Friday, April 29, 2011

beltane






The Source of all being, continuum timeless.
The ground of existence, rhyming and rhymeless.

Today we honor your limitless love,
Your limitless freedom and limitless trust,
O unity of sky’s spirit and earth’s dust.

* * *

O aspect of feminine,
Goddess, wisdom, delight.
Womb of our birth,
Nourishment of eternal life.

Maiden, Mother, Crone
Earth, Water, Moon.
From you came our birth, and all birthed who have lived.
We honor your part in creation,
Your partnership internal in our beings
O Mother in the Earth...

The Goddess on the hillside on a sunlit morn,
bathing Her body in the mists;
She trills out a tune to the infinite;
She sings of yearning and bliss.
Her voice calls the fervor of Her love
His presence She insists
She beckons him sweetly to rendezvous
to fulfill all that exists...

* * *

Bachelor, Father, Sage
Sky, Fire, Sun.
From you came the seed so needed for life which grew in the mother.
We honor your part in creation,
Your partnership internal in our beings
O Father in the Sky...

Dance to the song of the hillside Goddess
and she will lie with thee;
the dew and the flowers and the daylight’s gleam
welcome summer’s jubilee;
spring is complete and summer nearby,
dance with your passion, dance down from the sky
join with your lover by the hillside stream
kindling the fires of life Her decree.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

child's play


 
For my son and daughters.

I think children are the real masters of all things magical. Weaving the forces of nature to make new realities is something that comes natural and instinctive to a child, especially one very young. The more time I spend with my children, the more of that I see.
 
* * * 

Children play with rhythm
write your musings for
all the world to see
every verse, all prose, all poetry
'til the drums of war
begin to schism.
'Til the sand grains in the hourglass
forget what they're falling for
incited to rise
No more children shall you play with lies
but wrap
your hands 'round
what's at your core
unstrap,
hear sounds in your heart
that are proud and pure
and ghost-dance freedom
knock-knocking on that door.
Sit laughing naked in wet earth
wearing air as your robe.
Children play with God
make Him yours and
just hit reload if He should smite,
there's no throne for a God of spite
in the clay you're baking to be your globe.
Craft new parents from the ground
let inclination coagulate;
No resting easy- children create!
Fashion cities and farms and compounds
skyscrapers of solid crystal
that can never be marauded down!
Or let there be no buildings
only enduring plains
whoop a paean to the patrons
of the open range
and quicken your mount
by releasing it's reins.
Children play with time
repair the errata we've printed afore
engrave your legends and myths and lore
fate is your minion,
the future your reason
Children play with wisdom,
respect every season.
 

Friday, April 15, 2011

on loop 288 & I-35, Denton


 
It is shocking how quickly life situations can change- in reality we are all just one or two unlucky events away from being one of the people we ignore standing on the street with a sign- frightening.
* * * 
  
The lady at the counter
tells me no more is left
so I move along past
shuffling my feet.
Does it matter to her
that my tongue is cleft-
deformed, so I stay in my seat?

I look in a mirror
and see what others view-
tattered clothes
wrinkled skin and scabs
face unshaved.
Fly-like eyes darting 'round
search for non-existent food-
beasts in my belly gnawing
like eviscerated slaves.

You chuckle at my sign
as I hold it to my breast
or stop and gape
with wonderment
at a man whom has no shame.
You rush past and forget
how God has made you blessed;
it seems that "good Samaritans"
no longer have a claim.

A man in a loud tie
talks about me on TV;
I see it at a store
and on the newspaper page.
You wonder if I'm aware
of the time spent just on me;
I want to scream I do not care
but can't bring forth the proper rage.

Not a one impatient
stranger in their
Cadillacs
their empty words produced
for re-election
can understand why I
stand with sign and "slack"
they stare dumb
from windows gilded to perfection.
 
I fought their war
kept their precious
children rich and free-
grimy hands once held
their flag with swollen pride.
The same hands would have
gripped tight my college degree
but foreign lands and bullet holes
cast dreams aside.

So I stand in the median
with my sign clutched
to my breast
while empty suits spout
"robust times" and
"deserving" what I've seen.
I rage inside my brain
until I reach a lofty crest;
then sag down in disarray and
the smell of spent gasoline.
 
 

Saturday, April 9, 2011

amber waves



I think all people who write poetry have their own 9/11 poem. That event may have inspired the most poetry not based on personal relationships since JFK's assassination.

Or perhaps a 9/11 poem is about personal relationships... who was unaffected by what happened and the aftermath we still face?

* * * 

American field with amber waves like
slaves laboring into the wind.
Send pollen in air to clog trachea
breaking apart, strangle the divine.
A fine excuse for missing the days,
haze slithering ground up to nose
rose and to earth violently fell!
Hail in unscrupulous melody sings,
rings out a note of pure melancholy like
folly of the leaders taken deaf and blind,
signed away right to in agony hiss the
protagonists with serpent's tongues in their bliss.
Fists moving low caught American waves-
crave any old reason to look aside.
A snide and relentless fascination,
prostration on ground, her two proud generals like
minerals left in the firewall's wake,
faking they see what is to befall.
Keep all of their promises, all of their flaws!
Gnaws at the heart with amber fangs,
pangs in the night, wake with startled gasp-
rasp in breath from the pollen grains,
hear strains of a dirge now almost blithe.
Knife couldn't cut like the videotape-
gape at the carnage. Repeat! Repeat!
Replete with still frames of a heartsick plunge a
lunge from an edifice seeking the son.
Come feel the lady, all silk and perfume your
doom her caress, not fair to a man.
American waves in the wind, like the paper,
raped her and tossed the carcass aside.
Abided through pain as it rammed her
and rammed her like
amber waves blowing in September wind.
A blend so curious of smoke and frustration-
a nation, a people, frozen time and fear
leer at an enemy with phantom's guise
cry millions of throats,"vengeance our right!"
Fright masking pathways of reckless intent-
"Repent! Repent! For the wrath is upon us!"
All trust died the morning our lady's eyes closed.