Wednesday, January 29, 2014

5/4


A Dave Brubeck ride
neon and yellow lines
dissonance of winter against the pale
echoes a fractal rhythm
ba ba da ba 
strong to weak to shine to bone
a strangely familiar 
timeless 
ascension

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

this just in ....


these fallow places the hollow spaces
between the rise and the fall
the fire and the glacier cool ...
between the snowdrop ditch and the smooth mesa of fullness
we ride through on painted ponies with ancient names:
placidus, gleam, viola, faic
we ride
awareness dimming
struggle to sit the saddle as tension sits for tea along
the femur, the gracilis, magnus and the brevis
hold through these unsown regions
hold tight
await
the rise
the fecund melt
taste the wind
lean in

11:10 retro-soul-dust


Everything is Bollywood carnival-dog
slap jack & jackalope abalone poker
two-step, side-step & dance a little closer . .
Ring around the rosy, pockets full of blackbirds
syncopated entanglements of undecided waters
we waltz to rhythms pyro-plastic & unsure
no trees, no bees . . global jihad on it's tour

Everything is neon
no pastel softness to be found
snowy owls make headlines
as tender bones lay upon Somalia's ground
jumping-jack-flash sings for recompense
One a penny, two a penny hot-cross-mess
solar flares shift as politics lace this holy ground
splashing hope & god to glory
evermore where labyrinths bound

Everything is matter and matter rides the zephyr train
boomerang cupcakes & bluestem coyote-pain
random sparks of poppy-cane
sure as crocus sprouting 
and the scent of thunder rain
circle your gypsy wagons paintbox Monet & Gauguin
like a diamond in the sky as star-dust rivers our souls
Dreams paint our daytime
as story's words are sowed . . .

Everything is cotton
Everything is dust
The owl and the pussycat went to sea
on knotted threads of crimson trust
Mercury flaps a flapjack
jousting with the moon
Borealis morning
Collide will happen soon . .



Monday, January 27, 2014

yellow


It is with ease
that
sometimes
I slip
underneath
the bell jar
Trapped & separate from the tangible
Wired into currents sublime
Flashed with the hope & sorrow of millions
Star-dust pleading for ascendance
Does this bead of brokenness transcend skin ?
Do we become what we see, what we feel
And
When
What we feel is nothing
What we see is the chasm
Is that the rubaiyat ?
Can I dance moonlight woven & talk to horses ?
Does Jupiter sing to me of epic tales ?
Is the living-giving-taking of life to be felt as mercury - silver & unforgiven ?
Sensitivity pierced with the hollowed thorns of dreams
Grasping for the physical, the pull to earth & sun
Rescue me
With the weight of your hand
Crack
the
glass . . .

Friday, January 17, 2014

256 years


Mad Hatters & Cambric's
Thistle & sage . . .
Replace the mask, and turn down the page

We rumble & thrash
Upon life's canvas
To search ever endlessly
For the scent of dianthus

Follow the trail of bread crumbs & stout beer
Thru forests & hollows
To the prickly shores of our fears

Wait there alone in the still of mid-winter
As January's moon thru your bones sends a shiver

Collect your token
and
pay the ferryman
Don't gaze in his eyes, or you'll never know land again

Jump from the craft to an island of stone
Dance thru the fog and sing of your home

Sing loud & ferocious
All thru the night
Sing honest & sure
And hold your soul tight

Snowflakes, whispers & cinnamon tears
Cherries, a paintbox and 256 years

There, in the breeze
Comes the scent of pink william
Ancient secrets of love
And star-dust vermillion

Breathe it in swift
To the marrow of bone
Breathe in the moonlight
And know you are home

Mad Hatters and Cambric's
Thistle & sage
Lay down your mask
And leap onto your page . . .

Monday, January 13, 2014

perihelion











life surges
thru tendrils of tethered tenderness
ambered terra rosa pulsing with the need for sun
SUN
bolstered to earth by gravity & axil tilt & speed
we ride 
life surges
and
across our aging, freckled & pale skin
the furrows & rivulets of passion & presence tremble & taunt us to rise
despite the swollen tubers of tissue & undergrowth
gasping for air as some newborn with pink silk folding
we greet the first strong rays of Spring's promise
standing upon cold ground -
soil & life beats beats beats along filling the narrowed cavities of our bones
with lightening, solitude, knowing, desire, youth, fragility & forgiveness
we fill
we breathe
we ride
tasting of morning & the solar flares of our own Spring

our own green life 
surges  ...

Monday, January 6, 2014

Dante's dart


i remember quite clearly the night i took on the worlds sadness as my own
pink baby-doll pajamas with ruching of blue flowers
8 yrs old gold
kneeling on a canopy bed
leaning upon the open window sill
leaning
and
gazing into the world
late
dark
quiet
twinkling stars
unable to fend off this as yet unnamed despair i tasted on that blue moonlight on snow night
a parade of heartache, loneliness & pain leaked under my skin leaving its burn ...
. . . an ancient, folded & forgotten mahogany woman pacing to & fro across some cracked damp floor
. . . a solitary soldier cold & wet loosing his humanity with every step,
there -
. . . a frightened child with dark eyes hiding from the sharp sting of thoughtlessness
. . . a small boney white dog homeless, not understanding how gentle hands can be
a stolen life
a fearful task
a lonely death
dantes dart landed upon my heart
no amount of pink groovy psychedelic sunshine could stop the march upon the fabric of my soul
so began my ritual, my telling mark:
kneeling upon my pink groovy bedspread in my pink groovy sunshine life
every nite
gazing out & up at the stars wishing for strength
wishing for magic
wishing for enough love to shoulder
dantes dart

Friday, January 3, 2014

the feel of things ….













Tight crinoline of a dress - starch-unyielding
gingham bows bold & blue
the softness of one older & plumb with everything good and enfolding
warmth of hands holding
embracing …
to
a walk down paths - trails forested
the feel of unbidden dreams and stolen things :
moments
objects of no poetic meaning,
june sunlight on the backs of wee hands
marveling at the tenderness of violets
and
the smooth manipulation of grass, glass and ideals
to
freedom gained by acquisition and wheels
wind
always feeling the wind  . . .
to
the solitude of things
corners dark
camouflaged by vision boards of
mad hatters and meadowlarks
soon
electric sexuality rising to command the gamma rays of the sun
and
the
color of night
to
the feel of contrast :
your skin on my skin
calling
me
home
to
sunlight tighness, crinoline poetry, electric freedom, star rides & open spaces
the smell of grass
and
the feel of wind  . . .
the stolen gray of tenderness
found
in the feel of things

Thursday, January 2, 2014

day to night


preference to dust & the carnival masks ….
the tatters of summer & billows to mast
mercurial children of moon & chiron
indigo magic kneeling at dawn

smelling of fire & sex at high-noon
we search for trails to our velvet brigadoon
uncovering silver & sorrow in sand
only to find it there in your hand

a hand that is slender & wisdom weld
a hand willing to serve others well
a hand recalled in the darkest of dreams
a hand parting the veil, piercing the gleam

so we find that path outlining the tender
Psyche & Eros collide in surrender
reality limits only the day
by night we soar hand in hand in the fray . . .

preference to dust & the carnival masks
the snow of winter & hearts of glass
the seven of cups thrown at the door
moonlight-imbuing of love evermore