Happiness #poem #yearofprophecies

Happiness –
Captivatingly fleeting, unexpected as
coming upon a gorgeous serenity that abruptly halts
all complaint; enraptured —
so in love with this moment.
Vital we know, we must hold awareness,
“It’s possible!” This bliss experience.
Glorious, revels to carry through
lean days between.
More than possible, a commonality, even in response
to simple stimuli, gentle pleasure
despite pervasive pestilence, terror,
boredom, defeat.
I want this for you, my close associate: to feel your presence a joyful beam;
or how could I be
vicariously
happy?

sane chemical bath
serene electricity
synapses smile

Medical Model #poetry #yearofprophecies

Do not pity the addict — life simplified to nullify fear of dying.
Fantasies of flying, ecstatic skies dressed in silk-soft cloud
better to be sought than mere shrouds to deify lost faith in
human kindness, in mythology of romantic love, in heretical
heroics or epiphanies of peace.

Do not spite with words or deeds to mollify some social creed.
Do not expect to enact a cure in legality or morality, nor
gratitude for uplifting heathen from their street of shame into
degradation by naming their retreat an effect of poison,
denying the deadening preceding.

If treason must be decried at seeing crumbling of
overridden lives, respect need be paid — true attention
to lies so urgently held dear that when
bleeding cracks appear, torn by desperate scratching for relief
from sins by belief unsalved — respect for the seeking of
the Source in medication.

Sacred Calling #poem #yearofprophecies

Cloistered for warmth in this area between.
I’ve learned its scenery, like lattice worked into my eyes.
Slowly turning toward wise belief, pausing at this door,
portal to awesome wonderment, pure radiant bliss
dispelling knots of pain and betrayal.
Magnetic psyche searing brand,
archetype of mystic revelations carried through
into the world of Man — I come to the promised land,
potent stream of prophecy.
Commanded, I lay down my burden, weight against my back
of gathered assets I was certain to require.
Freed to meet my mission, to accept desire,
immortal pleasure, the opportunity to sketch,
to draw out beauty, to paint leisurely upon prism glass.
Have I reached the bridge upon the crossroads, the glimmering?
Magick’s sea through which I now may travel, native soul
returned, having earned my keep, my long journeyman’s
wage. I have looked at age, a deep reflective pond.
A wild road calls, beyond this threshold, sculpted by
oceanic power, rifts and meteors. I feel self-created destiny
shudder slowly, seismically, move me as I prepare

The Pandorica opens at 5 am #poetry #yearofprophecies

The Pandorica opens at 5 am.
And what will we see in there?
Soft beams of stars from phantom seas/
Colliding kaleidoscope mysteries/
The waft of your hair in a warm Spring breeze/
A confetti parade of prayer

The wall of your sockets demagnetized
The warm of your pockets turns chill
When each of our membranes goes fragmentized
Drifting beyond while or will
Gifts of penance lose all appeal
Too traumatized to whimper or feel
Denial replaces the space we called real
Seared to an awestruck stare

Caught in conundrum ‘tween twilight and dawn
Formerly someone, lost without form
Back to that question you asked being born
and the answer that started when?
The Pandorica
opens
at
5
am.

Clean Up #poetry #yearofprophecies

I dislike the implied mess of violence.
Peace is more tidy,
clean and inviting.
Why waste precious metal
in deadly intent
when a kickass party
can pay the rent —
a rant and rave relaxing
pent up pain.
Where’s the percentage of gain?
The perception that rage requires
release against this people cage,
to ease some agony of feeling less
accepted,
Reflex flight or fight? Psychobabble hype?
No one needs to violently die today.

9/19 #poetry #yearofprophecies

There is a world here that knows itself in the way we all do.
That is to say it has a surface personality, a proper social mask
for formal wear. Underneath, plots are hatching like fish,
bubbles displaying quick new life — snatched into oblivion
barely formed or growing fiercely strong beneath the surface waves.

Is it a warm, wet winter?
Is the Sun supplying energy without heed to the people’s stated needs?
Are ocean waters cursed with pollution born disease?
Do ill winds suffocate a nation’s glory?
We could weave this world a better story, play more mindfully
constructed games. We could take back our focus from blame,
realign.
There is a saying that what one knows is merely that
which has not been denied.

Century @ 21 #poetry #yearofprophecies

Change, hard change, swift change, too much air to breathe change
is happening
now, and surrounding now, growing beyond our
frenzied adaptations.
The old stable traditions, The way it’s always been,
Myths to depend on
crumble in quakes, the shiftings.
Naturally, we rabidly react,
dripping fear, convulsed in rage, scattered
rants and orgasmic desperation.

Yes, in the burning off fog of tomorrow
we may be the better world to come.
I can feel it humming,
dancing into anticipation’s view,
feel the drumbeat, the hurrahs of the tribe.
Change, a jubilation, gift of laughing deities
wisdom of ages inexorably gaining speed
once we learn to jump on board,
play greater possibilities,
fueled in illumination
of expanding
space.

mix phor meta #poetry #yearofprophecies

double, double toil and trouble
mix in moonbeams dripped from Hubble
with a pinch of housing bubble
dump in tons of scraped off stubble
just a taste of wry
with a twist of lime
seconds cloned from time
and, Voila! a rhyme to rollick
swing your partner, tase your Dalek
what a party tea for frolic!
double down, but “Don’t Panic!”
brewed up for fun – enjoy the manic
d a n c e

When the national project was stolen before our horrified stares
When it became our duty to kill and destroy for the convenience of profit
When humane policy became anathema, unworthy economic drag
When the will of the gambling elite gamed the rule of law to their pocket
Did you scream so loud that bitter blood poured from your lungs?
Did you set up mourning camps to gather forces,
to train grief and rage into worthy opponents against true freedom’s foes?
Did you gaze into the cold eyes of propagandists and say “No!”?
Or did you march along in the parade, assured: “First they get theirs; then we get yours.”?

#yearofprophecies
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2012

so, to console myself over the loss of my blogged projects [which have miraculously reappeared], I have been devising a possible "blogbook" (checking out various blog platforms to see what looks right; also trying out their various options to create a variety of settings thus that the loss of one will not negate the project). The overall title/theme is "Year of Prophecies".
Here's where I am so far on the content, which is destined to go through changes:
http://libramoon2.tumblr.com/
http://yprophecies.wordpress.com/
http://yearofprophecies.weebly.com/
http://yoprophecies.blogspot.com/

Year of Prophecies

conscious eye scans metascape

Gifted
#yearofprophecies

Years of my life I believed
why wouldn’t I?
how couldn’t I?
“Give more than I receive.”
Most importantly, give to humanity.
Take in humiliating pain, let it rain,
take the drenching. Perfume the stench
refining pretty happy plans,
idealizing mankind
as they could be
brought to see glorious peace and bliss.

The word these days is Passion
a flying heart
the ache of Art
Find where my mind takes ease,
soars with eternity, smiles with fluidity.
Learn from those few I can respect;
let go the rest.
Float, a ghost in repose, leaving regret
for scavengers to eat in my wake.
Every dawn could be inspiration,
bounteous gifts free of obligation,
uplift of
energy gleefully received.