pentacle

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.