timeless

in our measure of time there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight, that give or take away –

though I spend my time, circling the horizon of my mind,
seeing her in time 'n space as a congruence of my need,
the sifting of my sieve, she is on the face of it, a timeless piece,
a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in every night as I watch her lay,
time stops and takes my breath away

days of shadow and sea

it's easy to remember
you in these pictures;
light's language of shadow
sculpting time
and
you are there
like a shell pounding out the sea,
laying back on the beach,
head sideways, your eyes closed,
knees buckled in the air
open to the Sun's
fingers of light reaching,
glistening there

I've not been the Sun
in your darkened places
since
the day you offered yourself
to the sky,
 the day
I succumbed to the seas
endless waves
          washing over me

everything is gradual

everything is eventual then it's happening --
we're moving in circles at a steady pace

the city got new search-lights pointing at the sky
looking for a miracle in the clouds hanging there
worried about the things they've got to do,
like the war on terror, H1N1, your money and it's true
everyone wishes the rain would break
the high tide, the flooding for god's sake

what are we going to do?

with a predilection for an immediate look
from any third eye cave -
i am in that tunnel
i am the rave...
rolling down the main streets
rolling down past the ignored miracle you are
rolling down where you can buy everything
from a gun to a slave
what are you supposed to do at the dead-end
of our collective mind

round and round
neutral flowing and changing every lil' bit
suspended precariously like a platter on a hardrive
a hard hard drive

aspiring

I hide my flame amongst the embers, slowly burning there
a little light remains as assssh, fuming gasssseoussss screams
a waft of smoke ascends from where, my little light does flare
to lurch in shadows on the wall and burst to sparks that sigh;

my lowly ember flickering flame may be all my fire seems
to dance with stars in the night, is what my fire dreams ...

happiness is highly over-rated

happiness is highly over-rated; however, laughter is the best of all medicines when one has come to the 'dust 'n ashes' stage of growth in consciousness -- nevertheless, the dog chases his tail and we all laugh at such foolishness, yet the dog is happy by his reckoning -- so, I say what is this 'happiness tale' you've been running in circles about? -- the muse of glee is fickle -- yet, watch an 11 year old engage in the minutiae of life's wonders, learning is a passion ... learn something new, turn off the tube, watch Autumn leaves fall ... and laugh every morning at the visage in the mirror, Dear -- you're all you've got but don't take anything seriously, especially your-self ...

Autumn sunlight

cool crystallized
fractal hoar frost
clinging to leaves 'n grass --
askew autumn sunlight
reflects 'n refracts,
evaporates to mist,
like a lovers goodbye kiss

the very-tease of merCurious illuMentations or a further farther found near-bye

grateful for the verities of Poetic experience
and Poetry often shows this lyrically without
the lucubration of pedantry or
the fundamentalism of bigotry.

sHe sings in the ecstasy of realization
so lightly in these darkened days,
lifting our eyes to the nobler quest in feeling waves ...
or better yet, sHe plays with language and creates anew,
mangling with absurdity, the light, from the words
as a Poet ought to do?

-- words imbued with silence only the heart can hear,
the potential of the pause, the swelling of empty space,
in that stillness her longing heart whispers with verity,
the Logos is thus Theos, and so my dear,
you meet-her in words far 'n near--

Yet if the telling is the lure and words are as powers
to sway and preach, then they neither fly nor teach!

sHe lures us to look and look and dare see
with eyes open to an inner reality --

sHe dives deep into the infinite-in
                       where a visceral piety is the pearl
made in the murmuring mud, rolling around in the sound,
a whirl'd of delight,
showing again as a gleam in her eye to be
reflected in the thousand mirrors of your mind --
where there are many more glimmering pearls
for you to find

.

.

.

 

... a definition of pious is dutifully -- however that is too rigorous as this quality arises from equanimity as being plain and simple to be in tune with nature; which follows as the equipoise in the eternal-now where one is neither attracted nor repelled by any such thing or is neither compelled by the past nor future beckoned, but simply elegantly without remonstration, sings from the heart as sweet as sHe is want to do

sighNs

stars that once lit up the darkness of space
fell as burnt cinders to a sleepless city;
your eyes glitter'd with their lost reflections,
forever Moonless, thoughtful, manic.

I wander into
a well lit cafe
to drink thick blackness in a cup
brooding over your absence this night...

dead-girl

she shines in the melancholia of living like the dead in the warm glow of television, so I caress her in a non-judgmental embrace, bending rigid fear into heart hugging arms

Spiral Wizards

manic artists Nero'd their times
sculpted bigger things than human need;
from hot blood flames Divine madness

a man who dreams of being a God
is either condemned to death or
draws blood-lines in the sand

transcend and include ...

it's not enough to rise to the task
there is no shame, no war, no Empire
when its the duty of each citizen
to kill the Emperor

long live the Emperor who casts no shadow
no shadow is too long when the Sun shines highest

my noir apotheosis

my banal original
left ordinary impressions
on the surface of your eyes; stanzas you couldn't
get out of your mind playing carpe diem

you'd stalk memories romantically
while holding fast to recognized patterns;
you'd say anything with a cigarette 
hanging from your lip: tempus fugit

those wisps accent your spent look;
something frozen, dead winter,
caught by the Sun, melted, a haze of steam
rising nostalgically with redolent regret