Goddess Dreams of Love

 
 
 
In a far off land, across a careening sea
Beauteous Damsel made a brave decree:
“I am the monarch, the dominant She
Who Must Be Obeyed.”
Then she smiled a million miles
Sunshine bright for days.
A sad young minstrel on a lonely cloud-strewn beach
Looks longingly on a face he cannot reach.
If he had the words he knows he could beseech
her with noble speech.  He prays
to the Goddess of Miracles:
“Please, show me the way.”
 
On a cloudless, moonless night redolent of dreams
Towering waves inundate sand, glowing streams
shower pure delight, ignite romance’s gleams
A golden thread sowing together their seams
 
Silent day arrives, crescendos to song
She glides the beach, feeling fit and strong
“Lithe leaping lyric carries me along.”
Her eyes reach onto the beach
To the lapping waves
Where he, dreaming, imploringly plays.
 
Out here, deep in the sea, wild and blue
Do you dream of loving scenes, poignant and true?
Afraid when you awake nothing is new
Swimming eternally free, nothing but you?
 
Singing your song along a lonely beach
Knowing not who or where it’s beauty may reach
Strong is the monarch, sure in her speech,
In her reign
Goddess caressed, you are blessed
for all of your days.
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What Is Truth?

 
 
 
My understandings come in bursts of light
Illuminating an expanse of imaginal plane.
My theories come in synchronicities and
instinctual leaps.
My truth comes in different shapes and sizes.
It is not free, but fluctuates
in value and price.
Sagacious butterflies may morph
into pre-archaic beasts
of mechanical flight,
then fission into visions
throughout multi-dimensioned space,
or coalesce into a perfect face.
Is there Truth?
A million tiny fireflies flash out divine runes.
Packing up my picnic,
I head on home to ponder.
On my way
a willow tree
swaying majestically over rippling water
opens to a glimpse
of the frozen moon.
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peaceful moment

 
 
 
Like a warm evening on the beach, all woozy from sunshine.
Tingle of sea breeze, that ocean scent of the wild.
As the sun recedes, cooling, refreshing, yet still a lazy summer eve.
Oh that luscious feeling, that overflow of quiet release.
In and out of sleepy reverie, so gently washing through pools, reservoirs
of elation.
Like a sweet warm breath caressing.
 
We give what we can; we take what we need.
Marching, in orderly fashion.
Or beatifically walking to a sacred beat.
The horizon shifts through daily duties, nightly prayers.
We take what we can. We give.
Without edict, without rational equation,
we give each outward breath, and take in what is given.
 
Like a happy inspiration, song springing from memory to lip,
moving the fortunate mind into momentary ecstasy of accord.
Moments meant to linger, to haunt as loving ghostly guardian.
Wrapped in ethereal glow of grace’s reward.
Summoning iridescent spirits to play joyfully,
ubiquitous harmonies.
Like the words we tell ourselves to bring us peace.
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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.
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Welcome to Summer

 
 
 
Myth-laced lunar light,
infuse long summer days
with magic and romance
a’glee in joyous play.
Wild fantasy takes flight
above earth’s rule-bound maze.
Passionate heat-soaked night awaits.
 
            Waves of windblown flowers blooming
 
            Scent enlivens sense to peak
 
            Warm, warm breeze and rivers flowing
 
            Endless miles running free
 
            Let summer magick build up steam,
 
            simmer into thrills supreme
   
        ‘Tis season raised to rejuvenation
 
        So play on …
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Before It’s Over

 
 
 
They say in dreams a house is a metaphor for a life.
Windows open to the world, mysterious eyes seeking snowfall,
slush debris, snarls of auto travelers rushing into night.
 
Hidden inner rooms may appear, unsought buried treasure.
Deep within decorated walls, a smiling child painting with excrement.
Dimpling, she offers scent of flowers never known to earth’s earnest soil.
 
Silly dreams, silly imagery, skillful denying;
making much of
a molehill on alpine ground.
 
Mountains are metaphors for achievement.
Struggling like Sisyphus, discovering like Pythagoras
basic relationships on which to build.
 
Empires, like species of mystic birds
emerge from smoldered flame.  Flogging slaves to
roll those rocks from imperial graves up the peaks of glory.
Like family, and its social cognates, enslave to stories:
“This is who we are.”
 
February snows through conflated years.
Fear was my ally, hailing me on, hugging
with glorious laughter, carrying unsure steps through
onerous trails. And those ebullient ecstasies of survival.
Drunk on the gold that surpasseth science or light.
Touch the cold sting, letting the song sing through me.
Do you?
Feel the music?  Abandon your amygdala to dance free
awhirl in a swirl of laughing snow?
In dreams, inchoate, unremembered, do we play in those
moments of bliss to keep us balanced, to give courage in a life
less lived, less honored?
 
Old, glazed-over eyes seek momentary solace, look long,
longingly, into a silly mist of snow beyond windows closed
securely against the cold.   Dream world revealed,
in the interplay of eyes and mind.
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of days past

 
 
 
They were Republicans, Goldwater Republicans. 
He was really a libertarian, and enjoyed explaining why. 
She was a stay with our leader and prosperity
Eisenhower socially liberal wanna-be elite.
 
Broad labels to secure, to bind
little lives.  Little tribal rituals to cope through the
dinner parties, backyard barbeques.
 
It’s all about the vignettes, when no one’s watching.
The mind’s eye snaps a photograph,
pulls it out from time to time,
to remember
that we were
becoming
were believing and trying to understand
all the waves and illusions.
 
Something moves in my vision.
A wing, a wave of hair,
a blossom in the wind?
Something.
There is a wisdom and
a mystery.
There is more than meets the eye.
There is emotion,
brewing up a storm.
 
Glancing inward,
a girl curled up in a warm blanket
sips cocoa
watches the storm outside.
Affixed to the fascination
of the flame flashing,
of the wind wilding,
of the window between.
 
Days when all I can do is listen.
I have no words with which to speak.
There are days when the bubbling stew
speaks to me,
and the comfort
is all that I
can bear.
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Moon Child

 
 
Created from the Milky Way shining into Mother Moon,
Reflections from that ancient light emerging from her womb.
A sad guitar, a raging sax, emoting through the sea
Of stories sung through ages all, what was through what will be —
Were you the Lady of that lake, were you the piper’s reed?
Were you the luscious, sacred fruit fulfilling every need?
Yes, you the child dancing in the fullness of the night
To ring the rune and cast the spell to make the darkness bright.
Of goddess born to keep us safe and sing our lullabies
Till we emerge as sparkling stars to light the dreaming skies.
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Back to Basics

 
 
 
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.
 
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.
 
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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Enter Dancing

 
 
 
That liminal space
Between my body and vibrant air
Creates a dance.
 
There is fluid form
There is salvation,
Thunder from the heavens,
Tears and lightening,
A host, a feast, a conflagration.
There is laughter.
 
The dance takes me up
In motherly embrace,
Holds me softly,
Listens closely,
Lifts out all my sorrow,
Lets me fly.
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