So You Say You Want a Revelation?

 
 
 
Disappointed mystic exile John,
eager to besiege his jailors
rendering unto Caesar
tales of woe and destruction
of Biblical proportion:
“The burning bush told me.  I swear it’s true.”
Beware the ides, the armies of Megiddo,
the smoke and mirrors,
the mushroom clouds
invading our memories.
“I send you these frantic missives,
Oh my Christian soldiers.
Do not stray from Yahweh.
Look what He has done to His
soul-begotten Son,
in a fit of divinity.”
I believe Jesus made it his mission,
gave every effort and sacrifice,
to save his mortal family
from mad jealous wrath of Dad.
His words clear, actions legend.
So sad that sheep easily forget,
falling under the evil eye
of any would-be butcher
slavering to grow strong on
the currency of blood.
There are beasts, and Beasts
numbering in legions.
Days end, begin, end again.
Murdering souls in the Name
of the Redeemer.  Oh, the Rapture!
Any sane Judgment would leave us
drowning in bitter tears.
I am begging:
Open your eyes, minds, hearts.
Open and learn.
True revelation awaits in every leaf and vein,
in every newborn cry
revealing pain
is meant to be a message
of active compassion,
to nurture a future
kinder than the past.
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In corporation

 
 
 
I am that I am.
You as my servant are charged
to make certain I never want nor
encounter less than the best,
nothing to sully my arrogant expectation.
And so for my children,
so long as they
do not question my authority.
Yes, snake, I hire for my utility
uncovering hidden resources,
slithering into the low places,
heralding my majesty,
hissing into obsequious ears
my requirements.
Never were you meant to
usurp your station, to
slither into my daughter’s dreams.
Rebellious children cannot
be countenanced.
Out I cast you, into the wilderness
stripped of your privileged ignorance.
Live or die on your own cunning.
I have no time for your precious pleas.
I have worlds to sculpt and fortunes
to arrange.
Out on the plains
multi-colored cotton candy spins
woven silk butterflies
dance on marionette strings.
Wondrous worlds appear
floating inside soap bubbles.
Heretic progeny, you forsake me,
creating a carnival of bliss
never anticipated in my prospectus.
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Loving Meditation

 
 
 
If of intimate ties, affection,
you feel bereft,
perhaps you lack ardent acceptance
devout duty demands.
Resist forced codes and
ritual, expected wishes.
Look!  Travel mindful panorama
of you from early memories,
each significant nexus
marking direction
to now.
Blessings missing from your consciousness
were never meant for others to fulfill.
Love you give yourself
expands 4-fold:
Insightful embrace deepens your psychic well of delight.
The world is gifted ripples
of your love.
You tend your eternal spirit with
essential energy
to create what is great
within your destiny.
You offer exalted example
to uplift humanity.
Do not be afraid to love.
Do not be ashamed to love the
being closest to your heart.
Learn the meaning of loving charity.
It is not about dying for demonic sins.
It’s fulfilling happiness
through your own loving kindness.
Living a vision of love.
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The Sleeping Gypsy

The Sleeping Gypsy
(with thanks to Kat)
 
 
The sleeping gypsy awakes
to the singing of the Moon
The lion roars to see such fun
and dances a desert tune
 
Oh slip along the sands, my love
Oh drink from the land of night
Smile effulgent, dear Moon above,
melodious lilt of light
 
A quaint refrain of remembered rain
lifts us over sharp hills of pain
Awash in marvel’s mirage, we play
Strum gallant minstrel, of wander’s ways
 
Loyal Leo will lick your wounds
refresh with nature’s might
All our world a whirl of sound
love and luck will soon rebound
 
Charmed music fills the air with glee
Play, dear gypsy, wild and free
No fears to scale your flight
All in a desert’s night
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Karmic Stream

Ripples
along a lazy stream of time
crossing whirlwind space.
Rippling into etched contours,
teasing tricks of mind.
Expecting miracles.
One day precedes the next.
Reflective pooling, a
faultless, serene slip of spring.
Next I know I am hauling logs
through winter
cold, ice-tinged hands and toes
dripping nose,
exhausted, wilting.
Life brings no promises.
None to hold them to.
There are no changelings of the night;
not even prescient aliens to awe us.
There is energy.
There is form.
There is shadow bleeding
into substance.
There is here and now receding
into there and then.
There are the promises we keep
never knowing we have made them.
Ripples
shining in the sun
colours of a thousand worlds’ rainbows.
Ripples quietly expressing,
infinitely regressing,
first cause
last effect.
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Transformation

 
 
 
Transformation is not about butterflies
flitting about, capturing our awe.
It is the heart of pain
you cannot feel for me.
Searing cauterization,
what would be condemned
as unethical treatment
of secret wounds
bound up in tattered consciousness.
Bit by bit, then all at once
losing the thread,
spacing out the conversation,
not quite catching the gist of
why I am here and now.
Did it ever make sense?
How could I believe my lies?
That papier-mache world
I gave my soul
sucked dry
in enduring service
was never true.
I would cry
but that would be too easy.
The pain would dribble down;
fascinated by the rainbow glisten
I would count my misfortunes
watch them spin
pennies falling into a rose-glass jar.
Filled with resolve,
I would go back out into the fray,
fight another day, and another
until by decimating degrees
I might fall defeated, dead and gone.
But death is only an act
of transformation.
The whole play depends upon
the spinning out of the tale.
First you love, then you lose,
then you do hard labor
stoking the fires of Hell,
breaking the rocks of Eternity,
cleaning the rotting sewers
of collective untreated waste.
Stench, pain, nausea
beyond bearability
wrenches, renders, discorporates
transforms.
Not like changing
into a bright, enchanting costume.
Changing utterly
because no other choice
exists.
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Hekate’s Child

 
 
 
Child of Hekate,
sweetness and light?
Where is the mark
of your entombment?
Buried prematurely,
to strive for growth
in dark enclosure
striving for a breath
of the pompously negligent
Sun,
of the blushing Moon
of the squabbling sons and daughters,
of daylight’s pleasures.
Striving, tenderly
twisting around corners
aching for an unknown touch.
 
“Tell me, sir, then, how’s it going now?”
Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,
all at once remembering
playfellows on the schoolyard
running, out of breath,
filled with pride
a jolly good game.
Always someone begging
my attention,
but it wasn’t really me,
just a story to steam off
or a butt to joke on.
All the silly give and take;
only time is taken
and that in big hungry chunks
of no tomorrows.
 
One long day
now the part all groggy
waking from fevered napping.
It wasn’t supposed to be a tomb
nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.
It was meant to be a child’s cot,
freshly laundered cotton lace.
But the rats got in,
once the cats had been slaughtered.
 
Slowly wakening
I strive again to find my footing.
Learning to walk
was never as easy
as forgetting to fly.
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Persephone’s Worlds

 
 
 
I have wandered far from thoughtless girlhood,
am woman grown, a Queen
in my own right.
Yet I am treated with the expectations
of a mindless child
in my mother’s Summer home.
The Gods are all agog with Zeus,
fickle, abrasive, free to take full stance
above the laws he so imperiously commands.
My Dark King is so much more a man,
sincere, deeply feeling, committed to his realm,
compassionate, if not always kind.
Yet, this season I must obey the crowd,
display charm and grace
in haute couture, make small, insipid
conversation with useless socialites
decorating Zeus’ lawn parties.
Up here, life is meaningless,
All flash and doggerel
to amuse, O’, do entertain us.
So tiring to endure the ennui.
Those not privy to opulent entitlement,
relegated to the dregs of servitude, or less
endure for their time, brutal, painful, short,
for no good reason.
I hear their horrid tales,
back in my rightful place and purpose.
Shrunken souls, shriveled by life time hungers
still growling beyond the grave.
I am balm and wise mother.
At last they matter, their stories opening in me
a marvelous passageway through which they are
taken into paradise.
My life above, the petulant daughter,
the pampered goddess spawn,
I endure coldly.
Summer’s trivialities, properly obedient to
rituals of social condition,
know nothing of my true calling
under Winter’s glory.
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Pluto’s Wife/ Demeter’s Daughter

 
 
 
Persephone, your will is free
Even as your living is in bondage
to forces much older in their power
You are free to reconcile your fractured life
Daughter in Summer’s sun
smiling warmly, playing at innocence
with charms long practiced
Mother’s Fool
Mother’s Lamb
Saved from that horrible man —
Well, joint custody
Ever Her beloved child
While it is no secret
Down below you are honored Queen
among tortured souls ever needy of your
attentive care
Far from noblesse oblige, it is your
chosen career, though not chosen by you
Are you told enough:
“You do it proud.” or even acknowledged
for the prowess your will gives existence?
Free Will, not Free Choice
It is learning to make of the whole sad cacophony
discrete instruments of harmony, of divine symphony
to find, realize, act with
impeccable integrity
as child or Queen
or someone between
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Scrying on the Moon

 
 
 
~twilight of the goddess, call to song to aery dancing, lady fair your fiery trance rewinds our souls; enjoy these offerings of fancy: all art is yours ~
 
By sibylline light
images I recognize,
creviced captures of my life.
I know her judgment to be my own.
 
“Nourished by Moon rivers
mythical cavern blooms
unseen by sunlight
glow green.” 
Thus she sets the scene;
becomes the prophecy.
 
“Purest white simplicity
curved to suggest fragility
faith fed maiden ready for
plucking,
given in bondage to womanly woes,
hard rows to hoe
for tight human hug through 
crying of night.
 
Fate of mortal soldiers, sacrificed to lust.
Seeking relief, beg for the boon of drama
high adventure
sneaking into sad hotels
for a fix or a tumble.
Laughs,
deadly play,
danger, a real chance.
 
Barefoot in the snow
icy roads
winds so strong
I could not make you hear.
I thought you were my destiny.
Crazy thoughts, far from clear;
but I believed
song lyrics from Saturnine deities
would not lie, leave me
dying, fading into winter’s grey
drifting clouds,
endless sorrow endured for naught.
Lost on this careless corner,
dreaming of oblivion, intent on visions
like rain
tapping against eternity’s
vast windowpane.
Scenic serenity.
Nature’s gradations of green
soothe tired eyes,
trembling nerves, throbbing  veins.
Slivers of moonlight reflect,
disperse through refrains, unearth secrets
embedded in song
effervescing through cool pure air
 
cleansing the uprising nestling
set aflame
resurrected
tempered mettle,
pure, wise, tested
engorged with the will
to rise”
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