SWAN SONG
She
untangles
clumped dust from her
unbrushed hair,
hands smoothing into
silk
pleasure for her
touch.
Bare of
self-consciousness,
nonplussed,
internally
eternal,
she enjoys the
panoply,
the panorama of
poetically entangled memory
along lanes of
wonder.
Without the barricade
of
fixed
identity,
she plays
replete,
balcony to world wide
stage.
Old,
crone,
mage,
sovereign priestess
of unnamed domain,
she
wishes
and coin of primeval
realm
freely obeys.
Watch her,
gaze
in consecrated
crystal,
blooms of long
limbed
hedonistic grace.
She is yours for a
song.
GIFTED
Years of my life I
believed
why wouldn’t
I?
how couldn’t
I?
Give more than I
receive.
Most importantly,
give to humanity.
Never mind
humiliating pain; let it rain,
take the drenching.
Perfume mendacious stench
prattling pretty
happy plans,
idealizing mankind as
we could be
brought to peaks of
glorious peace and bliss.
The word these days
is Passion.
A flying
heart.
The ache of
Art.
Find where my mind
takes ease,
soars with eternity,
smiles with fluidity.
Learn from those few
I can respect;
let go the rest.
Float, a ghost in
repose, leaving regret
for scavengers to eat
in my wake.
Every dawn could
reveal inspiration,
unrestrained by
beliefs in gifting obligations.
Streaming energy
gleefully received.
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.
ANDROMEDA UNBOUND
Primal emergent scene of
fear/betrayal/rage
Against prosaic life
tuned to a simpler age
A woman and a man and
progeny of course
A life tailored to plan,
no stranger to remorse
So early in the days of
what might hence occur
The learning of the ways
of how to be are stirred
So legends have been
cast, so myths in mist abound
As some realities are
buried underground.
It was a cold and gilded
house, camouflaged as home
It was a brutal game of
chance camouflaged as life
Chain me to my jagged
rock and let me bleed
Let the ravage start, I
will not plead,
My tears will only flow
when primed by raging seas
They say that life’s a
school, we must learn or die
They knock into us what,
where, when, forgetting why
Each put into our place
and left to wait our turn
It’s not about what we
may be, but what we earn.
Tree-lined sidewalks,
car-lined streets, children at play
It seems so calm and
peaceful, keeping fear at bay
Do the laundry, buy the
groceries, pay the heating bills
Get it done, don’t delay,
no matter who it kills.
It was a curse hurled
from the gods, but it wasn’t mine
Punishment for a crime of
pride I did not commit
Clinging to my prison
door, I hide my eyes
Expecting no pardon from
the skies
No where left to go to
hide from my mind’s lies
What can’t be told
infects a deep and deadly path
Buried wounds untended
surface into storms of wrath
A beaten creature huddles
beneath a snarling face
Dying for a welcome
smile, the warmth of caring grace
Some doors left open lead
to mystic hidden rooms
Of purple velvet drapes,
plush carpets and rare perfumes
The tapestry of life upon
an ancient wall
Or was it down a
rabbit-hole you meant to fall?
I begged a chance to be
saved, but it was not my time
The monster’s howl a
hungry hound denying rest
Lost in a tempest,
finding none to care
Petrified by my own
inward icy stare
Bound and cursed by the
gods, of what use is prayer?
Comes the time in
spiraling life of do or die
Take the time to breathe
the air, read visions from the sky
Willing change, allowing
pain to tell its sorry tale
Rearrange the picture’s
frame, learn to adjust the scale
The rules laid down to
keep us bound were never friends
A hero’s quest with
divine intent can open stories’ ends
Gods inspire nature’s
desire for beauty, healing, choice
Reclaiming heart, we do
our part, obeying our true voice
Opening my eyes, raising
my voice, I claim my power
The gods respond not with
violence but with joy
Claiming my life as my
own, I turn my demons into stone
Free at last my spirit
soars as I
dance by day through
sweet Olympian fields — by night among the
stars
RETURNING
If I could turn
again
If I could
turn
If I
could
If
I
If
I
Flying too
high
confused, losing
oxygen’s fire
infused with
enthusing desire
Touch
me
Don’t take me
down
You, who never knew
me,
grasping in space
where
I may have
lain.
Laugh to my
face
exploding in
pain.
O’, that’s no way to
survive.
I want you to
thrive,
be better
than
still life
man.
I’ll encase you in
goo that
allows you to
see
while you
writhe
inside intricate
mind.
Each molecule of
remorse
creeps out of your
eyes.
Sweet
water
of life, grace
effervescing.
(Lessons of
Nietzschean blessing.)
Rocky hazards face
those who
walk this
ridge.
Take it slow; let
time wait.
Patience
prevails.
Duration spans to
build
bridges, irrigation
ditches.
Inch by plodding inch
plot
fields of grain,
barrels for rain,
roofs, walls,
windowpanes,
chimneys for warm
hearths below.
Flowing rivers reveal
lines for exploration,
mining
ores.
Mine and
yours,
that element missing
from accounting calculations.
Earth and her hordes,
a separate salvation?
Wherever did you hear
that enmity
would take you
anywhere but desolation?
Dear, darling man, so
wrapped up in
some plan you think
you’ve sussed;
delivering your
birthright and your trust
without second
opinion;
believing written
history makes mystery clear.
How can I discover
words you will hear?
Why should I any
longer care?
Off am I, breathing
higher air.
No need to share with
those who
daren’t
climb.
Sublimity,
subliminally inclined —
nothing more to reach
for.
No need to
aspire.
If there is a you,
and you choose,
touch
me.
Don’t take me
down.
