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Category Archive for ‘Poetry’

Father, you came to her that night

words – dream-scrambled, unrecalled

apart from melody of ending, from beyond

all opening of death

 

“Now I am biting the void,” you said,

“Now I am biting the void.”

 

and so we became sisters, the void and I.

In laughter and dance,

swirling in mockery of life and love

believing in himself too much

shaking and trembling in his rhythms

as if we could empty them all-

laughing at Eden, because that promised,

ever-so-fertile land

has blood-stained walls.

 

So here we dance, oh kinder king,

Embracing voidity naked, and finding ourselves

frontier-less, nothing,

allowing creation itself.

 

Indeed, God himself asked space

to twitch his face and

laugh at pure reflection.

 

Come to me void, my oldest love,

– let me dissipate

and expand through you,

walking through those holy walls dividing

what is and what is not

Let me welcome the night and the promise

of becoming

…or not.

 

Dance with me void, through me, in me

until infinity itself collapses

and we go behind

the first point

of life expanding,

forever abandoning itself,

as being confused in unbeing

sprays gray space of arriving

bliss.

Loved beyond beloving, beauty

rises in mists of prayer;

yearning the fullness in your becoming

free from treachery, despair,

Yes.

 

Even free from me.

Let me fall beneath you, light,

caressing you out of yourself

that you might rise.

Releasing every cell and hair

and accent rejoicing mirror of form

to wider bliss and wiser still;

alive in unbecoming robes

so naked, let me wait…

taste breath of eternity

in ecstatic suspension

beside you, in Eden

until sun coming golden signs

the way to earth.

D(R)EAD

 

From an unanchored shadow

over there, under a tree in the school-yard

caught lurking in the corner of an eye

I heard it said

that you want me dead.

 

Always one to comply,

your prize will be delivered,

this day, or another,

my body a fool’s gold

to fill an eternal void.

 

Yet the light whispering on wet leaves told

that you yourself died long ago

deep inside, it has long been lame and cold,

unnoticed even in passing

and tragically unmourned.

 

When did it happen, that secret death?

Was I away with the kids?

Or too lost in love of being

to see that you had gone?

 

A death like no mortal course –

a rupture of soul from source

of word from meaning

of man from feeling

as the void empties spaces

where other humans live.

 

Leaving a body that stalks the courts

repeating words spieled out

long ago in random sequence

squealing vengeance at life itself.

 

 

I stand near the ocean where builders are free

based on thoughts of you, this rhythm, the sea
and the quietest dripping within, like ice-bergs
softly melting or juttings of rock eroding
as anger submits to sprays of fear
and old storms leave
sea-face still as a mirror,
and undercurrents of love and grief
follow mystery of this moon
that lets cooler light fall
through difference in one soul
and the next…
as various as these shells
whole and broken,
heaped in wandering lines
by the tides.

knowing these sapphire depths
unasking
divide in rivers and deltas
and raindrops and
steam of passionate loss
and tears falling again
so fertile,

as gentle waves like mothers’ hands
wash sand from aching feet
whose footprints traced your ways.

And I feel you playing
with these little toes,
always curled within themselves-
and after birth
when they were just a longing
to belong, you counted
each one to see that there were ten.

 

Ring the Bell

Sound

pure blows

in space

unforgotten

ungraspable

let it fly

through palaces

and chambers,

wisdom’s

eternal halls,

collapse into it,

aware in

sublimity

only of dust

of lesser self

releasing as

even humility’s

inner gowns

touch sacred

earth.

Subsumed in awe

and glorious remaking,

called by essence to boundless

disintegration- transforming yearning cells

of human being to being and being human bliss.

Yes, this deeper resonance awakens cherishing notes

and choirs now in harmony; unplayable and powerful beyond

vain hopes and forsaken thoughts to enslave love itself – let it fly –

faster, deeper, unrelenting, repenting itself and violent, true, rapid, still.

Listen, lover, universal stirring here- pulsating infinite choice from scores

behind creation expanding outward, as undeniable forms emerge as point

meets point and wider line stretches to prism, and this perfect splendour

meets itself descending, as in every heart and soul exquisite orchestras

conducted by tender gardeners most silent – cascade endlessly through

new worlds enveloped by love and closest holding- and the universe

wept in joy

we did it.

 We.

Sweet face, find heart that stains in trace

of other leaves earth-kissed, orange heaps,

uncovering still space beneath untired seasons-

firey forms burning veils of conscious night.

Unkeep it soon. Undertake to love

with that same unprofound Order

of yours unwinded

as we were bespoken

for centuries

in agony behind selves

lost like unkept clothes

as ancient ways

shape us into

a begodded parade

to a blood-blessed alter.

Oh yes, communion makes us jealous-

as believing in ultra-alter selves, wearing hoods

of lovers we blend and bend delusion, skirts lifting now

bewedded on knees all lost and losing

as in death, grasping at holding and hope,

all tears and flesh and candles burning as

our souls state rank beyond beholding,

becoming betrothed, betrayed or both

as wild nuns are none and light

reveals insane internment,

reprieve, release, relapse

and malice of despair.

How we must drink,

oh Alice, the vision

of this upturned

unbecoming

chalice?


 

anna
moving
on mites
of light
in flight
she notices the stillness of sacred speed
how infinite mass, the quiet unwavering
needle of the clock singles out another
story of light and timeless thought as we
enfold the spectrum, travelling on light’s
chariot and reaching planets more distant
than your eyes tonight as rehearsing her,
you feel it’s time to disembark from this
temporal
carriage
finding
another
anna

I sit in garden bordered magenta
seek pardon in hoarding of light-
the dance around this place in and out
of other worlds
around that tree of life,
and the others, this bird,
teaching mysteries of flight and nectar
this earth,
teeming with nature run wild
etheric pulsing without ethic
of mental form – my house there –
yellow and moving blue
the gravity of this soul;
and sitting here in poppies
red like old wounds recut
in seasons
the shadows seem much blacker
in rising light so strong
my eyes must close.

And closing eyes I find
purer souls of loved and dead
passing inner arches
leaving tokens
formed from faster feeling
to one who sits
in silence where light and shade
touch each other and wave.

Mother I am,
and mothered to earth
faithful until the shadows
consume the final light
whiter than I can hold in form
and we find
we are no longer many-
but blazing one sun to other
galaxies to splinter ourselves
once more.

And perhaps there I am the lover-
with Apollo in pastures unthought
after vows to fragile earth
release to new-born melody,
and northern pole stays encircling
this inner chant
of artemis nobilis
hands arrows sharpened by unborn love
reaching into Eden.

 

These hands held
darker pleas for help, cherishing
space where sunlight failed to
touch, unlocking goodness caged.
at close of feather, oh soul, soother
of fear ensnared; hearer of kernal
aching; seducer of flesh and truth;
pilgrim of Eden’s precincts; this bird
finds stillest finger extended, forgiving
all these flights of rage and jealous abandon,
safe now, she accepts destiny as outer space as
wingless thoughts disperse, lands surprised by
joy, on stable perch. Oh gardener of seeds,
how she forgets the stolen curses, dropping
crumbs of former pain, as these wings plumed
for healing and ancients whistle glorious rising
of dawn. And she sees the finger pointing,
as softest sun pastels routes navigated
before the nest was woven,
showing ways to fly
so wings spread
in ecstasy of
cosmic blend,
free to ride
the winds
that guide
her home.

Ochroma lagopus

  Daddy
spring,
you never
said
you
would reach 40;
drunk and real dead,
your girl pruned mortal,
knocking shock in time,
from clearing surreal.
feeling wood-like that
coffin,             Mr.  Sheen
dense,        shoulder
funeral          flame
flares             in forest
to burn                  white dwarf,

Dead
sun-
in that
bleak
hollow
follows olive twig,
branch of instant whip,
hurt leaf-lip shaking,
tear in mossy face-
your son and grace.
today 40 years, dead
drunk and gardened
in clinics, splinters
will incinerate-
clutching forsaken
flute – and flakes of ash
rises in balsa wood holes
where death is mute…
he blows songs of rage.