Thrice Seven'd April

Thrice seventhed april!

Thrice sacred day!

Dusty flower petals, cruel April---

hail the green grass in Aphrodite’s flickering fingers

Glory to the charging light.

All is cup of cheer

web of welcome

Jack in the Green springing!

She called me down the ancient corridors 

memory stretching back this slithering aquafinger.

Narcissus sketching the froth 

of black Lethe

on a black onyx sea. 

Stretching back and forth on the quantal spectral field

1000 times today!

Yet as his creaking silhouette passes

many more eons diaphanously hung

the greying/the ashing

where shadow trickles into oblivion

the warm cocoon

of a shapeshifter---Fishwater Musick

Fishwatermusic!

Voices streaming, singing in exalted high harmony.

My sweet memory---so present

the dappled rainbow lifting off the bubbly, salty sea!

I taste your long days

your pastel and taffy 

the hissing and humming of the everretreating surf.

Turtlescraping hallelujah!

Muse, please speak to me of the window of this future I gaze upon.

Up the mountain she flew me on craggy heaps atop mountain peaks

cymbal shimmering golden radiating water all the way to the vista.

From here, I can see Cupertino on a clear day

Extrapolations of these eyecrumbs crystallizing

into minor galaxies,

oranges and greens and green gloved pinks shimmering

the interpretation of such things if seen  would shatter you to the bone

I would better linger longer in revery walking home. 

The entire universe is a reflection of God and every bit is entirely packed

infinity in any direction you go!

“Infinity or just this clover? I cannot say”

“i prefer the clover,” she said.

Let us escape in dance and play in eternal youth,

Song drawn from long memory winding down the opal days

all of this comes together/hangs together in coherence!!

Blessed Self---champion of many worlds, universe leaper---

ineffable riddler---Greetings!

Such sweet velvet caress

purple waves heartbeating down the millennia,

juggling yesterdays, tomorrows and todays---

yet of all days I prefer this:

this sundappled, ruddy field, spiked with dandelion day!

Dandelion days mark the periphery of this maze,

this dane into the diaphanous shade

thrice seven’d april

thrice blessed day

Dandelion days wending the merry maze

dan-dell-i-on

Dan delion

da-da-dadandey line, dandey-line.

April 21, 2014

Sunsplattered

Sunsplattered, “another day closer to death (Pink Floyd).”

Not the rare but the common I seek.

And what is common?

Is the sun common?

Oh your brief days against the sun’s towering day!

From solar infancy until celestial extinction.

What darkness can exhaust its glorious day?

Or of the younger moon, what of its hide and seek day?

What? You call this exquisite and rare---

but I say, No, this is my very common day, my universal day.

Visible and invisible days

Nestled in pillowcushioned harmonies,

my soul is enlarged with your music---

towering illumined lightfields

dense, angelic fabric

woven into the abyss like Indra’s net.

Of this singular day I sing!

gazillions of time as if time were a speckled

surf retreating beach.

The glory of this day shames the mortals bent by gravity, economic debt and daily drudge.

Out of this house all you who are not born!!

So far beyond as to return within, no time outstrips me.

All of Satan’s brood gather ‘round to shoot me down

for the nth time today.

The game wearies me, flesh aching from this torment of truth and the deafening cry of reason.

Eternally waking  into this day,

its cerulean dipped clouds cannot contain me!

4-17-14

Hitler Weeps

Hitler Weeps

Poem Pulled from Crunchkin: Edit me as you like....

As gnats do multiply on brackish waters
So do worries number without her arms;

Thoughts peck into coiled gray matter
To aggravate the burden of this flesh;
I would cast its dull carcass to the ground
And learn whether spirits fly!

But dust outwits time’s debate
And as it was before shall once again be
On its cruel white watch the moon yet spins
And tugs water’s dark waves beneath me

Leaden sleep lulls my fingers down
words escape my pen
her eyes shine like shimmering stars in the blue night
and her face is fair

Edit me as you like
I shall never forget
The charmed hour before dawn
When poetry nudges her to speak.

Waterworld

Though the world keeps turning fast as a whip
My heart slackens and wobbles;
Blood trickles and sifts.
Quickening her pulse Tsunami recoils To snap her fist.

Words roll out of the box and onto the floor;
The audience greets their caprice with mirth.

She tufts pillows and smooths wrinkles on sheets.
Something she cannot say, dare not say
Yet driven to speak, slapping sheets
Dust floats in a fine sea of diamond flickering,
Sunlight touches prismatic torch
dips blue beneath Allegheny
Neither advancing nor receding,
Transverse field flux,
Bucket of wonder.

The writer sweeps the soft dust with his spotted hand
To take up pen and reflect
One room, no two, two rooms back.
At two glasses remove, no four,
Cushion to recoil from hustle bustle,
Dank scents, decay,
Rotten everyday artifacts.
Meat of life is dying,
onslaught fading to gray, nothing to slow the parade.

With cynical laughter, a jangle of his bell
The one with the pen, three steps back.

Her world is wondrous battle; Yes blood, yes pain, Silken shining banner,
Thunder in dream,
Silver chalice receiving molten orange fury of battle into liquid kaleidoscope
Swallowing the pieces gives music.
War chant, sabre rattle, steel clanging tympani roll,
One voice, the hero’s cry
Echoes in a sulphur sky.

Ever loyal, My words scrawl down on dry paper,
Dust marks my fingers,
At a remove from interior pain she cannot speak,
dare not speak, cushioned, awake yet dreaming, her world snaps and pulls and turns, wind blows up to ruffle her shades. 

The poet pulls this dreaming shade aside to withdraw verse.

Narcissus, Emeritus

Narcissus lifts his gaze and cranes his neck to see what he can see;
He twists his neck so painfully
What crystal pure eyes frozen
Imploded by sensations overflowing!

He sees everything through frosted blue
Each wall is transparent
And he taps on every window
But no one hears
He reaches inside of us and is lost in the void and the maze of memory.
Sweet memory
mirth and joy!
To hear the youthful voices
Of fields where once he lay.

Buffered by time
Memories so precise
Sensation of deepening fabric.
Laughter rings out,
The laughter is real though years have flown,
His cruel sentence has ended,
Fleeting beauty lingers on.

Up and away from his magic pool
He turns creaking knee
Takes leave silently
Banishing the zone to grey-white abstraction.

Narcissus Retiring
not skulking away,
at last retreat
From the feathery grasses silkily sliding in aquafingers’ grasp.

Beauty's Power

Do not hesitate to bow before this Beauty
when she speaks she breeds nonsense,
vain imaginings and lies.

This woman who with muse conspires to wreath the young poet in laurel garlands.
To confine his bloody scribble to the legislation of Mephistopheles
Thus in gift and in this rejoicing;
In early hours he spins the piper's pipe
until time's foul hand scratches back a tangle of years and days
to reveal this stone indenture cast in granite epitaph.

"No more, no more!" cries the poet,
"I am blown as wind and free as night"
Free to paint with borrowed oils
captive to unbridled lust---bitter mead, vengeance, jealousies...
You are pressed in foreign service
debt hefting higher than the offal and passion discard
peeling skin tossed orgies and drunks.

You sniff after blood as a black hound
Ambition plots the futility and waste of liberty.
It is license, not dignity that you seek.

A nation of security's slaves in comfort bound,
slaves of slaves to luxury's highway.
Unwitting executives to the devil's lair entrapped
Unknowing the forge of this pale religion,
when the beast rouses to orgy or feast
to plot lives of innocents
to spill the cup and bloody the hall.

Then reason's tame horses are driven to fury
by fire's threatening lashes
and science is a whore.
University chancellors and provosts pimp learning
to satisfy a corporate throng lustfull.
And commend with degree and virtue
their wasted delegation.
Medicine falls ill from its own side-effects.
Lawyers mock Justice in her fair reign
and ministers and priests fall under the yoke of dull business
forging one nation under the corporate plow.

Prophets enraged watch the political debauch
whose drunken chiefs establish world command
to export vile immorality and circuses
bridling the Pale now the Red horse.
Sages and consultants
loyal minions
interpret sacred constitutions
in order to entangle America
on the road to Armageddon.