Poisoned

img_5690I was standing just now outside

wind working hard to hinder or knock me off my held breath position

See I was hunched over legs open wide (human tripod in mind—

I lean toward organics) and nearly still still still enough at least

aiming my lens at this southern slip of currently naked tree trunk just right

exactly what I needed to cut what would in a few seconds be

a partial wink of perfect blinding sun leaking out from below a dirty

little trickster raincloud. I was there my right index already on the shutter so

light so close not even butterfly breath could have slipped through

Ready? Ready. Stop all thought no flow at all huh-uhhuhh do not blink or move

The moment the moment the slightest shift makes all the diff—

and then the poison! Politics. Other peoples’ stupidity. Madness baseless hate

Time wasters unwisers narcissism solipsism accuse-ism dumbism exclusionism

grimacism sneerism ignoramusism Imememine-ism foolism violencism

makenosenseatall-ism schism miserableism hatism destructism shitism…

It’s the twenty first century this modern mad dog barking muddled up plot

poisoning of the potential of the human mind

the threat to intelligence the rise of bad news fake news danger everywhere fear of

everyone run hide get a weapon buy another one shun shun news

fists of the vicious narrow vacant eyes looking in through windows prying trying

whatever means to pollute our innocent trusting souls with foul breath and

slippery slope arguments, with an utter inability

to comprehend the merits of respectful discourse, introspection, diplomacy,

consultation with others who know something of the subject in mind (any subject)

the advantage

of being kind, the concepts of considering consequences before shouting non sequitur

answers to question from mouths you can’t see because your monoism has rendered

you blind—poison seeps in so fast. It’s singular goal is to kill.

And it’s not the wind I’m wrestling anymore

It’s the great rumble of unstoppable nonsense

the roiling cacophony of fools fed on unfoods, ha ha sitcoms prophet for profit

slayers of evil undefined but true so true you better believe or hell hell

pretend leaders sleazy compromisers greedy petty world uglifiers

social media the news the mouths the heads half interested eyes the lips

The arses? Maybe. Sure. It’s the arses, too.

Do I have to love these? I guess I might. I do? (It’s not easy but hate begets

more hate and that’s nowhere to go for me not for you either whether you know it or

not, some things are just truths that’s the way it is so here we go, so)

I catch my sun ray. I am there. Imbalance is my cue.

I go inside wipe my nose

Camera down

I strike a deal. Squeeze poison from wound

Seems I’ll live.

Insert wisdom. Know when what where your balance hangs

mine is on the turntable

My mind is sacred

it’s not for sale for any price

Poison is dangerous. I saw the warning five hundred years ago it said

Don’t drink. Life is precious for everyone. Every one. Remember who you are

Remember what it is you cling to in this world is what and who you’re gonna be so:

I look for art in the raindrop on that flower next to the path

I see dancers in the roots of trees reaching out of limestone cliffs

I saw that sunset and it saw me

Now I’m singing and it goes like this (leave your hate in that old barrel

and you can come inside. I already forgive you for your lies)

Give a little bit

Give a little bit of your love to me

(Listen: Roger Hodgson 12 string shines here)

We’re still alive in the amazing light of our own stable making

Stay alert damn it. You and me, we’re worth saving.

we’re worth saving.

 

You Belong Here

image

How do you think I know?

the Universe makes no mistakes

it’s true some doubt it

will try so hard to convince you test you

push you rile you accuse you scorn you abuse you

you may elevate and watch this poverty

unravel roll out slither from a sorry sack of ill intent

still it ought not move you undo you hurt you

well maybe scratch a little— you are human and will remain

but you your person your value your beauty your presence

cannot be diminished vaporized erased desensitized put out

You arrived

We met yesterday or today

We will meet again tomorrow

I see you there standing in your place your still slightly bewildered face

Your shining bright light full on but flickering adjusting unsteady

Tell me your name again so I can repeat it write it on our Human Sky

for all to see as they come to look for their own reasons

to befriend or dis or welcome or whisper or ask you out loud

why you are not what they expected

You arrived because it’s time and this is the place the right one your place

You belong here. We all do.

Hello.

Light

Shoes are optional

No one stands guard

No entry fee or protocol

you you You arrive

Ask: is this my home?

Is this the beginning of the journey—My Journey

—Is it The End?

Not much on offer in view

Many before you have crossed

Limestone is reliable shelter

You could enter settle stay

While you contemplate others’ bones sink deeper

These walls are reinforced by thousands

who arrived hesitated undecided lived died calcified

Are you hungry?

Is imagination driving you forward or rendering you static?

Is your heart—

you remembered to bring it, yes?

Is your heartbeat a barely detectable murmur or a drumline of thunder?

What are the lyrics to Your Song

or have you not yet written them in invisible ink upon Your Skin?

You willed yourself here

Look around

You are alone but for birdsong wind green leaves clay and stone

bteatne

Repeat

It means nothing

Inhale now stretch clench your jaw close your eyes

Howl until all breath is spent

Then step one foot in front of the other as though

you know Your Intention acknowledge it

as You Walk with confidence toward The Light

Time is fading and despite appearances The Journey is long

rife with tricksters detours delays poor signage distractions

Your purpose is not singular

Your path is not direct

and Life is positively short.

 

Empty Pages

unadjustednonraw_thumb_5410

Fill up all the empty pages

can’t seem to say what I want to say

all those phrases empty spaces

between me and a better way

I draw close to pen and paper so word wary

no resonance no rhythm no meaning necessary

I can’t dance

I can’t sing

I can’t wrestle this night train down

I can’t keep this beat

up time in my mind

Listen to the distant howling

is that a watcher in the wood?

Raise a wave for the black bird flying high

It is impossible to reach there

but I’m still going to try

And bird rides straight on through blood red sky

One of These Days

One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Civility will

return

It will be cool again

to smile

to say hello

welcome you stranger
One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Love will

prevail

It will be cool again

to reach

to say alright

take my hand
One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Humility will

rise

It will be cool again

to surrender

to say everything

with open minds
One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Honesty will

dominate

It will be cool again

to aspire

to say quality

reflects the light
One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Possibility will

multiply

It will be cool again

to imagine

to say knowledge

belongs to everyone
One of these days

you’ll see you’ll see

Greatness will

elevate

It will be cool again

to understand

to say yes

everyone here belongs

Last Night I Dreamed of Leonard Cohen


Last night I dreamed of Leonard Cohen 

in silhouette on a park bench in Montreal 

he had a paper bag beside him 

in his hands he held nothing at all
I thought to just keep on walking 
as I have never met Leonard the man before 

but in the dream I look a place beside him 

and he asked me, “who’s been keeping score?”
In a hush, I answered, “I am still learning,

but, like you, I am not so sure of this game.” 

He smiled then so slowly as he buttoned up his coat 

“It’s alright now, you are not to blame.”
We watched as the moon turned to ashes 

its fragmented silver covering cool ground 

A cowboy drummer sprinkled orange peel 

served us steamed honour, words without sound.
From the bag, there rose up a bluebird 

spreading her wings as she soared for the stars 

An accordion player tipped his hat as he passed 

he was late for the night train to Mars.
Knowing without knowing the possibilities in dreams 

I sat next to the Poet Melancholy like a friend 

collecting silver sage for my own guarded house 

food and drink for my Garden of zen
I dreamed last night of Leonard Cohen 

and me sitting on a park bench in old Montreal 

a choir of two howling in dissonant harmony 

“Je ne regrette pas rien,” the final lament.
And I wondered if that was all could be true 

or if it was only circumstance made it so 

a rhythm maker’s journey through eternity 

gathering the heartbeat of the soul 

for reclamation to the Tower of Song.
[and now, a quiet goodnight. lift you soft in the pale November light.]

Silent Ghosts of Abundance

unadjustednonraw_thumb_7bf7

I was huff running on a treadmill in the utilitarian grey zone

one of many in a row monitoring heart rates and breathing hard

listening to Hayden or Taj Mahal or maybe The Tragically Hip

who can remember when the setting is permanently on shuffle?

 

I was repeating a mantra something about the importance of anti-heroism

visualizing myself not a speed sprinter for speed is not in vocabulary here

but an enduring ego long distance never surrender steady on medium paced trotter

Light-footed I do not like the sound of a heavy stomp landing

 

I was watching through myopic eyes the silent stealth of the fit and semi fit and average

listening for the underbeat of a motivating cue and aware of free flowing thoughts

You you you holographs suspended in the ether I know you or knew you

Dormant for one hundred years but alive and well dancing in your effect

 

I cannot run forever going nowhere while staring straight ahead into the blur

Nor can I thank you now from this distance and with my voice grown so weak

Unless I believe you present for this fragment next to me after and through time

Yes maybe that’s all there is or what must do, good after gratitude is still gratitude

 

Where are you where am I scrolling light years between faces and half dreams

I welcome your resurfacing to remind me of all the memories hovering beyond reach

randomly appearing unbidden as I forget about trying to remember your names

You whose temporary life collisions held the keys unlocking doors of obstruction

gifted generously so I might pass this far intact. Cumulative and barely panting.

Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.

%d bloggers like this: