into the change

May I find the Wisdom
to accept what I can’t change,
change what I can’t accept,
get over my damn self
because I am more than my memories,
lost in eternity, but not forever.
I am unwinding from silken binds
so soft it’s taken all this time
to feel their pull.
Sublimely full of wretching
bullshit, ready to relinquish
expectations, admit they always
fail.  Sever ties to tribulations,
succor of revelations,
just nourish from what comes,
unfetter adaptation.

caught a rise

Anger is a response to pain.
Sometimes that pain is about
deflecting shame of embarrassment.
Sometimes that pain is about
long festering wounds that never scab over,
maybe quiet for a time,
then that new wrong reminds you,
exhumes intensity.
Sometimes it’s here and now
cutting, searing, concussing, contusing,
abusing, denying you as human, or
demanding tribute you can’t afford.
Brandish that angry sword to express,
transmute what you can no longer
endure as pain.
                !
Anger can be a burden, but also
an inspiration to discover succor
and possible solutions to move toward,
to mitigate your pain.

project ions

Stories, their imprints
specific images, phrases,
sewn into psychic dna.
Reconnect.
Enjoy communion, community,
deep companionship,
the stuff of dreams or drugs.
Stories told in growing friendship,
or on a screen, printed page or overheard
conversations,
evoked by a word, a scent, a song,
a sense of longing for.

a time piece

How do we tame Now, 
make a dance of time, lithely swaying
whirled reverberation from eternity,
twirls of shadow and light, silence and applause.
Like moments cast upon a screen,
all we’ve known, done and seen.
Days linger long, the nights cling longer still.
We learn to trace our steps outside of time,
passing through each movement as we will,
falling in and out of rhyme.
Stray swiftly beyond imagined borders
to possibilities yet unexplored.
Enjoy surprise, the changing tides,
this space in time while you’re alive.
Our world is but a moment.
Take it – play!
Engage with this gift,
this day.
Built on ages
of sun, storm, forces claimed
divine to bring us through though scathed.
Anchoring to tales binding
warmth to warmth,
life to life,
year to year.
Raise a glass to you,
courageous pioneer.
Forward from here

Solemn Beauty

Mourning memories, deep emotion steeped in beauty
no other mind will see
*
*
When beauty’s smile could greet our eyes,
define new mornings as we rise, why would we
otherwise choose?
I am consecrated to beauty, in all its terrible majesty,
the power to move the rhythm of my heart,
the power to chide me as gloriously inadequate,
to inspire me to reach to the stars.
Exquisite agony everywhere to be discovered, held dearly, set free.
I quest through epic verse, mystic lore, fairy tales —
lovely, lyrical adventures that lead into complex emotion,
ecstatic movement and poetry, a need to share.
*
Have I reached the bridge upon the crossroads, the glimmering?
Magick’s sea through which I now may travel, native soul
returned, having earned my keep, my long journeyman’s
wage.  I have looked as age, deep reflective pond, plays
soft consort with lingering light, echoing.
Freed to meet my mission, to accept desire,
immortal pleasure, the opportunity to sketch,
to draw out beauty, to paint leisurely upon prism glass.
A wild road calls, beyond this threshold, sculpted by
primal prophecies, oceanic rifts and meteors.
*
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim in the glory
of original grace, ecstatic beauty.
The tinsel of starlight; the subtle scent of conflagrated pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm
Tumble
into
song singing hallelujahs,
starsbursts, sunrays, miracles ablaze.
*
Beauty must disturb, impel waves displaying meaning
into neural crevices, thus saying:
Stay deeply in this brief eternity …
*
I am shaken; I am atomized through that eternity.
As beauty demands sacrifice,
sacrifice demands such beauty.

narrative

We are shaped
by the pressures, expectations,
definitions within which
we grow.
Even when we accept objective evidence,
interpretations encode what we know.
Tell me your truth.
I may accept, suspect, deflect, reject.
How are we to meet, to speak
bare of swords, of skewers?
What is mine, what is yours,
denies that all is ours,
and not ours – that we, you and me,
are not what matters.
And yet, of course to us,
is all that matters.
Is there an answer? (or nest of answers)
What is the question?
What is our quest,
if we allow ourselves that story?

World Viewer

So he told me
it was like a wheel.
Each spoke held a special
memory, an occasion that
would not quietly fade.
A memory with which to while
dead time, make it less than,
more than real.
Locked away, alone.
Physically there is no torture,
not even discomfort.
But what to do, how to behave?
No one to scold or contradict.
No one to hear or listen, to
play against as friends, to share
the chores of explaining our world
into being.
This world I imagine, develop
its contours within my inner eyes.
I explain my world’s many layers,
massive geologies, pretty associations
becoming ecologies.  Over condensed,
imaginary  eons, populations
of sentience evolve.  I scope in on
individual psyches.
I intuit their reasons and yearnings.
I listen to their anxieties and dreams.
I have found my vocation,
world viewer, thought spun into
alchemists’ gold.

Mental Illness

Broken folks need succor,
help to replace resilience sucked
from their beleaguered lives.
So inconvenient, too much to do,
for active caring.
Someone must (hey, government), pay
trained professionals to take these crazies,
make them right.
Professed love as judgment, tough and mean.
How dare you be burden, not my salvation?
Don’t you see how I suffer from their pain? 

private harvest

private harvest
(for Kevin)
*
*
Loosening from light, long hazy days ebb golden.
Private harvest. 
Shamanic gifts of remembrance,
Sun grown fields and buzzing industry
spun, woven into fine fabric, textured tapestry.
*
Soar o’er awakened sky, past to now.
Taste surprised by juicy essence of
perennial harvest revelry.
Real lives yearn, feel need
for some promised warmth of care,
shared extremities that nurture hope
of shared deliverance, hands and minds
together strong;
surge of survival over uncertain destiny,
return to thrive, if we might find that energy.
Private seas pull grand tiding.
Attached to this Earth,
mired (but not beyond mirth, cosmic inspiration),
energies blend, fuse.
See, smell, taste chemical reactions;
hear reverberating air.
Recombinant winds call timeless tunes.
Rhythmic movements re- and un- engage,
ever changing, never wholly new.
*
In these moments stuck in migrating vibrations,
skies descend, dark mirroring.
Smell the woodsmoke, intoxicating, soft and sweet.
Feel in the electric falling starlight,
spells of renewal, of power to look back
upon our falterings, to find the seed now grown
yet changing still and ever, able,
willing, co-creating in the illuminated shadow,
invoking the peace of dissolving twilight,
of midnight’s hopeful resurrection,
of the hinting sky that lightens before the dawn.
Wizardry of synaptic awareness,
unlikelihood of consciousness;
Dreams, Visions, Epiphanies, ineffable insights
too dear to deny.
Realign expectant gaze toward peace,
plenty
— planetary necessity.
Take peace into each breath, each incantation,
from the strength to align impeccably
with your deepest truth.
There is no limit but that will assigns.
*
Celebrate
exultant vibration.
It is time to reap ecstatic harvest
of moonbeams dancing to dawn.