neural circus
#poetry #yearofprophecies

variegate shades
symbols of ancient trade gaily parade
coax wry smiles shaped to tease
out
sinuous pleasure
cleverly she spins, sways, sweeps,
catches a whirl of trance
better than life
her blood, taste of iron
and butter,
sweet, salt, serene

the thrill is in the taking,
the rushing and tumbling
unobserved, unexpected,
trick of the eye laid bare

delicious secrets
creep into sight, strive to misbehave
for acknowledgement
small, frantic, overburdened
Is such awkward love
allowed?
this bright moon midnight,
enter the circus
mirror fly on the wire
transform as incantation
come alive
free, beneath galaxies,
perform miraculously
to your gleeful applause

human wrongs

Far beyond cruelty
into a whole other realm
of horror, dishonour and disdain
to observe crushing pain
and serve utility
by crushing more

#poetry #yearofprophecies

This Is Not a Sketch

Not the fire in the belly,
but the air in the lungs.
Clarity.
Fire warms, then burns in passion,
flaming, shameful, conflagration
of sin and victory.
Buddha-like compassion,
saintly wise, learned in cycles
of hard labor, blessed bliss —
messages like this mentored, memed,
given credence in electric market,
synapse scent, inhaled essence.
This is not a sketch.
This is awakening
from deep, drugged entanglement
in eiderdown.
Memories march in hideous mime.
Despair hangs heavy, grey,
unbounded.
Coarse, textured currents,
slowed for inhalation, beckon,
wave, invite companionship.
Bubbles surface, break
like flowers expelling seeds.
Breathe the inspiration.

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Speak in Peace

Useful communication requires common metaphor.
(Myths forged for tribal survival divide. )

When I feel alive, rooted yet wild, outside of frame
a twirling child, free of security derived from shame
able to rise beyond the schoolyard game of divisive naming

I see within my eyes distant seas and shores,
forest fae blinking in the haze,
journeys rending years into days.
Hear the whistling, touch the swollen fruit,
amazed — counting down as I tumble.

How do I explain in this tongue we mumble,
barely getting through a random chat that
gives no exit wound to that ache beating inside
to grab a hand, touch your mind, bring to being?

Yet, why would you want to see what I am seeing?
It’s only poetry; only curiosity; it’s only
miracles of sand, twinkling, breath of fire
combusted glass, twisted into culture, class.
Beauty survives each blast, more adored for her
scars. Allured by her charms, may we doze
and stumble into sweeter reveries.

In sleep, relaxed, uncoiled core may cry in surprise
to be free, awaken realigned.

Speak friend and enter.
We have much to discuss.

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Call and Response
#poetry #yearofprophecies

Clinging to the stories we learned at tv’s knee
Ensorcelled by those glittering stores lining every street
Sure that might has taken the ground defining rights
Cynically forsaken, belief in heroic knights
We aren’t sheep to slaughter, although of bone and meat
Nor cattle to be ordered by our grades of beef
We’re children, with our wonder obscured by others’ dreams
Chastised not to blunder, to supplicate and bleed
To break from such enchantment, from thrall to All insane
First learn to break the viral binds, vitalize, reframe

Final Will
#poetry #yearofprophecies

If these be our final days, bleeding out into entropic end
No elite “may we?” can overrule life’s yen
to feel fine
while yet there is fine to feel
Feast on the hoarded best; dance well past dawn
Deny requests of war or debt to waste this waning time
It’s no thievery to claim our hours, free of robotic clocks,
take whatever’s left as a chance to be real —
if the end is nigh, or not

Cross Purpose
#poetry #yearofprophecies

At time’s crossroads, Reason drowns
in rage, pain,
irradiated rain, treasonous air.
Weary of care, of punishing,
bottomless anger, of sobbing men
robbed of their right to give birth.
Taken from Mama’s warmth, from
the cave, to play brave.
And it’s ladies’ choice as you squirm
in fool’s corner.
Such a chore — kissing at this
and that for a chance to score
the shame, the blame from stuck-out
tongues, the bloody laughter.
“I could bite off that little thing — make
you squat to pee.”
Wired to fight, at any cost,
because, of course, the Cross proclaims
“We’re right. They are inherently wrong.”
“Those below must be taught to obey
our superior tools, to be broken,
that we may ride.”
Against our better fate, our race divided
along strict lines, by difference
nature devised to make us strong.

Nature Cure

The wild has been bred out of us.
We are creatures bent to city form.
Citizens of common culture
down graded along the main stream,
abraded to fit
today’s fashion scene.
Wild instructions tug deep,
feed bloodlines unappeased,
misnamed disease.

#poetry #yearofprophecies

It’s not that people are greedy; but
(I hate to inform you)
people are mean.
It’s not that we desire the piles of
gilt and coin — that’s just a ploy.
We want to enjoy standing above the
hoi polloi.
We want with great passion to dance
at the top of the heap, to be elite.

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Aesthetically Rendered Themes
#poetry #yearofprophecies

Desire
Inspires
Outmaneuvers inertia
catalyzes action, ideation,
attraction — magnetizes
elements of essence
toward true North —
fuels adventure

World Viewed
#poetry #yearofprophecies


Was Luther a Gnostic and just didn’t know it?
Who packaged Locke’s critical message and sold it?
Who has freedom or its choices
when money talks louder than living voices?
Brain-shaper mad advisors dressed in vestments
advertise
“Profit is our best road to atonement.”
So we build this fictional prison to own it.

Profligate
#poetry #yearofprophecies

Deep in the mud, in the murk, in the sewers.
Sharing convivially with cast out pests.
Biased by looking forward to avoid looking up;
sick of the sight.
Mining waste of unappealing lives.
Getting by surprisingly well on the barest belief.
It’s not thievery to see value in what sin
has left behind,
sensing like one blind to glamour’s fads.
Dancing along backbrains, pleasure neurons,
bodies ache to expand.
I carry no allegiance — this land, this opportunity
to breathe — what do you want of me?
I am only a slave if I care.
Take the best of me
if you dare.

Class Conscious
#poetry #yearofprophecies

We make them monumental in our minds
Assertively attest: “They’re not our kind.

How dare they go disguised in human form!”
How dare they speak, to criticize the norm?
To suggest some claim to what I’ve mined,
refined to specs our kind defined as wealth?
How dare these filthy beasts expect my help,
relief for degrading and disease, consequences
of our industry?

Risen

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Sky born, lifted into life above
Water, Earth, primordial mud.
Bare breath and lilting light float, carry insubstantial
tongues, bitter yet sweet. Exultation, daring
to swoop, touch,
taste, briefly complete with
flowering waves.
Winter Gods glaze over mountain peaks,
rocky rivers, mother’s eyes.
She gives suck embalmed in memory,
engulfed in smoke of smelting flame,
gasping, tropically turning, blind, yet
beyond fear. She regurgitates paste of
air, light, instinct, held together with spit
and love. Taste her sacrifice.
A world drifts. Black night backlit in
pinpricks. Atmosphere built like bioluminescence,
symphonic, symbiotic. Hear as rippling elements
grow words, symbolic histories, into a Summer game.
Out here, sparkling rain weaves rainbows. Reverence
casts poetry as shimmer and shadow play.
Up here, beyond boundaries of ordinary days,
the only Commandment to penetrate —
Be Peace

down and out

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Another kind of rabbit hole
Pitch dark and bruising
No appetite for wonder
No luxury of childhood fantasy
No Summer tea time story
Only caustic mud awaits below
at tumbling’s end

mercurial

I am in love with your communication
Teasing photos floating in the quiet
of storm lifting breeze
You inquire, look for a temperature
of my wellbeing
I am on to you;
pushing out that cerebral switch
previously known as “off”

#poetry #yearofprophecies

La Luna

#poetry #yearofprophecies

Careless Luna
She peaks and sways
tattling on windowspeck gleanings
leaving traces of singing memories
taking in dreamers

Trained in Self-betrayal
#poem #yearofprophecies

It’s not that sex is sin, bad for moral purity,
or euphoric nature’s gifts an affront on
All That Is Holy.
(Biblical disposition adapted to
Providential vision, a biased capitalism
based on self abnegation
rather than a healthful view of wealth.)
A powerful profit model built upon
slavery of responsibility to dependents —
sex for such purpose must issue descendants.
Hopelessly hooked on corporate licensed medicine,
treadmilled to produce high-cost enriching energy.
See our computer graphic charts:
“A work of Art!” too valued to despoil with your
(I’m sure)
busy little lives. Education must
align with labor needs projections —
hiding useful information behind well
developed lies.
(So be assured, these words will fade as you awaken.)
Virulent slime fed in work stations and schools,
popular entertainment snacks,
our patented brew,
captivating memes
blow through airwaves, as your lives hurry through.
It can’t possibly be slavery if we make you believe:
You own you.

Where the Wild Things Fade
#poem #yearofprophecies

Lost
my ability
to survive outside
captivity
Yet at my core
impenetrably wild.

Day after day unattended
Night after night, no Moon defends
my right to howl.
I’m a city girl now —
held in dimensions
socially styled.

troubadour
#poem #yearofprophecies

Words, the challenge of song
to carry along in sound the meaning of
tiffs in lush trees, rambling bees, the power of
peeping dawn high in colors of awe.
Here, in a world of fog and fury,
dirty eyes strained and blurry,
hard-edged streets sparking with pain
and dreary drone.
Not a nourishing home,
not a place to find peace,
not a fit way to learn.
Clouds, not of rain,
but waving
transmissions expand
swift awareness
that this place
is but a tragic scene we can believe away,
ennoble, enable, sway.
The challenge taken,
the task engaged,
a world in play.