Monday, September 17, 2012

The Edge of the Desert . . .













Oh HeLLo World that lies outside these walls ….
as i sit here, the wind is picking up, and it looks & smells of coming rain … somewhere 
and i am rocked by
contrast  :
the contrast of morning against the night
the contrast of quiet against the noise of water running thru the pipes, music on the radio and children outside calling to one another as they walk to school ….
less and more
empty to full ….
the promise of rain .. and the bleakness of drought
' those who have; those who have not.’

a sneaky, orchestrated segue to share with you a new anthology
 ( of which i am a part ,,, )

Song of Sahel
from
Plum Tree Books 

is now dropped into Amazon & available for download …..
this is a beautiful & poignant work of compassion & action, with all proceeds going to aid the magnificent people of the Sahel . . .
( that's that orange band trailing across Africa, on the southern edge of the Sahara in the above picture )

There are many areas, throughout the world that require our help & awareness , a moment of our time, our dollars …  our care.
The Sahel region of Africa is one.
Take a moment and jump about our Plum Tree Web Site

We have an amazing ArT auction happening for the next 27ish hours
( yes, I even have a piece there !!!  )

there is the most haunting & beautiful music to download  . . .

 . . . even Claudio Fiore's radio show full … just fuLL of tales of the Sahel,  music & poetry

jump onto our facebook page to catch more information, make a bid on some art or just tag along
it's a lot … i know.  You, dear reader can handle it !!!

STEP into our dream with your heart.

THIS  is social media at its best … when we are brought together over a labyrinth of time & distance into a dream of ArT & HoPe
We are - each and every one of us, but tiny grains of sand on this blue planet
but when one looks close enough, the remarkable beauty of each grain is evident and the infinite understanding that we can indeed change the world  -  one grain of sand at a time ,,,,


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

5 o'clock thicket


IT
is lonely here , quiet
Windows of sunlight feed me ...
Waiting on this cold pink-marbled bench for a sign
And even though you can't see it - it is snowing
It always snows here
It can rain but that happens most often in the morning
Snowing softly in this captured glen of birch & pine
A slow, dropping sparkle of designed brilliance
Always
A meadowlark sings , maybe a meadowlark is always singing
My feet grow restless as they tap & play in the foliage
Should I play a pennywhistle while I wait, or sketch the inside of your heart ?
Definitely should take up smoking, or knitting, or model airplane building.
I could build a plane & fly away to the last place where i picked up your scent
Rich cherry-earth, honeyed & mine.
Hmm . .
That is cutting too close. Too close to the burn, the pinch, the punch that is the want of you .. It resides in a scarlet-arched line from the base of my throat, to my groin and travels out in a spiraling crescent moon
to blossom-explode upon
this night marrying to star-shine & nightingales
That is cutting to close
Just wait ... Here .
In September's snow ...

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

tapped









Chutes & ladders of pulsing light
Wrapped in flannel white
Soft
Transparent
Ethereal fragility felt
Impossibly delicate
Mechanics of design sublime & bone-china-fine
In this quantum pocket of night
Cradled & held in soft apricot light
Beyond the scope of this gather
crawls a maleficent  force
Intent on the rip & tear
Baring down with ropes of pearls, baskets of emptiness
And the sharp cut of destruction knocking, knocking ,,,
At once  . . .
Finally ::  i am AWARE
 . . .  of the magnetic awakening
Found in the paper-thin cooing of small things
To feel it all churning, grinding, riddled & intent
As an inky slickness looms, spreads
To know, see & feel the bitter-root of Mephistopheles
and to warrior that darkness
With the knowing purpose of starshine
Well, here we are.
Shielded for a brief spell
A brief captured spell
Here in this Oz-curtained human truth
Rest, nestled in this winged sureness
Stay
Sleep
And may this tangerine veil linger forever between ...

sometimes it catches you


it does ...
the light catches you unaware & open
vulnerable to it's glimmer dancing
caught there in a suspension between what is
and
what is always
bridged by the light
into
wholeness
trapped between shadow & white sparkling
it's a door
open

moving between

this is the quiet hollow of pain before surrender
dull in it's persistence
and ringed in cotton quilts & ginger
chilled
on this last hot alfalfa night, of a long dry summer
hollow
but not.
gnawing
grinding
hollowness
of this piquant hour : midnight
restless mooned midnight
where somewhere on this last hot alfalfa night
a boy in a red truck waits under the big dipper for a girl in a hurry to grow up
hollow, but not.
timeless
stillness
fullness . .
jackson brown plays on a radio from a station just south of chicago
hollow buzz buzzing of energy puzzled into heart and thighs hot
the last hot alfalfa night of a long, dry summer. . . .
cotton & ginger