OH little soul — rest within these arms and oh, Evie how you grew from the minute you came into this world until now. And hey girl, (she always smiles because as you know it’s always a soul who frowns that makes the world
a bit colder) she is the warmth of love.
(somewhere within her smile she knows)
Oh the movement you need is upon your knees: crawl, then walk and one day we’ll run toward the blooming flowers!
Although the day may be gone nev’er are its sweet taste nor voice, lips or soft hands. You are asking me now but i cannot convey how the world is to a little soul — this just born girl.
Oh just believe me now and how i believe you’ll know. How your smile and endurance awakens the angels and moves mountains and ocean waves.
What a warm breath, light whispering tender semi-tones.
Bright mind, accomplish’d shape and exquisite style — budding charms
and blooming flowers and igniting the sight of beauty within my eyes
holding the sight of beauty within my arms. As a dusk holiday holy night
of fragrant-expectations lead me toward wild winded nights as woof
of darkness thick, for hid delight and full of tears crying for a day,
and believe me: let me read love’s missal through to-day, while
many days and years i’ve been alone and cried and how many ways
to try? Always leading hearts of love back toward the opened
door of many tryings and waiting here.
Praying, i fast and feel that washing rain of broken hearts all
in no vain. Let me know the way.
Still: it leads me back to your birth. And your entrance into this
world of cold.
:: 09.26.2021 ::
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 ::
Despair is an anchor with thorns
it drowns the ship and sinks the soul
and the hull a skin that bleeds
A heart — the oar that paddles ashore
Best to use a blessed life vest
when with a raging storm
that despair comes and wisely glue shut
that gapping hawse of the Soul’s hull.
:: 05-15-2014 ::
YES I confess it all!
Lost am I in detritus shall
nature is such a pansy
I could blame her all
but clearly it is me
whose weakness — the stalk
my flower falls
I seek the single note
ivory key opens me
ebony be my fantasy
carry me away fluidly
carnival ride waves
dreamy rivulets be
tragic tone keeps me
Life is mother
— mother ate me
me so silently
— strength beneath
her layers of skin
Her baby I’ll always be
melt me womb-be
She entwines your spirit
As a spinster with the yarn
Creating the apparel
for your naked heart
She encases your soul
in brilliant precious gold
The financier of your future
her love makes you the richest
She protects your sense of self
and battles the weaker you
The man you are is what she made
her love, spirit, and soul…
Is yours to cherish and forever hold…