Tag Archives: #love

MADRIGAL AS BABY FEET

IN the depths of thoughts we go as we are in night
of long lists, in the night like a pisces; your slient
silence-sign screams — come // lodge me in your back
\  in your mirror, suddenly, memories, solitary,
nocturnal pane: bleeding from the knife in  the dark
behind you.

  Flower of sweet summer wind
total light bring my calling
upward to your mouth of kisses,
  bleeding from separation
(silent private) words.

  Now, then I breathe your breath
as though we made sex catching our
heartbeats.  It is what the dark night preserves.
  Welcome me, broken hammock in a threadlike evening
when at dusk the sun surprises a sky star eye
within my skull — twinkles filled with win.
  No surprise.  Substance glues my eyes.
Madrigal thoughts inside music — an invitation
what the last breath of Love preserves//inside
a cedar box\ deep substance down to me,
smothering my eyes, your hyperExistence cuts
across me, wondering if my human heart is destroyed.
   Little baby feet patter across the garden of
your Highness \ and an exiled mouth bites the flesh
and the grape, i lick the blood from the cuts of
baby breath:  my hair made of madness and from sun’s
depth — the tick-tock clock face, of systematic
madness.  
              sings the fallen angels:
 
“Madrigal as baby Feet.”

   within a cedar box.

:: 10.20.2020 ::


SOMEDAY WE SHALL MEET YOUNDER

The taste of your skin and the color of your heart

i’m crying
i’m singing

when we touched our lips in twilight
i see blue eyes weeping
tell me, when we hugged goodbye
was your heart always beside us
in memories of vain; through years
and journeys and moons and suns,
as children cry out for joy when
it rains when it rains

Love as a dry earth burgeoning that
it did not know// someday when we
met younder the gallop of horses,
the infinite perfume of a dusty earth
that everything you spoke, everything
from your skin that everything comes
back to my mouth.

i’m crying
i’m singing

like newborn bread:
and with you i become born again
in the rain.

:: 10.10.2020 ::


AGAINST THE WEIGHT OF LIFE AND FLESH

Oh my goodness gracious let me tell you the news:
  My head’s been wet with the midnight dew //   I’ve been down on bended knee:   Talkin’ to the man from Galilee.  He spoke to me in the voice so sweet. I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel’s feet \  He called my name and my heart stood still.

When he said, “Phillip, go do my will!”
Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news:
My head’s been wet with the midnight dew — I’ve been down on bended knee.

Talkin’ to the man from Galilee.   He spoke to me in the voice so sweet
I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel’s feet.

He called my name and my heart stood still.

When he said, “Phillip, go do my will!”

I’m a-listin’ to the gospel man
I’m a-listin’ to the gospel man

Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news:
my head’s been wet with the midnight dew.

I’ve been down on bended knee.
Talkin’ to the man from Galilee.

He spoke to me in the voice so sweet:
I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel’s feet
He called my name and my heart stood still
When he said, “Phillip, go do my will!”
Just a whisper in the dark
Just a whisper in the dark
Could have been by any other name
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Till you hear the trumpets and all the angels
marching.  It’s alpha and omega’s Kingdom
coming.

:: 10.10.2020 ::


Racing the hesitating sun

Racing the hesitating sun

They leave it in the dust when i am a dirty lost boy. Uprising cumulonimbus towers
Clearly indicating showers to drown all the growing flowers aAnd flood the ground
with their power winds blowing from the east
Cold and warm air mingling Like ghosts dueling with the living the air feels fuzzy
and strange Something evil is coming
Curling leaves and swelling wood ..The trees can feel it too \It’s in their roots
and in my blood Quickly pushing its way through This is not good
A storm is beginning to stew Rain announces its arrival
On pitter patter stomp stomp feet Whispering gently from the sky
Before knocking loudly at the window
Begging to come in, OH WON’T YOU LET ME IN
Flooding my doorstep with darkness Eyes open

Lightning volleys down from the sky Searing my eyes with its image
It scrapes its long fingers down my window What is light and what is dark?
My lungs are being crushed from the inside I am falling I am falling
Let the currents take me Eyes shut Silence
Beautiful unknowing No harsh flashing
The clouds are receding trees not reaching for me
No more water between my fingertips
No more wondering what I might lose
Welcoming the cool shiver and soft echoing ripples
I drift back into dreamland into darkness into night Sweet peace.
Gates of Eden

Rosemary was resting quietly in her bed when she was awakened by the most wonderful sound she could ever imagine, her mother’s laughter.
The sound cut through the night like a ray of sunlight, bathing everything in radiant warmth.
Her eyes sprung open and she turned to look at her mother as she bustled around the room.
She was giggling and bouncing her hips as she prepared breakfast for the family.
“I’m fixing sausage gravy and biscuits, Mom!
Is there anything else you need?”
Rosemary rubbed her eyes and yawned.
She wondered what could have possibly woken her so early.
She had only opened her eyes an instant before.
“Actually, there is.” Her mom replied and then popped a piece of sausage in her mouth.
“We have company.” She winked at Rosemary and continued, “They’re coming right now.”
Rosemary slowly sat up in bed.
Her heart was beating rapidly, almost out of control, but she tried to remain calm.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, her voice beginning to rise in panic.
“I hope so.
I hope so.” Her mom responded as she brought the frying pan of sausage gravy and biscuits over to the table and set it down.
“Pour me a cup of coffee, will ya?”
Rosemary quickly found the coffee can and poured her mom a cup before bringing the pot back to her.
“Here ya go, Ma.
Drink up.
I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, Rosemary, I’m so excited.
I haven’t seen her in so long!” She said as she sipped on her coffee.
Rosemary’s heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest.
She was jumping around, unable to hold her tears in.
She could not believe her mom’s reaction.
She was jumping and wiggling and squealing and hugging her mother.
“Mom, she said her name was Rosemary.” She sobbed and clung to her mom for dear life.
Her mom looked at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She said softly.
Rosemary looked into her mother’s eyes, the tears still flowing down her cheeks.
“Do you remember my friend?
She used to live here?”
Her mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hands in hers.
“Yes, Rosemary, I remember her very well.
We’ve been friends a long time.
What is this all about?
Is she OK?”
Rosemary nodded her head.
“I’m sure she is.
She was here the day your daddy and I got married, you know.
She came to the church.
She said she wanted to come and meet the young man I was going to marry.
Isn’t that strange?”
“That she would remember that far back and the fact that she came to meet him, well, that’s something else all together.” She agreed.
Rosemary let go of her mother’s hands and began walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table.
She began to wiggle her hips and bounce her shoulders.
“She was here, Mom.
Her name was Rosemary.
She and I used to play together. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.
She has been living with her Aunt and Uncle.
They moved to Louisiana a few years back.
She had no one here, so we thought it best for her to come and stay with us.
It was so sad to see her so upset.
She has a beautiful red wagon that your daddy made for her.
You loved that wagon, didn’t you Rosemary?”
“We used to have so much fun playing on it.
We used to pretend we were in an old western movie.
We would sit on it and have tea parties.

You’d bring us cake and cookies and we’d just pretend.
Remember, Mom?”
“I can’t believe you remembered.
I’ve tried to forget.”
“Well, I know you have, but I remember.
I remember all the fun we had.” Rosemary’s face was bright red from embarrassment.

“But, she was here, Ma, I know she was.
I saw her.
She was in the garden, Mama, and she looked just like me.”
Her mother closed her eyes, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Rosemary, honey, she’s gone.
You know she is.”

“Oh, she’s dead, isn’t she?
Just like Pa, she died in the war,” Rosemary said, chocking back a sob.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She sat down and put her arm around Rosemary and held her for several minutes.
Finally she pulled her daughter close to her and held her tightly.

“Rosemary, we need to tell you about this.

Now, I want you to put your arms around your daddy and tell him all this.”
Rosemary began to sob as she hugged her daddy.
Her mother turned her head and kissed him on the cheek.
“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you, Daddy.
I know this must be very difficult for you to share with our Rosemary.”
“Rosemary, listen to me, you must remember what this wonderful woman looked like.
Can you remember?”
“She was old, Mama, very old.
I was sad to see her go, but I know she is at peace now.”
“It is very hard for a child to understand that, but I think she was able to die with as much peace as you could wish for.
She died the same way as your Pa, without any pain.”
“No, not like Pa. He was in pain and he died with some of that pain.”

“Daddy, she wasn’t sick.
She was just old.
She was the grandother I’ve always loved.”
“What is your Grandma Rosemary’s name?”
“My grandmother?
My mother’s mother?
Rosemary Johnson is her name.”
“Yes, that’s it, but what is her real name?”
“Her name was Lydia.
I guess I forgot.
You know Grandma Rosemary never told us, but Lydia never told us, either.”

“Are you sure she never told you?

Perhaps it’s something you wish to remember.”

“I just thought she told us because we are named after her.

She never really told us anything.

We never really knew her.

It was always just about my mother.

She talked all the time about Grandma Rosemary and how much she loved her and all.”

“You know, Lydia could be right.

You should be able to remember more about her.

You need to know what kind of woman she was.

Do you remember any stories about her?”

Rosemary’s face turned red and she buried her head in her daddy’s chest.

“No, I don’t remember any stories.”

“Well, remember she had a rose garden in her back yard.

We lived on a farm and had several gardens.

It was her flowers she loved.”

“Yes, I remember the roses.

She always had beautiful roses.”

“That’s because she loved you very much.

She was a wonderful person and I’m so sorry she died.”

“It’s hard to forget how much she loved me.”

“Lydia was a special woman and she loved you very much, Rosemary.

She would be so proud to know you remember her


LEVIATHAN DEATH SMELLS SALTY

IF you cannot sleep you have to swim

across that Ocean of dreams

smoke and trip upon wet seaweed

taking your loved one to town

   the seashell sings

but our human throats are too dry

  but we can cry

we cannot sleep but a strange

feeling up from the depths of

the seas see — we can surely die

f

ooli

sh  sh

apes

remind me of the throw down inside

the bone cave of all minds.

  a beautiful ship should come soon;

sadsadsadsadsad so finally i lost

it so completely bleeding upon the

white sheets of my sails.

:: 10.07.2020 ::


TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL

Bells of St Paul’s Cathedral i love you!
in a dreaming –> slipping away!
you take my soul with you
dreaming something unlike
my life which I never owned!
my heart is a large mouth
but your notes too perfect for my plate!

I love you!

you take my soul with you in a dream
like a song; you ever wanted to climb
up a temple that isn’t there
and sing, “You are my goddess:
you make my heart rhyme!”

You’ve never seen a part I won’t show you-
tell me how you feel.
I dare you to say what you need to say
only say the same words
I gave you.

You take my soul with you in a dream like a song
I’m still alive! And even the walls believe
that I am yours-then you stare in the mirror
and everything is gone — and you scream, scream:
you feel me I’ll sing you mine!
And it’s in the color of my eyes-and I cry.

In a dream like a song I’m still alive!
And even the walls believe that I am yours-
and you stare in the mirror and everything is gone
and you scream, scream:
you feel me I’ll sing you mine!
and it’s in the color of my eyes

So sweet angel, tell me how you feel.

:: 10.05.2020 ::


GOGH’S FIELDS OF GOLD

IT is dark down here & this awful reality
satisfies the ego and frightens the soul
but makes a state of distraction
; an abomination –an abhorrence
for all that it implies -a living organism
as a leaf or a particle.

There is no non-life only emptiness & this filth
whose existence is temporary– a first-trimester pregnancy
in an animal –a rejected spiritual soul, it is real-
life in simple terms– the personal growth we are
so ignorant of the brave face of existence –a thing
we will ‘never’ ever come to terms
with –the vagaries of Time which call to us
‘cross the bridge’ & walk the Yellow Streets
of Van Gogh.

Hav you never ever walked the edge of fields of
so yellow they smell of gold — the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh: he was a bastard
to most but greatly to ‘self’ –> killed the personality
but never the Art
nor the Soul

:: 04.29.2020 ::
rev: 0-10.3.2020 ::


A HUNDRED MILLION ANGELS SINGING

“And there went out another voice from the four beasts and it was shouting with a great voice, saying, ‘Come now, and let us kill him, a horse, a horse, a horse!’

The four beasts, the four devils, were unanimous, “Who can withstand him?”

Come now, and let us kill him, while the virgins are all trimming their wings.

“I was shaken, and I fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me,
‘Do not be afraid, my son, and go to your father and say to him,

‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and against you, and am no more worthy to be called your son.’

“I said to him, ‘Here I am,’ and I threw myself at his feet, and I worshiped him and said, ‘My father, save me!’

“And he said to me, ‘My son, keep your voice, and do not make me angry, for you have rebelled against the word of God. I will deliver you with scourges and with horses.'”

There are people out there who will always blame someone else for their own sin. They will always place blame on someone else.

It will always be someone else’s fault for their own failures and for their own problems.

The funny thing is, they won’t ever admit that it’s their own actions that have caused their own pain and that it’s their own sinful nature that they will always find a way to blame someone else for their problems.

I don’t care who you are,

It’s your problem.

It’s your fault.

And there will be a golden ladder reaching down when the hairs stand up in all terror.

:: 10.03.2020 ::


DEATH IS NOT WASTED

DEATH sheltered upon the spit of dying souls;
sun and heat a giant cat with one flat foot
upon a devil’s wing — the homosexual and
amorous spirits that cross a garden in dead
of night make scary sounds.
my throat an elevator from heaven descending
toward hell with every swallow; my non-
existent ring upon a broken finger as throbbing
sexual oysters.

to smell the clean spirit of angels are as hanging
clothes upon a clothesline within a Spring’s breeze.

:: 09.21.2020 ::


BELIEVE

i act as the poet this night, this time for a Soul with empty stares.  Without
melancholy or extermination, of a broken home with distance mother and father —
believing not knowing that bitter Souls have separated hearts.  Time grows me
older but not my skin nor flesh — bride — we dream within pride!
   others grow death through disease.  So we hard harder toward the feast of Paradise.
Where did she go wrong/ hey! mother! Father!  come back!  i’m trying!
hey!  Mother! Father!  dreamer i commend my light to her dark star,
for family.  
    Nature so stretched out.  Two oiled
lamps with the gentle flame of her flesh.
   I watched over bleched bones and
the clothes of the once impregnated
with seminnoctural material.
  Withing this historic way my bones
and flesh acquired a great thought
of preponderance in my loving
and forever living intentions:
   do you not know I write of you
;those in the future.  
   it’s heavenly.

believe.

:: 09.20.2020 ::