fugitive peace is

Man is what he loves.
If he loves a stone he is a stone;
If he loves a man he is a man;
If he loves God--I dare not say more,
for if I said that he would then be God,
ye might stone me!
-- St. Augustine

From Stars we come to Stars we shall return. Look up! Dream Up! Love up! Burn!

the corruption of stone, pieces of rock, fugitive pieces of me, far away from home --

All dirt is made from Mountains and Mountains are made from Fire and a Star exploded in ancient space for all this to transpire. So I'm DIRT you know, a stone slipping into clay, the language of Mountain written in the dust clinging to a tree! From dirt I come to Stars I'll return, through the fire aspiring inside this longing yearn to burn...a mote in the eye of God, toward a black-hole in the heart of space, where dust gathers unseen from all over the place ...

We become what we Love, Love Up!


I'd rather read Bauer's ironic-blasphemy than unK moronic-acerbity

speaking in tongues is the Poetic move for the holy-spirit rhythmically writeous groove

the collected Patchen poems gave me inspiration then William Carlos William and that old lover Walt Whitman -- these American Mystics who fired-up, the holy-mundane with wit, inspiring is the very foundation of it -- I've read other Poets but lean toward these guys, loving their oddity, finding it wise; Deistic-Mystics rise, oh rise

for instance Mandy here is a Patchen Poem about Christ

Pastoral


      The Dove walks with sticky feet
Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,
Its feathers smeared over with warmth
Like honey
That dips lazily down into the shadow ...

Anyone standing in that orchard.So filled with peace and sleep,
Would hardly have noticed the hill
Nearby
With its three strange wooden arms
Lifted above a throng of motionless people
- Above the helmets of Pilate's soldiers
Flashing like silver teeth in the sun.

Kenneth Patchen

reply to Sri-Bauer - maybe you're from the post-modernist school, one of these conflicted heros, hanging cross-wise, riddled with the voices of creative-destruction, the ironic-polyphonics of the solipsistic-mystic

we're from the post-modernist school of conflicted heros, hanging cross-wise, riddled with the voices of creative-destruction, the ironic-polyphonics of the solipsistic-mystic


baby-boomers: we're from the post-modernist school of conflicted heros, hanging cross-wise, riddled with the voices of creative-destruction, the ironic-polyphonics of the solipsistic-mystic, the Political-strategy of the askewly-synergistic, which is the key to unlocking the integrity of doubt ... we always use that classic-move in describing things in a dialectical-plasticity, the room to view what changes bring beyond the norms of conservative-eccentricity...


roots of words have a lot of play in them - for instance the root of the word 'Sin' is to 'miss the mark', to wander from the path and in our hearts we know that Love is the goal - which leads to the conceptualization of the latin-word metanoia, which is often mistranslated as 'repent sinner' but which really means to 'change the heart', which is to Love again following that glow, bliss-singing in the heart ya'know ...