duet

 

 

 

Rambling through fields of daisies in spring.

Hoping to find a new feeling.

Coming to terms with what each moment brings.

I’m making a bargain with time.

 

Not getting tired of running around.

But wanting to know where I’m going.

Trying to measure my meaning in sound.

Trying to keep it in rhyme.

 

Hoping to answer a call to my heart.

Quest for passionate focus.

Adrenalin pushing, I’m ready to start.

Making a bargain with time.

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bird songs

 

 

 

 

I’ve been through this before,

pre-dawn morning

birds chirping, infiltrate my airspace,

awake when I should be long oblivious.

Good girls dream of princes,

subliminal desire to be slain

by love piercing enshrined virtue.

Gold hued birds in crystal cages

incant witchery for food —

hair of newt, spleen of worm; smoky

syllables induce pleasure.

Warm hearts beat together, no bond

of pact

or sentiment.

Lore is explicit; no crime to commit.

Vexed, inconvenienced by the regular

comings and goings of

the natural world.

Birds of a feather exchange their

social pleasantries.

It is I who should be sleeping,

conjuring brave new worlds;

ambient noise translated into

neoteric lullabies.

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Fish Tale

 

I didn’t know the fish would die

flapping on sun-warmed metal.

Peacefully domestic afternoon.

Children discover death

and other worlds.

Sitting by the well

to draw inspiration.

Spinning yarn, weaving words.

Dusty work.  Flakes of skin

embed the fabric.

Struggling through childhood,

the tales get twisted.

Little boys & little girls

separate language.

We think we know our place,

our destinies,

from the games we’re given,

the words we’ve learned to imitate,

rhymes, reasons, rituals.

Imbibing passion body to body,

we awaken rules of blame.

The woman tempts.

The hero conquers.

The sad boy desires a

self-fulfilling fantasy,

stomping upon his heart to

start the flow of real blood,

real rage.

Out of water, out of earth,

out of air,

flopping upon some inert surface

the tale mechanistically repeats.

What world can we discover

nurturing life?

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Omnipresence

Binary stars blink celestial song.

Music of spheres, of oblongs, ellipses.

Twinkle far beyond constant of light.

Cycles within spirals, rhythms within

phases of rhyme; sly eternity’s tricks

of repetition and mutation.

Crystallized, brought to sublime fruition.

Poets taste, translate cosmic recipes,

tongue to tongue.

 

 

Omnipresence

 

 

There is purpose in the soar and descent.

Aviation over rocky terrain,

entranced by sea curl, currents,

shore tides charmed by Moonfolk.

There is magic in the swoon,

dizzy heights,

charismatic ecstatic galaxies.

Bent, sowing seed below,

stumbling among jarring rocks,

tilling soil,

carrying water,

stirring mud into food;

blind, veil entrenched, exhausted from dire falling, 

meager air.

 

Peak touchpoint of glory

intently aware above the waves

remains.

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Conjunction

 

 

 

    Falling in love has a lot to do with the MEETING.

    That ineffable configuration of time and space 

        and receptive psyches.

    It only happens when you least expect it;

    and are most ready.

    Getting ready consists of  

    totally engaging in your own thing.

    Digging on yourself.

    Playing in tune with the universe.

    And feeling softly horny — if you can dig it.

    Least expecting consists of 

    enjoying perfection of happiness,

    at one with the moment —

    neither expecting nor fearing.

    At this point, you are ready for the

            MEETING.

    And it will flow along so smoothly 

        and just rightly

    that you won’t even notice ‘til much later

    just how magical it was.

    There is still plenty of good old-fashioned magic. 

        Ubiquitous, if you can hitch onto it.

    Magic is what love is all about

    — that imperceptible cement that binds

    freely floating atoms or organisms

    against all odds.

    The

            MEETING

    consists of you

    and another

    and everything around and within you

    from the beginning of days until now

    which has been gathering forces

    to bring you and that other together.

    And you know that wondrous soul without explanation.

    And right here is such special THERENESS.

    And you both have everything to say

    and explore at once.

    And it’s so exciting.

    And you’ve found love’s buoyant cloud

    miles above the Earth.

    And Everything is somehow beautiful.

    What happens next is up to you.

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For Leda and Her Lover

 

 

 

Slow, languid romance.

Gliding, alive in the dance.

Coy, exchanging glances, magnetic

fascination.

Lithe, feather embrace.

Wings to fingers, to waist, to loin.

Adoring clever licks, lovers’ gifts,

luscious lips,

tender whispers, savory inhalation,

breathtaking kisses, tingling

skin, tangling hair.

Intently aware, intensely

THERE.

Amazed, amused, merrily

enrapt, enthused, near crazed

in that way of ebullient pairs

passion ensnared, joyfully

joined.

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Augury

 

 

 

Interceding,

a view between Heaven and Earth,

Above and Below.

Chilled, burned, abducted by prophecy,

by Gods, Demons.

What creature, fearfully aware of mortality,

prays to be the prey of fate —

prays for salvation from the other side,

accedes to forces beyond control

of flesh and mind?

What kind of caviling, conniving coward

bends the law, the sacred trust,

covenant with all that is holy?

Cast into a class that laughs at rules,

what holds grimy chaos at bay?

(Fools at least are pure, are gay and

without malice.)

Cunning schemes are not forbidden honour,

if they carry careful depth, just weight,

that integrated code.

How much is sold?  How much kept

for seed and nourishment?

This is why we invented numbers —

to have some objective measurement.

So good we become at spinning stories,

descending backward from our source,

so easy to proclaim:  “Of course,

everyone knows,

combat is the obvious choice.”

Because our goal is not solvency,

but Salvation; not solving common sums,

but absolution from our sins —

merry though they may be.

If Greybeard aloft in quantum sky,

hallowed by Name,

presides o’er rewards, blessed bliss,

cries in flames of perdition,

why would such a power be amused,

indulgent Grandfather bouncing worshipful

child on envisaged ectoplasmic knee,

promising eternity if baby will but

keep still?

Wouldn’t such a benevolent progenitor

expect more joyfully creative heirs, better stories

 

for the choices given?

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Escape Velocity

 

 

 

 

RRRRRunning–Spinning–  rising to fly, to reach

and conquer the sky, the rooftops, the treetops,

outside city crowds.

To elevate,

escape gravity.

Ascend beyond all those petty groundling woes and fears.

Climb past the clouds,

among stars and moonbeams.

Steer to view

celestial omens extolled in fantasies.

Zooming through tickly, teasing, laughing ecstasy.

Catching up to steep snow peaks.  Peering in lighthouse windows.

Prancing gaily so many feet above fields and roads,

glancing below — can’t catch me

not you dour, sour, 

glum-faced cons down on the street.

Learning to fly, to soar, to race up high

where I can see for miles, 

and miles recede.

Learning to say no to ordinary normality

and break free.

Learning to say yes to magic, and make magic me.

Spinning–running–dancing–flying

unlike anything before.

Learning to break out of bounds and take in more

Ain’t nobody gonna tell me I can’t fly.

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Armageddon 555

 

 

 

 

 

Gathering clouds

debate the contours

of a marvelous storm

building

electrically

ionically

magnetically

enigmatically.

Rumble.

Deep, deep

chthonic

rhythms.

Drum, drum, drumming.

Hypnosis. Ozone wind

whirls

opens portals, windows

wormholes.

Cyclonic chaos rains,

rages, sobbing, shrieking.

Ubiquitous

whirling  miasma.

Stink, blinding,

rips through,

whipping into submission,

into ironic splendor,

random bits, splinters, slivers

of skin, sprinklings of

vital fluids.

Wisdom wrung clean

then flung away,

orgiastic rending

lost in a storm

of biblical proportions.

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Folie à deux

 

 

 

 

Folie à deux

Me and you

In a world of two

Don’t skip a beat

out on the street

in our non-discreet

Folie à deux

Keep it clean

[Queen to Queen

You make a mean

Folie à deux]

I’m not fine

Sun don’t shine

Unless you’re mine

Folie à deux

Love that style

Hypnotic smile

Bewitched, beguiled

Folie à deux

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