Random Notes

 
 
 
Random notes
spin and float,
echo through this day of transience.
National news
and lines from blues songs
hover ’round me as I work.
Love’s a word, a concept,
    I sometimes believe in.
But when tension wrecks my faith in trust
    I can’t believe in anyone.
 
A child grows
And learns to know
The Norms and Bounds and Social Graces.
Learns to see a world that we
have carefully wrought and framed.
We grow old
and feel we’ve sold
a hope, a dream, an inspiration
to more comfortably fit into
the slot above our name.
.
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words of power

 
 
 
 
 
There is nothing wrong with the words.
Strong, coarse tools, imprinted through early exposure,
signifying our common emotional code.
Rules we devise are conventions
of conversation; protocols of etiquette
to ease polite cooperation.
Civil diction clothed to steer
along social continuum;
among peers, those
above, below, best soothed with charm.
Stand down, soldier.
We are in the realm of informality.
Speak as ye will (and none be harmed).
.
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Spiraling

 
 
 
 
 
 
Where do I start?
How do I end?
Where am I going?
in circles, in circles
Can’t catch a break
or a smile, or a friend.
Tell me true, would someone like you
hold me encircled
in gentle, strong arms;
hold me close and whisper
“all is well”?
It’s Hell! I tell you
when Heaven seems so near.
But the fear, it circles,
keeps me restrained,
so trembling,
so dis-eased.
It’s not that there’s someone
who needs to be pleased
by my shame, by my fame
which escaped me,
by my deep prone supplication,
by my pain.
But if I don’t please just so,
I attack from that low place inside.
I know, you can feel
what I mean.
I hear you decry anxious tears,
act like apprehension of fear
leads to fair prize.
What I need to be told:
Could someone like you
hold me so tight
make it all right
tell me you care
always be there
deep in the night when I
just need to write
one more freak-out poem?
Could you be a safe home
for my poetry and me
in those times when it
kills me to hide
in circles, in circles?
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Sibyl

 
 
 
 
They say the stars speak in your eyes,
comets, cosmic truths, prophetess of skies.
I know I haven’t got a clue.
That’s why I shyly shadow you.
Hoping you’ll look, and see me through
my crazy little life.
 
Mythic fairy tales come true.
Or so they say, if we pray and pay what’s due.
I want the omnibus surprise,
the chance to truly realize
what lies behind the veiled disguise
of my crazy little life.
 
You treat me like I am not here.
You turn away, whisper “I’m no seer.”
But when I look into your eyes
the clouds whirl right out of the skies
and for that moment I am wise,
full of hope, full focus clear.
Why can’t you see I’m, just like you,
a fairy tale becoming true
through all the struggle, all the strife
of this crazy little life.
.
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On the Air

 
 
 
 
We have these moments we may share, my friend
We are not here to judge or blame
We’ll join our souls in song
Our steps will blend into the pattern 
    of the game we play
It’s all a game we play.
 
I’ve often watched the stars and thought of you
Although I didn’t know your face or name
I’ve followed in your form in all I do
You see, we’re all the same
It’s all a simple game.
 
The nights are long, the days are longer still
We’ve learned to play outside of time
Just passing through each moment as we will
Falling in and out of rhyme.
 
Perhaps tomorrow we will meet again
And, never having met before,
We’ll have our interlude of love, and then
Depart, each through a separate door.
.
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As Above

 
 
 
Cloud imagery morphs, calls forth
enchantment effused through morning firmament.
Pulls memories, wishes, muses’
wordless cinema
enhanced by rhythmic score.
Loosed within foggy aurora,
birdsong. Voices conflate
sums of experience.
Mauves, shades of color still subtle
coalesce;
mist rainbow
undulates.  Moist air
tells stories.
 
Prismatic atmosphere,
diffracted light.
Thought’s many metaphors,
layered clouds, sustain
perfect
inspiration.
Ecstasy dissolves the lock
dividing everyday from magic.
A solemn touch unites foreign forms.
 
Empyreal sorcery shifts minds into consciousness
with such poise.
“Of course, we knew it all along.”
.
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A forest is a poem

 
 
 
A forest is a poem
in a language of immediacy, of action.
Symbiotic rhythms swell into echoing song.
Bathed in catalytic light, dense layers
nurture over long decay. Fragrant vibrations
call rousing tune for bestial play and parry.
Seeds join outburst glee, new forms
for old, merry meet of sound and fury.
Forest
the word itself carries mystery, tales
of magic and expiation,
of feisty maidens defying giants and
handsome knights sworn to fealty.
Mischievous sprites, winsome serpents and crows
whisper oracular spells to trap or free.
A mere display of words manifests no sap,
no flagrant moss, no perennial berries
enticing birds
to build for a future family.
Yet a forest is most certainly
a poem.
.
.
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Tick Tock

 
 
 
 
Another clock, another tower
sketched out in the sky.
Long-bearded sage bells epochal secrets
in cloud-talk as flocks wing by.
As clouds roll by in the wanton sky,
no matter, no mind, no derisive spirit,
no sense in these days of wicked ways,
of the wise
 
’round midnight
witches wander.  Merry meet in
heathens’ woods.
“up to know god, I tell’s ya”
It’s all about how we arrange to appear.
Scraggly hobo, ascetic seer, abomination
(or a-bomb a nation).
Pitch a well-earned vacation
on points-of-view stocked in
mindbank.  Mind blank?
Enjoy the ride.
Twin jugglers set on stage.
Nature and nurture combined
through tidal trails inside
— a seamless tryst with fate.
Hear eldritch tale, my star lit dear
of how we now have wandered here.
Now’s waiting; don’t be late.
.
.
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Sagittarius Full Moon

 
 
 
The many faces of illusive Moon
reflect starlight in her artful glide,
entrance the sky.
My mortal eyes want to believe
gleaming quests, brave truths, romantic rhymes.
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in sacred moonlight,
swaying from your ivied castles
to mystic mountain
legendary glades,
tell me why I should give credence
to magic codes of
spells and sacrifice.
Is the wisdom of the ages
so constrained?
My species may be blind to
naked eternity,
but we mutate,
find and define
new ways to see.
Fixed space is far too limiting
for me.
Dear Sister Moon, separate entity
from birth, entwined destiny
with Mother Earth,
patterns re-cycling reveal
what we regard to be real
is but reflection.
Face to face to face, fluid
to change.
.
.
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astral vision

 
 
 
 
 
Mystery mists of history holy lightening heightening sky.
Desirous anticipation.
Early pinks ascend from eerie violets.
Sun’s lifting eye twinkles like a happy kitten,
tummy exposed for adoration.
Omens, prophecy, hope for enduring happy returns,
quests beyond horizons now observed.
(without gravity, how can we fall … or love?)
Aching for stars, planets, infinite,
silent assent that means all is promised.
I touch a cosmic peak,
breathless at such altitude.
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