for
binary spiders
click-clock,
tabulating the enormous summary,
what has gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving
creatures
pull upward from bootie
straps,
scrambling for a place in the
pile
near enough to top
that derision, pouring
downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of
Lords.
Merry tots spend fallen pocket-change
of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big
top.
Solemn children throw glass stones
from circus stands,
bet on which clown will full face as
disaster.
Speak in tongues of evil, o' my
children.
Church Fathers swear to the blackened
sky;
cold, withered Mums hope for a
crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of
Satan,
cloven-hoofed, prancing in the
circle's
centerpoint, playing the pipes of
Pan.
Oceans of blood boil.
Leading edges swelter, crisp
into
conflagration.
In Summerland children play, frolic
to
rollicking drums and
reeds.
Naked under beaming Moon and
starlight laughter,
merrily we act out tales well-loved
by All.
