Welcome to Summer

Myth-laced lunar light,
infuse long summer days
with magic and romance
a’glee in joyous play.
Wild fantasy takes flight
above earth’s rule-bound maze.
Passionate heat-soaked night awaits.
 .
            Waves of windblown flowers blooming
            Scent enlivens sense to peak
            Warm, warm breeze and rivers flowing
            Endless miles running free
            Let summer magick build up steam,
            simmer into thrills supreme
        ‘Tis season raised to rejuvenation
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        So play on …
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Song of Sun and Earth
Driving beat of nature’s grand
choreography
*
Beautiful child, enrapt in wonder
cradles a ball of ladybug colors
swaying to music, smiling to play
growing through summer’s most perfect day
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Summer Again
 .
… movin’ into summer
Wind plays in cloud formation.
Drift into deep elation.
Sun rise
blossoms to a
rhythmic peak
sending out, sending out, sending out
radiant vibration
reflected through summer skies.
 .
New esprit conjures a story.
Fantasy and careless
fling into tall grass,
fruit full trees, languid leaves.
Ebullient sunshine warms
soporific
melting melodies.
The tale unwinds in brightly
colored ribbons,
high jinxed gypsy comedies
of breezy, dimpled romance.
In silken perfumes bathed,
flagrantly scandalous.
Deign o dainty smile.
Laughter bubbles out,
bursts.  Minstrel raucous flames
fill summer eves’
glistening fairy light
 .
Tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper.
We have paid all the long
seasons of darkness.
It is time to reap an early harvest
of rapture dancing to dawn.
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peaceful moment
 .
Like a warm evening on the beach, all woozy from sunshine.
Tingle of sea breeze, that ocean scent of the wild.
As the sun recedes, cooling, refreshing, yet still a lazy summer eve.
Oh that luscious feeling, that overflow of quiet release.
In and out of sleepy reverie, so gently washing through pools, reservoirs
of elation.
Like a sweet warm breath caressing.
We give what we can; we take what we need.
Marching, in orderly fashion.
Or beatifically walking to a sacred beat.
The horizon shifts through daily duties, nightly prayers.
We take what we can. We give.
Without edict, without rational equation,
we give each outward breath, and take in what is given.
Like a happy inspiration, song springing from memory to lip,
moving the fortunate mind into momentary ecstasy of accord.
Moments meant to linger, to haunt as loving ghostly guardian.
Wrapped in ethereal glow of grace’s reward.
Summoning iridescent spirits to play joyfully,
ubiquitous harmonies.
Like the words we tell ourselves to bring us peace.
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 .
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Singing to the Chorus
 .
Getting warmer.
Days numbered by barbarians.
Travelers rush in to conquer.
Taken to a longer view,
tumbling through the ages ~
Sundials exchange for
binary spiders click-clock,
tabulating the enormous summary,
what has gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving creatures
pull upward from bootie straps,
scrambling for a place in the pile
near enough to top
that derision, pouring downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of Lords.
Merry tots spend fallen pocket-change of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big top.
Solemn children throw glass stones from circus stands,
bet on which clown will full face as disaster.
Speak in tongues of evil, o’ my children.
Church Fathers swear to the blackened sky;
cold, withered Mums hope for a crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of Satan,
cloven-hoofed, prancing in the circle’s
centerpoint, playing the pipes of Pan.
Oceans of blood boil.
Leading edges swelter, crisp into
conflagration.
.
In Summerland children play, frolic to
rollicking drums and reeds.
Naked under beaming Moon and starlight laughter,
merrily we act out tales well-loved by All.
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Joyous Litha
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 .
The Moon is adrift in the wind above
our sheltering craft in the sea
and all the world of Summer is ours
to ride the fire, toast to the stars
sway with warm desire, open our hearts
create a Summer of Love
 .
Celebration waves the streets, with drums,
lucid bells, a call to play
Carnival cheer brings heat to flame
Chants blend to sing with drinks and games
Grand gestures expand, to applaud such a day
fueled by smiling Sun
 .
 .
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Midsummer
 .
Of course you come to listen.
My tales tell your secrets.
Whispered primal code from vivid crystal.
Warmly floating on cool jazz,
mellow wine
intimate little garden party
‘midst harvests of simpler time.
Back from the rabbit hole.
Back from New York City, Boston,
Detroit, LA …
from always another backstabbing
grind everyday.
Rewind, recall.
Fog dense morning walking
along a rocky roadside,
unruly hair, distant eyes.
Fall
into
song singing hallelujahs,
place of play, haunted
by happy memories
exhorting sunlight.
Midsummer early twilight,
fairytales brought back from sleep.
Sprinting across that abyss,
tiny images, hungry ghosts.
No longer keeper of my brethren’s sorrows,
I don mischievous costume,
stamp out power, glory,
love gentle as a summer evening’s rain.
Blossoming countryside,
dandelions and clover,
bounty of Earth blooms in stories.
Listless children whine
“Why does no one let us play?”
A world of sullen children
overdue for naps and coddling,
blueberry jam at teatime.
Flowering prophets,
delectable, potent, wise
in the ways of demons,
oracles, gypsy Queens,
ascend into sacred muse-ways.
Every day a new day,
standing ground against a grinding
down to profit’s dust.
It can’t be a secret
if nobody’s listening.
But, listen:
places in your mind
will answer.
 .
Each bounding leap more distant.
Inviting opulence, opening vistas
vastly
flowering.
.
.
.

6/6/15

So You Say You Want a Revelation?
Disappointed mystic exile John,
eager to besiege his jailors
rendering unto Caesar
tales of woe and destruction
of Biblical proportion:
“The burning bush told me.  I swear it’s true.”
Beware the ides, the armies of Megiddo,
the smoke and mirrors,
the mushroom clouds
invading our memories.
“I send you these frantic missives,
Oh my Christian soldiers.
Do not stray from Yahweh.
Look what He has done to His
soul-begotten Son,
in a fit of divinity.”
I believe Jesus made it his mission,
gave every effort and sacrifice,
to save his mortal family
from mad jealous wrath of Dad.
His words clear, actions legend.
So sad that sheep easily forget,
falling under the evil eye
of any would-be butcher
slavering to grow strong on
the currency of blood.
There are beasts, and Beasts
numbering in legions.
Days end, begin, end again.
Murdering souls in the Name
of the Redeemer.  Oh, the Rapture!
Any sane Judgment would leave us
drowning in bitter tears.
I am begging:
Open your eyes, minds, hearts.
Open and learn.
True revelation awaits in every leaf and vein,
in every newborn cry
revealing pain
is meant to be a message
of active compassion,
to nurture a future
kinder than the past.
Breaking bred
Ravenous,
born from boiling seas.
Holy Beast rampages, rises beneath
broken surface;
exhales snarling flame,
riotous burning blame,
wreaks tidal waves that never quench
roil of fire.
All our desires embroil, enslave
in thrall of poison spit.
We can’t allow comfort, nor encourage
scored hearts to heal,
not while we steal your ire
to fatten rich nests.
Believe your cause excessively blessed.
Believe you are doing your best
to be as Creation demands.
Believe you are worthless
beyond condemnation
unless you are taking the stand
prescribed and admired.
If you aspire to anything higher
you must carry the brand
on your forehead or hand,
must be willing to kill
in the name of fealty,
to fulfill the prophecy.
to feed the Beast.
Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.
Jesus cried, and somebody grinned — don’t whine.
Jesus smiled his love on the least,
scattered his manna that the lowly might feast.
All you remember is that slavering Beast;
so remind me why it’s vital to deny
those who promote a peace of mind
based on revering kindness above
Divine.
Pageantry
Could Christian Fundamentalism be the dread AntiChrist,
and greedy Wall Street his ravenous Beast?
Could the Second Coming be prides of young
claiming back the streets?
Could Prophecies feared and hoped
to bring Sinners to their knees
to lift innocents into just reward
by Blessed Hero’s noble sword
avenging faithful meek —
Could that parade be before us,
just not the scene surmised,
preached to prove the righteous right?
Has the final fight foretold been taking form,
storm clouds positioned for hard rains to fall,
untidy time of transition whence soothsayers call,
alarm bells chime?
Is the end of this trial of dependence nigh?
Can we break the Jesus code, create, rewrite
Apocalypse as our own golden age, reign
of Peace?
What World Is This?
Not preordained, not programmed.
Ties that bound cut to slivers,
what will emerge?
No millennial beast slouches here.
Only speed of light delimits.
Earth’s bowl sky holds only air,
not certain destiny.
Perhaps, if we allow release from
baseless blindness
a state of grace may find us.
Independent of holy demons
or royal decree,
fate can be self-reliant.
Beyond grasp of power arrogated
to God or mortal master,
each well-examined self
is a force of nature.
From shadows shy wood nymph watches warily,
ready to bolt rather than chance being seen.
She knows her universe straddles change, craves balance.
Hubris claimed humans cry for trial by combat
sacred?  profane?   narrations between?
What world is this
in swaddling clothes
at the break of days?
Postnatal
So many unpleasant faces
ruin a beautiful view.
Angry reds instead of cool blues,
calm ease.
Too many bruises
scream to be free
of burden
of skin and blood.
Tribute to the Muses,
pleasing balm of misery,
that I be allowed
their resplendent disgrace.
child in crumpled corner silently sings
to hold tears, tongue, repent, appease.
Songs of laughing eyes a’float in kindness —
happy fantasy to pretend to reminisce.
Where does it start?
A life, a mind, a set of states of being?
Innocence, vulnerability, not having
practice of precepts that frame awareness.
Why she yells, unmasks her ugly face;
why he shakes and strikes and blubbers.
Contorted eyes, cheeks, mouth
loud to invoke terror.
Violation, violent broken boundaries;
monstrous, fearsome,
because grotesque beyond comfort.
So unthinkable
we call it myth, delusion.
Iconic target for hatred.
A twisted face to pin on evil tales, to
spit out sobbing poisons, paint in shades
concealing
lies that harden into revelations,
legends, the stuff of nightmares
and deflected shame.
Memory’s child, forced to hopeless obliviation long before
a chance for clarity, sense of agency,
for a self to determine.
Undermined.
A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,
of happy fairytales, everyone well fed and
tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away
the slavering beast.
A child wants, a busy mother wants,
a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant
wants. Voice of sympathy, soothing harmony,
innocent pleasure.
No room to complain.
You enjoy when offered reasonably clean and unspoiled
food to fill that screaming hole of hunger.
Irregular shelter where maybe you can sleep, escape
all the pain and wailing indignity.
Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse,
rapacious, their cultured appetites.
A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual
— none may steal this God’s fire), blood bond, sacrifice.
Taste of copper and iron.
We are of the Earth, Her mighty Sun, of
tides and moonbeams and molten seas.
Not love —
chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.
I have wandered, blundered forth as a leaf in the wind,
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope,
or finality.
Shell-shocked from this war of all against all.
Live where you belong:  right here; right now.
Here’s to the weary.
Here’s to the fun.
Here’s to the berry that makes us all young.
Here’s to the rulers.
Here’s to the fools.
Here’s to the toilers and tellers of truths.
Here’s to the end of another decline.
Here’s to the best of our time.
46664
Caging the Beast
“call me after the Rapture” I
post on religious social network
sites.
Have you read Yeats’ “Second Coming”?
After the prophecy
After the hard, hard rain
after the rainbow
Call me.  We should get together.