Tuesday, July 28, 2015

half past fearless












..it will begin today
at four in the morning
on the heels of this full thunder moon ....
in a
softly, sublimely appointed chamber
with 4 walls of padded
pink & orange-paisley-dragon silk
wrapped with ribbons of blue sage
this will bind you both
to this moment
where
in this moment
you can turn it all around
before it's too late
is it ever too late ?
shove aside pride & ego & your worm-hole of doubt
love has faith & fireworks
smells of
cinnamon vanilla & feels like flannel on
a winter night
before it's too late
promise me you will try & burn the candle bright
clasp hands & jump into the fire
love will heal your wounds, mend those scars & brighten your days ....
youth will linger & stay
here, drink this . paisley-dragon nectar ,,,,,
now ....
hold tight and
make of your love a bowl of sweet-secret cherries
forgive all & remind  ,,,,
you will last.
it is never too late ,,,,

Sunday, July 19, 2015

the wait . . .










In the fabric of my bones
lies a light within
trying to get out
shining
always waiting
there --
a structure of stone walls, moss-covered & cool to the touch
linens of pale yellow butter soft
mornings of sweet dew-surrender & gasping grasping pause
nights secret & timed
echo'd sounds
and
a warrior's embroidered wait
endless waiting
here lie golden wide timbers of a floor weathered & worn shiny-smooth smelling of ale, salt & wind hands moving, open tendered response checkered pulling, pushing . . serving up a dash of welcome & place
i am there
waiting
lamps glow & laughter kicks me thru to tomorrow a home of stairs & lace
warm against gales of ice & oil bright with the coming of the green of Beltane
there is a home of stairs, lace & a promise of return the sea is there, but i do not gaze
it is easier to look star-ward knowing is gleaned in brilliant vastness
always turning
always waiting . . .
the log walls of this cabin weathered & worn shiny-smooth a hard ride on the open prairie and
the steady climb to tree line, horses - eager & present--feel their breath - pounding & trusting with palomino intent sage thick, smoke curly-chasing
elk & coyotes howl & dance no open, boiling sea here just a river running thru land
days endless & weary wind chasing sky chasing more time meshed in evergreen presence
a flicker of the something more the peace found in the rolling of clouds across the mountain
indian paintbrush, black eyed-susan & columbine star the trail tucked away from expectation & need brief here . . time is brief but sweetly gingered
here
tarry here . . .
until another river winds thru the dream mississippi-wide & meadow-larks delight
dresses fitting tight & candy-like
hot
tight
nothing is as it appears . . . not this landscape steeped in traditions old, pain & division
not this pretense of affection & indecision
i know i see you there amongst the others waiting for me , , take away
running, hiding darting the iron skyscape of interiors cloaked in strength & will
crumbled brick fires alight & games are played to the death
questions laid to rest - do not abide within the shadows
that is the question isn't it?
who exactly waits for who?
what we dream is not linear - subject to charms & algorithms
the silver train that speeds thru the skies illuminates the night
passing from one hand to the next to the next, gradual transportive movement
dance & catch & release
quantum traveling . . across the distance
silver opalescent rails worn shiny-smooth
expecting one, but it is the other who waits at the end
silver sleek sleeper-ride
and
now . . .
i see the house magnificent mid-century modern with glass, light, air & breath
redwood honed fresh - crisp all light all white sleek, new
trees billowing, shifting just beyond these walls of glass blue-ocean sky domed & perfect
crystal-silver clean smells freesia-white stillness
waiting
suddenly glancing down
cracks appear
light escapes
has no one looked here yet?
where is everyone?
below lies
a cavern
a cave
a rabbit hole
a place deep & dark & ancient
endless
stone walls, moss-covered & cool to the touch
linens of pale
yellowed-butter soft surrender
wait 

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

hour glass

the spark and crash of tempests flaring
solared prism of misplaced forgiving
marks our journey
from death
to living
brightly
dimming
circled in amber arms at twilght's nearing
we reach
we touch
we fold
with blood's carmine brimming
softly falling
to
a summer sparrow's song ...


Wednesday, July 1, 2015

things are not always as they seem







some days
I wish the roof wild
to be ripped from this house
plucked by twister … or azure magic 
leaving exposed the lathe bones & plaster of its construct 
sun streaming in to light upon the broken corners
wind dervishing with no philosophic placement
random bits thrown to the unexpected
inside out
outside in
woken to the thunder of being
each breath miraculous in its chaos
such is the nature of storms