Tag Archives: #souls

THE WORLD SMELLED OF BURNING HOPE

FOLDED are the burnt angelic wings, my last heavenly fight where all celestial beings bled golden blood, and afterward all wines flowed.

Today i pour thankfulness and tears into a chalice older than the rocks i sit upon.

How temporal beings unknowingly acting out the last drama above their heads.

Entrusted sacred Heart i have armed against injustice.

The stage hand chooses the curtain’s openings and closings.

Watching as i remove cosmic dust from my brow many living and nonliving things around me perish.  Enough!  To manage erasure of hope I nakedly rode the wild beast’s silent leap to perish all joy.

Hiding behind human skin, how admired and hated.  One of love one of scorn.  Alone, broken,
poor, destituded within a face not living but dead they do not ever see.  A poet once said,
“they won’t kill you any more than if you were a corpse.’

History of incredible folly.  A mind uniquely landscaped by the cosmic bang  i destroy all
understanding of word and stanza, painted the color of vowels!  A beauty, E quisite, I loved, O  you, U nless i am a dreamer dreaming me.  

While on the descent I caught a glimpse of…

It was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, that moment, when not one but two young stars were drawn to the wall like bees to honey.

I smiled like a sunrise.

Sunrise gazed upon a face, one that so many have marveled at for centuries, yet never had time to record in books.

The face was hers.

The one who personifies the poetic tradition of her order.

I exhaled so deeply it seared the porcelain lining of my lungs.

She laughed but it was not the melancholy laugh of a deity preparing for the next incarnation.

It was in pure joy at being behind human skin, how admired and hated. One of love one of scorn. Alone, broken, poor, destituded within a face Ania dedicated me to the Only One i know.

This is the ring she gave me, a pale, pearl – like, peridot teardrop.

Uncle gave it to her.

I bought it to represent the rare beauty of a most human and human – made treasure.

“The closest thing to appearing as an angel.”

— Lauren Bacall Having an epiphany one day from ‘surrendering’ to a divine being, I looked up and saw a perfectly formed blonde woman wearing a white dress sitting on the soft, green grass right in front of me. The woman held my daughter’s blue stuffed bear as if it were an actual person.

She told me to take this bear and I would never need another one.

I knew she was absolutely correct.

I put the bear in my pocket

I held it kneeling at the Comerica Pavilion.

:: 01.01.2022 ::


ENTHUSAISTIC LOOKING RELIGOUS PEOPLE

[the Egyptians are extremely interesting to us today
for various reasons. How science today wishes to
understand the secret ingredients where that the Egyptians
used when they wrapped up dead people so that their faces
would not rot for innumerable centuries.]

LIKE SILVER BIRDS before the wind
enthusiastic looking religious people who sit in sky seats.

The germs breaking out of mankind with lumps of famous bronze.

They will clear up your guts.

Say, ‘shh.’ The corduroy forest is luscious and black smoke
of the lamp. Dots of red ants are upon the Letter we Opened.

They build trampolines in the dish but we have forgotten.
To not be able to shake the wrinkles off of time and memories.

How they watch and laugh!
Look, there is something we all want.

It has steps.

Here is the key:

“Shh.”

The stoat jumps out of the fur and runs away to catch the scent.

Shh. — only for a moment then from behind the awful gilt wings of a magnificent
palace of life shall be painted on the blackened door. And when it is done it will
be our palace of course. Bluebells, bluebells, bluebells of hundreds–like far-off suns–
hand strayed from that beaten path.

:: 03.18.2022 ::


THE SHOCK OF IT

THE SHOCK of it.

A mother telling her son: “My son, I won’t let you go to California.”

A young man carries her baby all day long in slings telling him to grow.

Music is ringing into an empty silent room
: a woman lost to grief; and a boy unable to place her
and then her voice and him singing a hard melody, so darkly ironic.

A little singing voice sounds in the distance about a fist coming down hard
on her right breast which hurts beyond words —

: a shadow on the porch

a young woman
a single mother —
chasing blackbirds;
a ghost.

Damp gravel slush raining down on a wood tree, big as a house
covered with silk flowers.

A light touches its branches, fades:

“Ring-a-ling!
Ring-a-ling!”

Mama cries: “Can you make a fairy home out of this?”

“Yep,” I say —

“that’s what I do all day.”

burned bird: the bird must go

(She alone will turn my face to this flame)
bunch of very small black bodies: flocking, in a shadow
of magic, so small, they see their souls away across the ocean
within bird-wings is a full moon.

gone.

HUNTING BOY at the butcher

pink of his heels: she hands him

the armful of feathers

of a dead hawk’s nest,

“now,” she says,

“a nice plumy body and yellow bill.”

// :: 02.09.2022 :: \\


A Bell in The Vineyard

WEEDY tender vines,

potted plants in parks,

and the moon, appearing

in the morning – a moulin heard;

a clump of shrubs murmurs

like bells in a vineyard.

:: 02.05.2022 ::


SYNTAX FREEDOM

I DON’T follow rules. It keeps the “format police” away, mostly.
But at times, I have to kick them in academic teeth.

I rode upon the highway — heat, dry-sweat today
Glided through a red light all the way to your
empty uterus parking spot. The organ grinder and
his spotted monkey entertained me while
I sat in a cadmium-baked car = oh Majora, my minora sweets
melting in a box next to me.

My lover we shall spend nights in La Rioja
and taste the best wines and dine upon feasts
in romantic bodegas so we shall stroll
the day upon the land at Casa Rural —
I hear her vineyards
are a magic potion
for heavy hearts!

I hope we miss
the Renfe and Alsa
that we may walk
across the treasure
of Rioja’s Region
and fall in love
while stranded within
a small town as the
last bus leaves
beneath a Spaniard night

These are the memories
I wish in La Rioja

:: 08-15-2014 ::


LITTLE SOUL

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 ::


AFRICAN LOVE

i see the night star shinning so brightly
i feel the pain within my soul …
how the air is my last Testament of dreams
i am a traveling soul without boundaries
and my elders lost their grip upon me
oh how much shall be revealed
when at last the sun beats down upon
my face oh oh …gentlemen kneel
as the clear skies rain
I am a chord of grace & not a word
heard i relate — oh, oh, yeah
oh, oh, how flesh eats my soul
How forefathers gave and their
women wept for their pain and love
ooooooh!
rambling wondering and writing words
crying silently and never lord oh never
weeping the pain of my skin and soul
(wait for me) i cry oh how i know
| all i see turns to dirt |
and if a sound burns to ground
i sing with eyes /if i lose my mind
\ then with my mouth!/
Ooh some such angel oooooooooh
touch my Spirit.

:: 06.28.2021 ::


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 ::


A HUNDRED POEMS – XXX

my part a half of whole
a thought a slice of more
that my life lived and soared
my part your half our none
an emotion : the wave of ocean
that my life becomes
Life and as one
what more
than one and whole?

:: 04-03-2014 ::
rev 07192020


LUSTFUL MOON

How long….how long can i hold your hand
within the darkness of this night!
Look! The moon shines — sweet heart / shines\
i have not felt flesh moreless a caring hand within this
venture called Life. Beautiful.
And now you chance the winds , the rain, and the world?

and of me?
I am drunk, high … i am fixated upon beauty of a heart
as you are.
We could cross the road toward wilderness or toward
the concrete city — i prefer wilderness.
Where we can be brilliant intelligent animals fornicating
under the silver light of the Moon.

Stay near. Me. So that I cam smell your skin and fill
my lungs with you.

:: 09.09.2020 ::