(construct into) Platonic Cube

This gesture is bold but I've been bolder

and will still beholden to the emergence

of gold among all the hues of every day

grace and romp pomp and circumstance

sounding a reservoir with radar instilled

accessing veins and ardor effect of light

protracting essence emanations fine line

crossed passed saturation bar none order

complete compleat pause without pause

heavy lid heart intoxication the beloved

song of songs effortless orchestration as

nested within nested frequencies ripples

tides overflow how sure plumb line cast

transparency of transparency this flower

next face

I will say here everything that ever sang

to what sings within me for that Song is

that which is Beyond the beyond houses

that which cannot be housed and haunts

in the clear of clears not bother or fright

casting a most precious crystalline hoar

frost ground of grounds latent buoyancy

only to shuffle once into the royal flush

of all time winnings empty of any spite

even benevolence lighter than air ether

Tesla knew could even see Thus it is so

in not only me but you you you and we

flying gliding whizzing by how free we

the sound the grace note sheer glorious 

next face

All around and around and a round and

we flying gliding whizzing by how free

casting a most precious crystalline hour

flying gliding we whizzing by how free

in not only me but you you you and we

are a rolling jubilee #rollingjubilee has

arrived finally the jewel seeing as freed

lotus in the jewel The jewel in the lotus

open sesame the jewel says open freely

with that opening the true reality shines

we all have the lock and keys and these

shape shifting wonders meet zero point

to zero point no exchange no cost polar

opposites dissolving no borders remain

next face

the conversation within this confluence

speaks plentitude that which flows thru

over around percolating permeate swirl

roiling such to free up the mineral base

the heart regulator such without no life

the mystery of which can’t be replaced

governor de-regulate sustainer director

director sustainer de-regulate governor

can’t be replaced the mystery of which 

such without no life the heart regulator 

the mineral base such to free up roiling

swirl permeate percolating around over

that which flows thru speaks plentitude
this confluence the conversation within

next face

and this and this what and this and this

this                                               and

and                                               this

this                                               and
and                                               this
this                                               and 

and                        .                      this
this                                               and
and                                               this
this                                               and
and                                               this
this                                               and
and                                               this

this and this and what this and this and

next face

.       .       .        .        .       .       .       .

.       That That That That That That     .
.       That That That That That That     .
.       That That That That That That     .
.       That That That That That That     .
.       That That That I am That That     .
.       That That I am That That That     .

.       That That That I am That That     .

.       That That That That That That     .

.       That That That That That That     .

.       That That That That That That     .

.       That That That That That That     .

.       .       .        .        .       .       .       .

on/off

• • •

there is a seamless reality

most of the time until there

isn't - switching happens

millions of times a day, we 

just veer away from these

transitions as if the

flip side doesn't exist.

For instance, where is the

poetry? Bring it on!

Fair

fair

fair

the stakes are higher

the wind slacks

and the surface shrieks

its delight

what once was

disperses

seamlessly

filling into another

real ity

finally

the wake estimates

its return even now

wake of casket

wake of vessel

wake of day

how does carrying on occur?

this wrestling verges

on/off the edge

firing random

synapses

Mint-breathed creature

Mint-breathed creature

mint-breathed creature
in search of falling water to drink
breaks brush midstream
dips two horns in water
& gets tongue wet
goatee soaked
this quadruped with toro body
& ankles of a kudu
turns & trots along the path
eastward
hydrated now
insured of another day
seeks & finds a meadow
where fences no longer stand
where a logging truck rusts
into textured red-oranges
with sparkles of sand reflected
alongside nail popped barns
& lightning neglected
power line poles
disconnected
mint-breathed creature
has found a pasture
to invite others to
enjoy & gather

IMUNURI prompt: Dream Animal

Drawing by M. Peña

Could you write about the feeling of affection as a translucent, red spider?

Does the anxiety that comes from unexpected change creep into the house like a human-headed squirrel or jump from the rafters like a mandrill wearing a tux?

Is hunger a butterfly? What is the shape of the wing?

Does a walking pumpkin bring your overwhelm on a paper plate?

Go into your subtle emotions, the microchemistry of your reactions and responses to living.

Create a metaphor there in the form of a dream animal, a real or fictional creature, something mundane or mythic. What does it have to tell you? What can you do to give it comfort?


keywords: dreamanimal, your name, poem

Mountain high gratitude

                                              "Move me no mountain" ~  painting by Rachel L.
                                                                                              click to enlarge

“TYM (Thank-You Machine)”

TYM

Down in the ground, deep
  underneath the green,

far below the magic
  of the spouting seeds,

in the hot, quick center
  of the everything:

the always-running, mother-loving 

     Thank-You Machine.

High in the sky, above the satellite screen,

past all of the stars all our lenses have seen,

in the still, chill outers of everything:

the ever-shining, atom-binding 

     Thank-You Machine.

   Gabba-gabba, wanna-wanna Thank-You Machine

   Jumblini, crumblini Thank-You Machine

   Hi-ho trailus, hoodoo-voodoo Thank-You Machine

   Boip-boip, woof-woof  Thank-You Machine

Around and surrounding the ripples of being,

into dimensions beyond seventeen,

of the holey, holy torus of the everything:

the inner turning, outer churning Thank-You Machine.

   Oh-pa, baba-re-ba Thank-You Machine

   Pachalafaka Thank-You Machine

   Electric Aunt Jemima with a Thank-You Machine

   Shoop-shoop, Yadda-yadda Thank-You Machine

birthday poem

for daniel

i was going to write an amazing poem for you, 
but the alphabet t u m  b   l     e     d    a     w      a       y

in its place, 

a small seed from a passing bird fell down

in the space cleared by the missing alphabet

where the words weren't 

and the seed was

a worm nirbled up through the soil

and sluiced back down

carrying the seed into the earth

suddenly a leaf flew up (like bird wings)

and another

on a long rope of knotted trunk twine.

more leaves climbed up the rope of vine

looping up and up, 

and began to form whirls and q's

a kind of vegetative alphabet

a cacaphony of letters, a verdant hymn

suddenly it was a jungle, a forest, surging forth

from the vine sprout

from the seed passed by a bird

carried in the earth

in the space cleared by the missing alphabet

all of creation sprouted forth

so large and diverse an earth, 

then a moon slipped up the girth of the trunk

and was held by silver leaves

music from faeries came to life, lit

by this feral green moon, moist with birth and life

everything came out of that spot

as if nature inverted to make more of herself

in celebration of you

the earth made itself, the moon rose in celebration

of your birth, this earth, this day, this breath

and for that, certainly, we hear the faery

tympanum and lute, this song before words,

and after, 

this thanks

Topanga poem fragment

 

hiking the backbone trail

on the rippling undulant spine of ridge, mama’s backbone trail

spine snaking down to ocean

the way the imminent rain changed the quality of color

dense saturation

the albatross during their crash swoon descent, the peacefulness of the surfrider during sunset

how i could watch the valley and sensefeel the water underneath the land

Thankathon

Denis Collette, Flickr

You are recruiting praise. A thank evangelist. Think of this poem as a synonym entry for gratitude. 

Yet it is still a poem: use metaphor, even simile. What in nature doesn't praise creation? 

Tags: thankathon, poem, [your moniker]

Hint: check out this Flickr hivemind supersite of graphics keyed to "exult" if you need some inspiration

Laundry Girl ~ Eagle Child

            

Laundry Girl ruminates          "yes!...there is more to a dot than a line"

First ink stains the soft

curl of her fingers

looping L's  /  O's intact

Neatly housed characters

                ~

Hers is the breath I prosper the most

Of renewal

out of which comes wonder

leaving the last thought before this one behind

Re-visioning an inhalation  / Moving in real time

Right ( her true "left" )

tires easily / authentically

Opening up a counterworld of an off handed nature

Sweet Beast then struggling Titan unleashed 

arm outstretched for fruit from the Deva's trees

wedged within the spin of their heavenly realm

               ~

Eagle Child  keen

Vision and powerful flight

Places her gradual right hand in mine /  Her easy left limbers painless

What's slow is what's worth the time

Moving from writing pad to laundry pile

circumambulating

every detail of fabric, letter, texture, heat.

Tend'r garden

~ What's left of the left is what's left to move

    What's on course to an intercourse of true 

    In choice within choicelessness 

    Karma justice complex

    Punishment finds no place inside causes and effects ~

gauche gouache

gauche gouache

on the other hand I wear a silver bracelet,
with this hand (only)
I painted a gauche gouache
in blues & grey tints with hints of otherness,
a ring of chanting clerics surround an oceanic blow hole
& appear to march counter clockwise,
one lone cypress highlights the cliffside,
stiff still loons hover,
I used blinding white to color the  flash glint in the glasses of one of the holies,
I left out the angels & cherubs
& penciled in one starfish waving a sea palm.

on the other hand

what's left - brainstorm

• giraffes speaking, leading in long limbed grace
• dance improv with left to my lou
• what was once marked awkward now nimble

"what was once a burden
now a great delight"

• world leaders using crayons and finger paints for law making
• wars fought in the sand castle making competition, washed away by the sea
• learning to play in peace
• tolerating righties

Prompt: Left arm right

Admiral's Art

Along the theme of embodiment, what if everything that were left, were right? 

Would dexterity become sinister? 

What would the world look like if those oppressed, creative lefties and those who've reclaimed lefty power (e.g. Sinister Wisdom) were leading things?

Write a poem with your left hand about your reflections, and post it, hitting "Publish" with your left hand. (For some folks this may be easier than others.) 

Tags: poem, lefty, [poet's moniker]

Ce qui Pompe

dedans mon corps
dedans mon coeur
penetrent mon coeur
se trouve le coeur de mon coeur
ou “drum solo” keeps the beat
et tous mes noms signifie moins que moi
le sang de danse viens d’ici
haut haut avec cette intime
coule l’energie qui me propelie
sur le sentier
s’emmene le cadeau
pour nos embrasses
nos baisses
nos merci pour les moments
sentir le sang profond
de ce qui pompe

EMPTINESS BEATS...UN-SEATS THE HEART ( a Rap song )

    Once  u-pon  ==
and back in time %%% 
the missing heart of heartless was a crime +

the holytalk of heartland preached Un-KIND <#>

stirring empty 
   Resurrecting 
the cuttings from the World Tree  Roo - ting } {  
the HOle in heart   jux---juxta-PO-sing *
       always flowering 

     never cowering 

and all the Makers Making  empowering

/// Just a vacancy

   not complacency  ///

what can and does reside in "GLORY BE" !

 chest a' pounding":":":":"

lungs atoning

And all the loaded art'ries rhy ~ ming !

hallowed  harkness((((

raving redness...
    the legendary lore of tend'rness.

Filling in

When he’s gone in a transport of pounding,

my heart leaves the duties of his station

to a substitute entity. He’s found

several who can sustain circulation

for a dozen pulses, or there around—

the entire blood vessel network, for one.

The heart’s in good hands as they coax the blood

and soul en masse onward while he’s undone.

Drums also stand in for my heart, their thud

stoking and choking my fire with low sound.

And sometimes an unpredictable flood

drives my heart to grab a far-flung back up:

an ear of corn, in husk; The Iliad;

the thought of quartz; a chipped, China teacup;

or an overripe fuyu persimmon.

Nearly anything can work as a pump

when my heart takes it and screams “Whassssup?!”

slope ridge line light

Photography –a medium I first explored over three decades ago and now find myself coming back to again, is compelling. It is the appearance or illusion of what was seen –not seen by the naked eye but by the camera, as Garry Winogrand so aptly noted as he discussed photography while being filmed himself for a documentary on photography.

We can look at photography in another way, not the way the camera ‘looks’ at the world in the split second aperture opening, but the way the human being and the human eye explores and glances, focusing or not focusing at something. Each photograph I take asks, if it can be said that way, to be looked at differently. In the photo above, for the body/brain there is a gestalt here. There are worlds within worlds in this image in the way I experience it. There is abstract beauty, there is light, dance, majesty, tenderness, softness, a deep relax. I love what seems to me the visitors, the trees high up on the ridge drawing my attention and intersecting the ridge line, riding the slope of this arid mountainside.

I love the scale shift in detail from the foreground to the very distant space of the ridge on into the sky. The feel of the day that drew me out into its changeability is touched here in this photograph, for me. Something breathes more easily within me in the presence of this light and shadow illusion of a land and cloud scape. So where might we say this landscape exists?

As invisible

as an updraft, the eye soars

as the osprey’s flight