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,

prismic 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.

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Something Like a Love Poem

 

 

 

That’s what we do.

We fail to come through.

No narrated voiceover keeps score.

I know I swore you could count on

my adoration.

In shame, I lose your face,

slip away from every trace of joy

your presence bestowed.

Anonymous streets, single tables

dark cafes, jukebox blues.

I done me wrong.

Funk up that pasty song, white boy

as if you taste the craters of

my soul.

Like you, I’ve learned everything

I know

from late night movies,

lyrics on pre-dawn radio.

No one at home has time for

more than to pretend we’re all just fine.

How was I to learn more than my lines?

That promises have consequence?

 

That I am more than dreams

that don’t come true?

A quiet stone cottage

sheltered by life-bearing

pine, firs, maple, birch,

nature’s hues and cycles,

my heart relaxes.

Meet me here.

You, with your piercing mind,

languid manner,

voice like sunlit stream over

random pebbles and glass.

I promise to listen.

I promise to breathe the fruit

of your nearness.

I bargain for this chance

with all I am.

Before I ever saw my true face,

I heard you cry;

I felt the ripple of your laughter.

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I of me/Genesis

 I of me

 

 

The I of my inner dimensions speaks truth, sees beauty,

lives multiplicity,

cares enduringly,

always somewhere aware.

Playmate child, elated, wild.

Guarding angel drapes protective wing.

Ethereal wraith, bell like diamonds singing.

Light, clear at-one-ment stirs through the air.

Breathe.

Listen.

Be.

 

 

 

Genesis

 

 

In the beginning

we fell apart,

thrust out, expanding,

becoming the heart

of time, space, and life.

The division of darkness and light

into binary code,

the linear sequence of time

growing older each moment.

Catalytic stimulation, element assimilation.

Systems and cycles ignite.

Wavicles swirl in excitement,

bumping and grinding unite,

build this grand reality,

seed ethereal possibility

long before divinity

could be defined.

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day dream

 

 

 

It was a warm and windy day,

bittersweet in springtime,

the trees, newly leaved,

swayed in the warm, sweet melody.

It was a day to kick stones

along a riverbank and dream,

before a night of jukebox music and cokes

at the local diner.

What kind of day are you?

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Coming to the Light

 

 

 

My mind playing tricks on my eyes

That golden glow brings me to

worlds of pumpkin coaches,

Valkyrie in flight,

neverlands that never were,

yet so more real than

what passes for day to day.

 

Sadness is beauty brought down by ugliness,

truth succumbing to convenient lies.

Joy is opening all senses into the

spectrum of beauty.

No moderation,

no limitation,

no structural captivity.

Let the stars be shining beacons

calling us home.

Let the wind be a magical cloak,

the rain an exultation.

Let the cold, bleak night be

a treasured, inspiring friend.

 

Let the night carry me forward

Into everfulfilling fantasies

The never empty cup,

the magic wand/magic word,

sprinkled with faery dust,

toasted with the fine bubbles

of celluloid champagne.

Let us, the night and I, sneak off into

exotic wanderlust.

Let us learn the secrets of the Moon and Stars,

ancient runes, alchemical wonders.

Let us play upon the backs of dragons,

learning to fly,

learning to breathe fire,

learning to explore the mountainpeaks

and caverns of

our chthonic fears,

spin them into gold.

 

The new day dawning

will encounter clouds and hailstorms,

turbulence and destruction.

It will be a day of startling downpours,

unsettled wind,

of unreasoned pain

and empty solace.

It will be a day to try our souls.

But it will be a day of infinite possibilities.

 

Let my good friend, the night,

join me in play

to help prepare me for the day.

Let the earth and fire and rain and wind

infuse my spirit

that we all be fellow friends

in the new ventures

coming with the light.

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stone Pan

 

 

 

Like a Pan of stone,

ensorcelled, cast in shame

from homeland mystic plains.

Immortal master held below

mundane sky.

 

Mercurial phase.

Experience teaches as ratiocination

never will.

Solitary skill.

Search cascading clues,

divine signs.

 

I fish for gutter snipes,

smoke to assuage hunger.

Haven’t you?

Silly me, to contradict

your view.

When we met, I was still

so new.

 

Practice magic expressed as habit.

Impeccably design unbinding spells.

Immersed in scintillating sound bites,

encrypted tones of Temple bells.

Silly Buddha tricks

are for kids who sell cheap

services for circus thrills.

This phase relaxes — sings out for fun.

Unwind! The next track looms ahead.

Stone bases crack, licked by the Sun,

Spirit discounted as dead

wildly rises.

 

Glorious battles can start

in an era of heart.

Glorious peace be created

in an era of mind.

Stories absorbed in the womb of man

reach out

in the day to day,

cast an unconscious design.

Over ages, the Covenant is broken.

Astonished, stone breathes, alive.

Mature, Pan, self-freed, grieves

lost time.

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Meditation

Sitting, meditating

on self-hallowed ground,

surrounded and succored

by the spirit of life.

It isn’t easy

to turn on the tide,

get tagged talk of the town,

the laughing stock,

the example for errant schoolboys:

don’t want to end up like him.

Yet no thing is easier.

Moving with the rhythm,

natural, buoyant.

Beat by beat,

sometimes a song appears.

It sings with me and the crickets,

the cicadas, the bees, birds,

and chittering creatures.

We dance a little jig,

breathing, breathing.

Inspiration, exhalation, exhilaration.

Bit by bit the sunshine

infuses with my cells.

I am opening. I am learning.

I am being made new.

All it takes is total dedication;

not a renouncing,

not a denying,

not what one would call a discipline,

just total awe and devotion

for every discrete exquisitely beautiful layer

each moment reveals.

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Life Awakening/for the May Queen

Life Awakening

 

 

Report from over the edge

(falling or flying?)

Actors on this mundane stage

(in prelude to dying)

 

Revel in our role as mobile mud,

immersive experience.

 

Dutifully capped in belief

we would spew

pent-up poison.

But, taste!

Fortified water vital

with mineral dust.

 

Awake, world in space

moves sanely.

Renewable lake, safe to trust,

pours through this core.

Pain soothed to prophecy:

apocalyptic healing —

cleansing visions

take root from within.

 

 

 

for the May Queen

 

 

Tick Tock

Times a’creeping

Maidens weeping

beating rags along the river’s edge

shallow floods keep the land aware

destiny is seatide

 

Crazy lady mending her endless tears

Throat flumed, a voice to run from

Love never tarried, though many she married

She cocks an eye, arrowing flocks of fears

Cackles and coaxes sweet mourning doves

to carry her coffin to market

Buyers beware

 

Don’t stop

Don’t answer

Don’t stare

Don’t be seen

Hide in the green

Hide in the hole you call home

Never admit you belong

to the caste you belong to alone

Never assent to succeed to the throne

Wait for cover of darkness

Wallow in comfort of sleep

Trade what time you’re given

for a secret you can’t keep

Destiny is seatide

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It Is Written/Speak in Peace

It Is Written

 

 

I stand, open and defenseless,

waiting for Pluto to overpower me,

take me where he will,

suit me to his purpose.

Or, is that my sister Hecate

coming to meet me,

coming to embrace me,

to set me free?

 

Wondrous are the ways

of the shifty, glamour-ridden mind.

We peek out through rainbow slits

onto a sinuous landscape.

Slippery bits of meaning slither along

hissing out of forked tongue

oracular riddles.

“Oh, yes, my love awaits me.

In the tall grasses we will twain.

Great fortune is to befall us.

It is written.”

And rewritten, and rewritten

on and on through the fever.

Burning molecules, organic fuel,

dance wildly, within a fiery pentagram,

within channeled schematics,

ignited by a living passion.

 

I am beyond words.

Tumbling through shiny bubbles

and iron-wrought hieroglyphs.

There is nothing to depend on

but pure will

and the ability

to suspend belief.

 

 

 

 

Speak in Peace

 

 

Useful communication requires common metaphor.

(Myths forged for tribal survival divide. )

 

When I feel alive, rooted yet wild, outside of frame

a twirling child, free of security derived from shame

able to rise beyond the schoolyard game of divisive naming

 

I see within my eyes distant seas and shores,

forest fae blinking in the haze,

journeys rending years into days.

Hear the whistling, touch the swollen fruit,

amazed — counting down as I tumble.

 

How do I explain in this tongue we mumble,

barely getting through a random chat that

gives no exit wound to that ache beating inside

to grab a hand, touch your mind, bring to being?

 

Yet, why would you want to see what I am seeing?

It’s only poetry; only curiosity; it’s only

miracles of sand, twinkling, breath of fire

combusted glass, twisted into culture, class.

Beauty survives each blast, more adored for her

scars. Allured by her charms, may we doze

and stumble into sweeter reveries.

 

In sleep, relaxed, uncoiled core may cry in surprise

to be free, awaken realigned.

 

Speak friend and enter.

We have much to discuss.

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Secret Language/Fairy Tale

Secret Language

 

 

I move into your music.

Mirroring emotion lilts, lifts, aligns.

Children giggling secrets,

shifting about in starched clothing,

hard, separating seats.

In our secret language

buzzing bees are harnessing wildflowers;

dragonflies suit up blades shining,

roar into ferocious valor.

A gentle stream caresses

slick marbled stone.

Faery moss

catches up glints of

pirated treasures, arthropod sculpture,

fossilized fire.

Our tongues lap easily

over silly syllables,

tricky consonants

clicking, tickling our teeth.

Inside innocent eyes

laughter ignites memories

unembraced by words

 

 

 

 

Fairy Tale

 

 

A memory of haunting nostalgia.

I cannot not touch it, taste it, hold it, know it, breathe it.

Still it piques me at the corner of my eye, below the level of perception.

The words escape me.

One must be very careful of words.

They hold great power, mystic and legal and personal.

Words can weave a whole world, a whirl of worlds, a wild wind of words.

They can create reality for those who get caught up in them.

The right word at the right time can catalyze miracles.

The right word at the wrong time can destroy the eternal.

How might I find the words to capture my quest, my destiny?

Enter the Fool upon the Precipice, prattling ditties of the daily airwaves.

She is whirling blithely, eyes upon a distant rainbow, breathing in clouds.

Breathing out daisies and daffodils and a brilliance of pansies.

She is dancing to her own symphony, entranced in her deepest essence.

Without thought, without prayer, without a government authorized identity,

there are no guarantees, no happy ending.

There is a tale I try to tell.

Its point escapes me, withering into fairydust.

I breathe in the poisoned air, drink the poisoned water, eat the poisoned food.

Like a desperately swimming fish in a polluted bowl, like a creature of the streets eating garbage,

like a child.

The pattern is corrupted, but I follow it as best I can.

I have been told that if I can properly put the pieces in place

All will be revealed; all will be peace and beauty and love.

The pieces of my shattered mind.

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