the goatherd's crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd
who arranged new ideas like glass beads
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

for many restless nights they looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep
dreaming

eyes crawl

in words
grace falls
falling from the page

falling down for quite some time
every soft silence is falling
every flying dream
falls swiftly down

every enjambment
every word
every note
falls down to
your feet

where the beat
lifts it up again
where the ache
begins again
where you dance
it up
and feel your Heart

again

where you lift your eyes
from the mud to the skies
looking like an Angel or a dirty Saint

seeing the words in the clouds and the rain
in the stars and galaxies filled with dust and fire
in the wars of men and the gathering of moths
in the sweetest honey mead and your broken guitar
in the sea and the wind and the shadows of the street
in the secret in your eyes

where you

see the space
where my pen aches

Zenses

these eyes which clearly see,
only see shadows, partial images, dust and ashes;
mere reflections ... I am blind!

these ears which soundly hear,
only hear echoes, random noise, modulated vibrations;
cacophonies ... I am deaf!

these lips that move to speak,
only mouth nonsense, utter prattle, articulate nothing;
spacious double-talk ... I am dumb!

these senses cannot grasp the ineffable nor embrace the infinite!
You are beyond the reason of mere understanding,
I am struck deaf, dumb and blind,
by Your beauty and mystery!

nevertheless, You are in this Heart caressed ...

edges as parting lips

sea the Moon
interlaced by waves
a tessellating path of light
trees, water and visions of whales bursting through

those edges where life
and death merge
the sea, the land,
you and me

abundant and wet
blow holes, anemones, starfish and mussels
a fish wriggles longingly to the shore gasping in the Sun
an evolutionary urge; that Sun sets in the Sea,
your tongue in me --

it doesn't mean a lot, the fish edging to that last gasp:
it is everything to kiss you
it is ...

a hurried sentence came over me

while my hand gently grazed over the paper
my pen began to tremble

outside an empty car stole the silence
shooting lamps of red and white
the horn bleating of theft when no one was there
to hear it

in my unfolding book
of poems it is like that

jellyfish back strophe

sHe disturbs meaning
~ in rhythmic pulsation ~
exciting to fluorescence a deeply subtext'd verse;
'but don't mistake a stinging strophe for arrogance.'

'that's just fierce presence,'
moved by waves of astonishment
cascading through a nervous and vascular system
spontaneously overflow'd {sea through}

with a reaching iridescent tentacle
sHe simply, elegantly, fluoresces a gleam in your eyes ~~~

~~~ sinusoidally embraced ~~~

dreaming
formless
as foam touches wave
rolling, reaching, merging ~~~

connecting, feeling, giving way
to hungers ache, hips that sway
a guttural, panting, licking bite
a kissing, clawing, ravishing fight

we sigh, mad in gyration
our fluids mingle, in tessellation
eyes reflect that hunting look
the giver, the taker and the forsook
intercourse of sweat and moan
a yogic yoni and magic bone
together inhaled, a bated breath
we linger spent, in ego death

so we reap an acquiescence
a repast, over-flowed by senses
to sleep, perhaps to fondly dream
of each, our taste, and all we seem
to think no more of things we miss
to linger long, in this, deep kiss

dreaming
spinning
under the Moon
in waves of ocean, sound and light ~~~

Dada Taoist reads the I Ching

throwing the yarrow sticks, Chinese coins,
bones left after ceaseless wars --
Lao Tzu told us

destruction makes way for the new --
the old ones fingered hexagram'd solutions
with the meaning of motion sickness --

darkness births light
made of prophecies
read from tortoise shells and entrails --

war and DNA dances
the eternal turning of change where
high has fallen low and low is beholden

to everything coming and going --
ancient Chinese sages and generals
blew open the doors and shut the windows

to keep out the foreign invaders
with their great wall a line in the sand --
now the walls are shaken and the rivers gorged

drop

reflecting all the world,
risen to the sky, merged in a cloud,
dancing electric, rolling around with the sound of reverberating thunder,
whirled in wetted winds to lay upon the green leaf,
dripping on down,

d
r
i
p

d
o
w
n

to a brook meandered
into a rushing stream raging a river,

f
a
l
l
i
n
g,
crashing toward a roiling sea --

the sea, that ancient deep restless sea
... aching for the sky ...

jeff's foot or mis-Step dad

Carried by your wrath
you cared in the angry
bone-crunching perspectives
you pressed upon me,
leaving the taste of metal and salt
from the wound in my mouth.

Looks were either liked or disliked
by your wary animalisms
arrogantly frowned.

There for the breaking
you beat my wild cleverness
into a secret fragile dream.

You were never
consoling and laughed as
you won me over and over again.

You called me one day
aching for a connection,
your sad story about an infection
in the foot you kicked me with;
losing it to diabetes.

Somehow that mattered
in a cliche that rolled around inside my head:
'you've one foot in the grave.'

inWORDs flow, er and hop eh --

meaning is a kludge --
get a clue, doh!
where's your verbal toes?

not one but many
any where you dream
catching the flow, er

and hop, eh
like a frog or
butterfly winging

listening to the critiques
of croaks and songs
of Crickets and Katydids

when I am Truth I am Beauty
unless you lied
about me being ugly --

a bridge'd

Inwards murmur'd,
ungrip'd by study'd meaning --
oh loose'd Heart

-- in between'd --

Starry eye'd,
intention'd the space,
potential'd --

Speak silence'd,
power'd by the pause'd --
out Words

reason'd,
syntax'd,
sentence'd,

a bridge'd,
meander'd,
reflect'd --

In sigh'd,
high'd 'fluttering Heart',
a fragile'd perception

then dream'd
outwardly empty'd
with unmeanig'd Peace.

invertendo man inside out

death looks from within my eyes -
neither attracted nor repelled -
a life lived and all things come and go,
but this I know, that death looks through my eyes,
isn't it so - I shall pass by

deep calls to deep -
that is the longing song of
as above so in you and we are

always going and never arrive,
a surging urge,
a wavelet amongst waves
that come and in restlessness ever go -

blood makes noise and bones rattle -
I will play the bones to make my blood sing
Poetic mysteries and my tears will write earthen histories
and wash the ink of this pen with
a fluid flowing heart all over again:
an ancient echo, a longing ache in etched bones that lay awake --

as an idiot staring at forever, profoundly dumb,
without but within, neither compelled by mediocrity
nor attracted by individuality --

awash in an ocean and ever blowing
in a veritable wind; inscrutably peregrinated then --

inWORDS Spring out

wallowing in recycled soil
spreading it amongst the
gardens imminent growth --

a big black beetle bumbled
along the boulders of mud
carrying rainbows on its back

ambling amongst the spear
spires of new growth
reaching for the Sol of the sky --

spring sprouts out -
spring out - spring out
without a doubt

where earth meets air
the edges there --
where water meets beach

we are all facing time
as a wave against
formidable eternity --

Springing forward carrying
rainbows on our backs
reaching for the Soul

in the sky --

The Green Man

As above, so in you
the light, the warmth, the sky of blue
and in the darkest of the nights
the Stars that sparkle as they do...

the language of the Birds his secular tongue,
while silence is his noble one,
arises from a living soul within his Heart,
and washes simple throughout his Art...

This then is what we can say of Art,
that it is born of the Heart of Wonder,
which blooms as leaf in where we ponder,
and bears the fruit for all to eat,
-- ambrosia, Divinely sweet...

... this Alchemy of Awe, that sweetest sap,
that runs from roots within my chest,
and seeps to branch and leaves of Wonder,
to where it is that I still ponder ... is let
to this pen and writes with words of Love
on wings of letters to your eyes reflecting all the world ...

the state of the nation: a mystical biography

1 - gaining a sense of the divine or birth (taste)

birds twitter
as the Ravens caw
amidst the city din --

2 - the emptying of self or hardship (smell)

I'm not sure of
where I find myself
the room that I am in --

there is many a way that I can say
'distrust in these words with ease'

I'm not sure of the place I'm in
because of you, black eternity --

a tale told of mystery
a sea of mystic fire
and all the world that I am in
it is a bleak quagmire

reminiscent
of the sea --

I'm not so sure of all
the things you've been telling me
of this and that and all and sundry --

I'm not so sure of reality
though places come
and places go
and in between am I
and that is changing as I go
from here to there and why

3 - return to the divine or maturity (sight)

because of change and change rearranged
as change of change and change
deranged arranged as reigning change of love --

4 - the dark night of the soul or decadence (hearing)

As thick, as dark, as night to light
as to the why of we
and there we go as in a flight
of angels partingly

5 - the total identification with the All that is or transformation (touch)

We come and this is what we see
of all that is around
that what we are and what we hear
is all a momentous sound

no words can take what you muddle in your befuddled brain

No words can say what I am hearing
the birds a twitter or the bleakly
caw of the black raven
the carrion of black liberty --

the birds a twitter and the
Raven caws in the sin of city din
insisting on a deranged liberty -- a noble erasure

therefore timeless -

sHe is a Daemon

flickering in a glance
and the shimmer on a flowers petals
like diamonds of light -

sHe is an Angel

beating wings tipped in tears and laughter
between a heart beat
and intense disinterest
always flirting with Dreams -

sHe stumbles

upon whimpered words
but has a didactic memory when unspoken

sHe sings

often and sHe enthuses
as much as I am aMused by sHe -

sHe speaks

~ in tongues in my inner ear
while smiling at me for losing my train of thought -

the language of the Birds, her secular tongue,
while silence is her noble one,

sHe is fickle

and measures the shape of my heart
with how much awe I've beat it with today -

the final hate

will look for the last reason
to break your face all over the place
will flush with vengeance--

lies
and fears will fiercely be held
in clenched teeth

thereafter the sting of retribution
will come down hard

righteously driven desperate despot
in a truculent way

                damn slow pokes
                get off the road
                ufucking jerk off !

screeching smokescreen
screaming, shiny
jagged pieces
dripping red

               HAH--
               the sucker never knew what hit 'em --



B.C. road rage victim
http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2008/03/13/bc-roadrage.html

No limit: A Rondel

There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.
These prisons do not come from up above,
Come, take heart with this feeling sublime.
Come, climb with me out of this holy slime.
Where can we go, to rise, the undreamed of!
There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.

My love, a song a singing for you, I'm
Wandering too, round about, in want of
A way through this intricate web we wove!
There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.

A rondel is a variation of the rondeau in which the first two lines of the first stanza are repeated as the last two lines of the second and third stanzas, thus a rhyme scheme of ABba abAB abbaA(B). (Sometimes only the first line of the poem is repeated at the end.)

I like to meet in tongues

I like to meet in tongues


I like to meet in tongues
so I dedicated my skull to learning about taste
feeling around for a pretty one
who gets with speaking in tongues and
licking soliloquies in my inner ear
and tastes like apples and sweet discoveries

looping and rolling tongues
licking and learning --
drinking the waters of each other
where we can taste friend or enemy
and explore what each other has
forgotten
on the
tip of the tongue

I tasted your lost keys once
and found them where you said you had looked
maybe if I lick your boots I'll know where you've been
maybe my tongue is better at tasting the future than the past

Somehow I knew we were coming to an end
I tasted your dry lips and your tongue
hid behind that uneven wall

You tasted like the metal coldness of keys forgotten
I began to feel this nauseous exasperation
I can taste it even now

It is bitter --