Tag Archives for poetry

June 7 2013

The degradation of money is made beautiful in your skin,
the bright breadth of imagination, hopes and dreams,
vividly colored and singing to me
across the train.
Here is one way to flaunt wealth,
to make true clothes of it,
a brilliant quilt of accumulated tales and years,
how,
unlike the precious metals and gems of ancestral ranks,
it cannot be melted down and sold
or traded for other resources to “own”.
A thumb in the face of their grand mythos of money,
the imaginary god so many worship,
but few will acknowledge,
even to admit the truth
to themselves.

Perhaps we are stars

Are you a vortex of time?
Or is it that we create one when we are together,
our unification opening gateways impossible to access alone?

It moves differently with us, surely.

Perhaps we are stars on long orbits
dancing across the heavens
of the world’s great dream.

Perhaps it is only my heart
so full of joy
it goes to pieces
at your proximity,
scattering stardust out
beyond human measurement.

these essential echoes

It calls to me,
the curve of your shoulder,
the rise of your chest,
the flare of your hands,
the indent of your hip.
It calls to me
with a deep thrumming
through my bones
in a way that is
impossible to ignore
when you are near.
Maybe the day will come
when my body does not
meld perfectly to yours,
curve answering curve,
these essential echoes
brought to stillness
when the distance is closed.
Maybe one day this will not
feel
so unequivocally right.

Beloved, come back

Beloved,
tell me how it is you come to me.
Tell me what it is that calls you,
so that I may make it happen again,
with intention.

Last time you stayed for three whole days
and put me so ablaze with bliss
I was afraid I would start fires
merely by feeling joy at the reflection of you
in everything around me!
Just as I was beginning to figure out how to put ecstasy
into words that others might understand,
that night,
you slipped away while I was sleeping.
As always,
you left without word of when
you will be back,
so that I must look to find
the glimmer of you
through the weeds & the shadows
& in the shifting pattern of things around me.

Beloved, come back!
I am tinder waiting for
the spark of your touch
to become again a joyful conflagration
that paints the whole sky
with the colors of your love.

Come now Child

Back, back again
to square one.
Come back now Child,
learn again how to give,
wholly,
unselfishly,
to give and give again
without the thought of return.
Come back to the deep quiet gateway
within you,
the vast dream-webbed entry to
All That Is.
Come now Child,
free your heart
from all that you burden it with,
let it open as wide
as the rainbowed eggshell sky,
let it be as bright & clear
as the light of a thousand suns
shining forth into the future
upon all of the gifts
that are waiting there
for you to meet them.
Come Child,
learn again the simple joy
of one foot in front
of the other,
let each step
bring you into the newness
of every Thing
before you.

winter’s edge

Cycling down tall & dark
tree-lined corridors
past the percussive blaze
of the drummer and his kit
commanding the helm of
a silent and shadowy meadow
deeper into the long night.
Wind-teared straightaways
burning fast ahead,
and descending
gradually cooler
to the misty-aired ocean.
Dark on dark
the undulating sand,
given light by glowing figures
orbiting sun-like centers,
a fleeting counterpoint
to the sparkling skeleton of
the white bone snake
slowly wheeling
overhead
and the heart-like
pounding
of the water’s edge.

a hundred other things

I am hesitant
to put the toothbrush
away.
The drawer with the toothpaste,
opened everyday,
will it speak to me less loudly of your absence
from those depths?

I said no boxes,
no rigid confines.
Allowing.
Freedom.
The only holding,
grounded
in cupped palms,
the myriad wrinkles
of this life
proffered
upward & outward,
stilled
at the eternal balance
between giving & receiving
waiting,
but not waiting.

There are a hundred other things
to remind me of you.

spanish guitar

inwardly-turning
warm and soft and sleepy
under the evening blanket
of this diamond-starred deep gateway,
quieted by richness
and blood-dripping spices,
the concave twin of
that gigantic mushrooming
belly full
rounded awareness
I
carried around last Friday,
my unexpectedly sprouted auric child,
so much incubating lately,
the spatial weight of it
pulling me out of time tracks
leaving the edges
all soft and unfocused,
but folding the distance
so that I know
as I lay here
with the deepening sapphires
and the young verdant things
and listen
as spring builds it’s song
over and through
that spanish guitar
climbing the fence
that you hear it
too