Winter triptych

Winter is coming

She arrives
Conviction strong and glorious.
Brilliant astral presence, at last.
Swollen with destiny, swirling in ecstasy.
Feel air breath-moist in tune to Her sway.
She drinks, uplifts the cup of our prayers, feasts upon homespun tales.
Listen! She reveals.
Torso spun forward, head arched back
dervish aware. She incants, caresses, blesses,
sweeps through this startled assemblage. Chase if you dare.
A child of shadow slips behind, catches at her tresses.
Slow secret smile grows, their silent delight
snow white, bare of guile.
Time freezes. Hungry eyes press against
icy glass. Inside, twinkling eternity blazes, laughs.
All future awaits. We need but reach through

Winter is coming

She arrives
Glorious voice uplifts the night,
trails splendor, drapes drifts of white.
Taste icy delight, pure wrought fantasy.
Far flight of reflections safe by the fire,
caught ablaze in flame’s magic,
aligns with the greatest of stars, magnificent galaxies.
Snow lit in moonglow. Soft flow of desire.
Wild Wind whispers “Higher, my love; ride sheer mystery.”
Serene, reclined; eyes widen, brightly behold.
A fabulous sleigh swoops from above.
A whirl of aroma, adoring excitement.
She alights, a flash of stunning glee.
Clear aura of peace.

Winter is Coming

She arrives!
Cold, clear, glorious crystalline air.
Happy to roast by the fire, spin out yarns for warmth.
Happy for cozy aroma of home and hearth.
Euphorious, heart singing, blood roaring fun.
Out to run, slide, ride through white mist,
escape from resistance; engage with bright bliss.
She alights from her carriage, a vision of charms
carved in ice.
Look into the prism’s flame, wondrous worlds
never twice the same, mesmerized.
Happy to have this gift, this season, this time,
open eyes.

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Twilight of Goddess Revelation

What twisted so maliciously your mind?
Your God — Created that greedy leaders may more easily prevail?
Is it guilty shame, seeded by consistent training insisting that you fail?
Lost to balance, whole possibilities, unable to be free or sane.
Eternal life is yours, we scream, while you destroy our birthright
in service to conjuror’s dream of denial.

but it’s just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

II.

Born other than imperial, torn into what we are told is real
without power to protect ourselves from venal brothers of the order
spreading hatred like any venereal disease.
We no longer need to meet you cowering on our knees.
Karma’s a hot potent bitch unschooled in mercy.
Witches reclaiming noble heritage, reframed herstories will prevail.
Though born, forced to service, in our master’s jail,
lost and lonely midst the masses, masked to fit expected forms.

but it’s just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

III.

Listen, little one, watching every moment for our chance,
we will break free to adventurers’ romance; dance away the chill of
foreign hills enrapt in leaves and grass. Hiding in primeval castles,
tightly aligned to a bright inner sphere, holding to hope of life to hold dear.
Learning to fly, ride to some unknown side, escape from the herd hate stone,
can’t be as hard as learning to stand alone.

but it’s just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

Meditation on Power to Be

Uber mind
Creator of all we perceive
conceived in electron energy.
Concentric conscious rings
connected,
emit all consciousness between.

Back beat flash incorporates jazz dance
weaves magic song;
metaphoric feet in trance,
spin common lore.

Voice of irretrievable residue defines decisions.
Hark, this is a moment of re-visions!

Brutal authenticity
hallmark of this 21st century.
Refute celestial entities;
express heartfelt wonder for
mysteries beyond our sky,
differences between faith and bliss.

May I take this stage to express guesses
(not insist) for conversation:

Preachers in this fallen world reach out to touch, to teach
as their creed requires to rectify desire.
Responsibility to each generation begins at conception,
ends at birth.
Children mature counting time to the measure
of what they see as worth.

Thus, breeds pestilence in hellfire, soot embellished treasure
for pleasure of the damned as god’s plan.
Beasts and hunting bands maraud green forest, blue shore.

Gamblers’ scores equal blessings.
Hammer, nail, ships taut to sail, whistles, tambourines,
cuneiform silkscreens, slaves to machines.

Whales were legless leviathans
Once upon a story

Early learning cast the play of we and they.
Blood, bone, face
is not man, soil intent on destiny.
Shadow marketeers sell swords, honour,
blessings to follow the faith as good fathers demand.
Soft blood dries — throes of maggots and microbes
cunningly feast on folly.
Can the wage of war pay to feed our sorrows?
Vegetation of these mythic forests grows
twisted, tinged in dark crimson layers.
Stench of terror, violent death —
fresh meat, or fresh enough for
gnashed snarls of teeth and salivation.
Lullabies drenched in sweet hope
snapped for a crude libation.

War, to improve the species,
cull the less fit or fortunate,
revitalize with hybridization.
Trained adversaries of different kin join in
biocultural cross-fertilization.
New semination, strategies, vigor, replace those
destroyed in battle. Hegelian dialectic played out
in donnybrook and brothel,
conquered and conquerors commingle in the everyday.

Warrior upon warrior.
Young, aggressive, strong, culturally arrogant,
seeking glory, adoration, through attack.
Like young male cats
of the archetypal jungle, sent out from the tribe
to trouble the enemy.

Lesser punks relegate to jail. Yeah, yeah, get the scofflaws off the street;
scapegoats for collective demons need be punished well.
While locked in hell, too, losers from the gene pool.
The privileged and their entourage
seldom serve time. Innocents sans means
get rousted and warehoused. The holy encourage:
Keep ’em chained until aged weak beyond appeal.

Modern reason might usurp these adaptations.

Species, in danger of elimination, needed arrogance
to command resources
to feed more warriors
to keep each kin group scrambling
for position. To get more competitive, through competition.

Billions of voices shout cacophony.
Sentient choices blend better as harmony.
By liminal command, young aggressors channel
to sport, fantasy battle, adventurous work.
Next level survival demands we assess, re-learn.

projections

She’s cool, just the right amount of calculating, and oh so deferential to the code. He’s crude, patronizing, but affable; you can’t help liking him. They live on a quiet, tree-lined street just behind the main thoroughfare. You’d hardly know them if you saw them every day.
She was wild and wind born, a creature of seasons. She blew into their lives and opened their windows and doors. Did you see her flying through town, smile wide eyes flashing in the distance? She’s a creature of seasons, comes and goes through changes, rides high and low on the wind. They would have smothered her in confinement just because they are that way. She would love to be brilliant, but her flame is too blown about, so she lives in a fantasy of exquisite pain. “You will love her; she knows how to suffer,” cries into your ear over telephone wires, into your eyes from the printed page.
“My God,” the priest intones, “Look over my congregation. Each of us a sinner on the path, answer our prayers for forgiveness. Absolve us, we know what we have done, and would assuage the guilt upon our souls.”
They go to bed each evening, shortly after ten. What can they be dreaming?
She takes off, racing through town on a stolen motorcycle, out to meet her lover. They always meet outside of town and travel into the city. They always giggle when they meet, out for a night of fun and laughter. Laughter always becomes erotic after awhile. It’s a night of racing madly against death, of Experience. It’s a night that lasts for days, until exhaustion makes it end. They are well known in this city that they go to, though strangers in their own homes.
The jukebox music blares and voices shout over. Psychedelic lighting and elaborate costumes make everyone a figure of fantasy. It’s a high time for pill poppers, powder sniffers, and mainliners: a high time for all. I see you and wave across the room, “Hey, man, come on over!” General roughhousing, laughter, some surreptitious snorts from a vial. ~”Hey, man, what’s happening? Gi’me five!”
She sees you and sidles over. She’s on the make all the way. She loves a challenge, can’t turn away from one. She speaks her mind, brash. She would love to be brilliant, but her flame is too blown about. You give her your attention, as much as you have available on your high. She smiles, eyes wide and flashing, begs you for a kiss with those eyes, reaches for your hand to read your palm lines, says they show great physical prowess. You are enchanted and thrilled in your response. I stand by and watch you, delighted.
They are dreaming words, kind and harsh, and numbers. They are dreaming situations with predetermined conclusions. In the morning, like well-oiled machines, they will roll along to work. If you look, you may see them on the highways, behind the wheels and shields of their cars. You wouldn’t know them if you did.
She licks the inside of your earlobe, her hands tightening on your chest. You are hardly aware of the world without her. I am still watching you, from the corner, highly amused. The music blares, an everpresent background, foreground, background, foreground. It’s all so intense, you smile, the agony; the pleasure. I am waiting for a sign.
They murmur uneasily in their sleep. There are signs and portents, to be felt around them, in the cool night air. They stir uneasily, but do not waken, hiding more deeply in their dreams. They would not know how to deal with it all awake.
We have left the bar, walking in the late night rain to your apartment. It’s not a long walk, nor a short one. The rain doesn’t permeate our highs. We laugh a lot over nothing and smoke cigarettes. You’re cool, supremely aware and together. We giggle our secret jokings in the rain; your arms unite us, one around each. Finally we reach the building, doorway, stairs, stairs, stairs, room. Double lock, and you’re ours. We will play lovingly with you, a new toy. We love to share our toys, she and I.
“Dear Lord,” the priest closes his sermon, “We have sinned and demand forgiveness. We have played by the rules and will enter the kingdom of heaven when we die.”
You give yourself over completely to the pleasure which we know well how to give. We blow great wafting billows of smoke from our lungs into yours. We breathe heavenly white crystals into our veins and yours. We all three enter each others’ bodies through every orifice, merge through skin and immortal souls, experience climax upon climax, ever greater the heights.
They dream of liquid floating in suspension and do not understand. We are the product of their dreams.
We suck you of your life fluids, moving mouths on every part of your body. Vampires of experience, we will not let you go till we have sucked you dry. Like a vampire’s victim, you will crave the life, the experience of others, will suck them dry to gain eternity. We suck you and lick you clean, fondlingly. We again enter you through every opening, cleaning you through. You have been exhausted. We complete our ritual cleansing as you lie immobile, beyond response. We symbolically cut off your genitals, cut out your heart. We now own your soul. It has been a good night.
Dawn has long since risen; they will wake soon. Soon they begin again, another day of their busy aimless lives: rise, work, unwind, sleep, and, oh yes, consume those predigested market-attractive packaged products of the mass media, the mass brainwash, the mass society.
We leave you sleeping and run gaily, arms linked, along the city sidewalk. We stop for coffee at a corner cafe and rolls and donuts. We no longer giggle, but speak sensibly; it is daylight. We go to the park to sleep by the water, surrounded by greenery, curled contentedly in each other’s arms. Our easy breaths are prophetic breezes.

Legends

I ride far upon a mare of the night
she of high fame and noble descent
snorting displeasure at my feeble attempt
to guide by the stars her unfettered flight.
We ventured to caverns lit by bright vermin.
We enjoyed the charm of enchanting seers.
I held the heart of folk I hold dear in a dream
carried lightly in my pocket, far yet too near,
for the fear came upon me
again and again that I might fail, might fall,
might show cracks of desperation
and who could love me now?
Who could find me bare and broken,
hear the words I could not speak,
recite the words that I must hear
to retrace, to find my place,
on back of a sacred mare,
back on my sacrificial journey?
Love becomes too great a luxury.
I must be free to name my price.
I travel the vast reaches of space for you.
I delve into my deepest pain to offer
painted posies, dripping in consecrated wine.
Where would I not rush in if I could blast the barriers
to bring your treasure, wrapped in shining glory?
Alas, Alack, these treasures I claim in your honor
are not those of your own demand.
Again I face you bent and bowed with empty hand.
I can not face such failure anymore.
We ride, I astride my plucky equine avatar.
She is, as it has turned, my only friend.
Our adventures become legion, become legend.
I’ll not be bringing home that story.