fumes

so many more small voices
the whine is deafening
Yo no puedo
nada, nunca
All’s too much a chore
The human world is running out of days
running out of time, and place
running down, fading
Take what you are craving
while you can
Running, enclosed in wind and ecstasy
tumbling through hills and streams
touching ebullient songs and stories I
mind made from scores of memories
Fairy Queens in fabulous fashion,
perfumed theatrical, fountain of care and flame
Here, decades before stir of storms destroyed,
bliss and pain drum rattle refrain humming in time
Would you listen?  Would you call for intermission
to tell me to go on, to give form to cast impressions,
would you hear?
Would you share precious dialog, help to make clear
notes and tones adrift in unwritten air?
darkening, forward escaping, suffocating forests can
offer no refuge, no future breath, no better fate
We cry our deep and enduring hate, love, revenge
falling backward 

Beltane

Mid-Earth grand trine with Neptune call the tune
Fourth day in May, cross-quarter fully blooms
Lightly we dance, toward brightness cast our eyes
Into brave chance, into Dame Future’s vast surprise
Undulation trance of gypsy minstrel choir
Movement so intensified our light bursts into fire
We worship Mother Earth, praise through rites of flame
She gives our lives hearth and home and name

Marching on

I give my wandering children
Anger to protect you from pain
Rage to ameliorate agony
Fear of what folks won’t explain
Fraught laughter to counteract tragedy
Music to move you to heal
Theater to unite what we feel
that vague sense that nothing is real …
Lost at an indistinct edge made of snow
Unsure where we’ve come from, with nowhere to go
Beggars and bullies and braggarts and whores
iron chains on our windows in rooms with no doors
Fire roams freely, unleashed by cruel wars,
feeds forever on days we will never see,
worlds we will never be
given

for a warm season of Peace

Beginning’s phrase sets a tone.
Scat replies build, rise to moan.
Sway and leap, dance expressly.
Rhythm’s sweeps lets us less see
arms weaponized, more flesh and bone. 
 *
Tense days, loose nights lost in dance.
Nothing bright to hold but chance.
Release calming beat of trance.
Touch light pulse above, below.
Believe, let go, enjoy the show.
 *
Hide beneath sodden leaves now.
Find solace under dark fall bough.
Breathe softly lest faults be found
allowing hate to break you.
Eschew tribal truths, dream anew.
 *
Candles burn within dark halls.
Sparks of wisdom engrave walls.
Vision churned from flame enthralls.
Wander Earth, as scryer’s eyes.
Watch wonders play under charmed skies.
 *
Journeys carry forward dreams.
Lost or found not as it seems.
No true ends, nor beginnings.
Fair or foul, both bring winnings
dependent on emerging themes.
 *
Loving notice helps us thrive.
Hugging, twining to survive.
Human heat to beat cold air.
Communal muse strives to share
Beauty grown from times of Despair.
 *
Sky traffic lights like fireflies.
Dwellings mellow glow below.
Colder nights, calendar slides.
Slender omens signal hope.
Shimmer of magic helps folks cope.
 *
Reindeer, Moon dog, Snow-borne dove
tender tidings from above.
Laughing lights spell out wishes.
Shadow shows tell what bliss is,
attest truth’s essence tastes of love.
 *
Nests abandoned for far clime.
Winter stars bold shine sublime,
searchlights toward a hopeful sign.
Each turn faces new expanse.
Which view will you choose to enhance?
 *
Peace on Earth we seek in song.
Dear lurkers, please sing along.
Expand our voice, let all hear:
Peace is a choice, so is fear.
Bring words that challenge “right or wrong.”
 *
Festive times remind, expand.
Music joined becomes a band.
Voices rise, soar together.
Blessed skies shine loving weather.
We move past or for land of and.
 *
Craft absolute joy with care,
wondrous toys, laughter to share.
Pour drafts of delicious cheer.
Flow kind bright fun far and near,
music to soothe strife’s savage ear.
 *

Exploration

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” 
 
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Exploration
Worn skin, sloughed to reveal life’s mending.
Stories explore relationship, bring us in,
expand awareness of ephemeral intimate worlds.
Where may we be, unleashed from expectations?
Which sins are nature’s?  Evolving from animal
to beast, is this our best? 
Hillock play, a school on holiday; Winter is
friendly.   Swirls of mystery invite hot drinks,
warming tales.  Theatre prevails, ritual of ascent.
Out in the pines, dreaded satire, ceremonies of
rage controlled to focus flame, to burn in shame,
to counter pain for power.
Questions.  Questing makes us wise.  Resist
hypnotized consent:  “Yes, oh great glowering
crowd, yes, Sir Mighty Educator.  Your words
stink with deceit under sweet perfumes, narcotics
draining of ability to decline.”
Each “who am I” innocent of irony, ready to
accept and be glad, secreted away for a
better day; listen.  Stories safely told safely
hold dream-hidden refugees below surface travails.
Lost in flailing, in crafts lacking integrity, cracking,
leaking, failing to protect. 
Sirens devise beauty,
inspiring, drawing upward those myths
seekers of meaning in desperation complete.

Deviance

I proudly proclaim supreme racism
wholely disposed to hate human’s race
to mean extremes, crowds of insolence,
fight or flight devolved to loud chaos
of enforced fright.
Steeled against each encounter by armor
of antipathy, assumption of malintent,
only able to relent and open clenched mind’s
shining eye of acceptance to that occasional
beauty, rare and deeply layered.

Shadow’s

Shadow’s
 .
 .
At the edge of the real.
At the plummet of denial,
At the summit of all we pretend,
Re-echoing crescendo.
No forward to discover again.
Doorway into Scorpionic revelation — severe, profound,
grabs from beneath the conscious realm.
One big hurt.
 .
Taste our pain.
Savor the flow of blood from torn veins,
wounds of idolic war, vitriolic rain,
beggars kicked into oblivion on deadened streets.
Pain, the great motivator.
Grind them all into a massive meatball,
cover with condiments extracted from tortured Earth,
this is the wealth that is worth
every sacrifice.
 .
Maggots and microbes
feast on soft decay of blood.
Can the wage of war feed outlandish habituation?
Twisted, tinged in dark crimson layers,
smell terror, ooze of death —
endless retreat.
 .
Seeking power of wisdom:
Multiple paths converge on star points,
pierced by light, taste of blood in roar of darkness.
Inspired by anger engorging my blood-brain barrier,
by symphonies of guilt and shame and hope,
by simple positionings glimpsed from roving eyes by lightening,
darkening, liminal desires,
by brave warriors who cope with more than could be required
and wind songs my silent ear demands I hear.
 .
It is foolishness to think that paradigm-wrecking change will not inflict pain. 
Perhaps it would be better if the shift would just Poof! —
all the trauma and bloodshed washed up at once
into horrific tableau, then Enlightenment! 
I don’t think it can work that way. 
Mostly we seem to not be inclined to any major changes
without misery so deep we see no other option. 
I am emphatically not “for” this; but it seems to be so,
beyond my ability to control.
.
.