Thursday, November 29, 2012

(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     .
.       .       .        .        .       .       .       .


• • •

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!

the stakes are higher
the wind slacks
and the surface shrieks
its delight

what once was
filling into another
real ity

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

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

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
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
mint-breathed creature
has found a pasture
to invite others to
enjoy & gather

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

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

Monday, November 26, 2012

Mountain high gratitude

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

Friday, November 23, 2012

“TYM (Thank-You Machine)”


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

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

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


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

Monday, November 19, 2012

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
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 ~

Thursday, November 15, 2012

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.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

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]

Monday, November 12, 2012

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

Sunday, November 11, 2012


    Once  u-pon  ==
and back in time %%% 
the missing heart of heartless was a crime +
the holytalk of heartland preached Un-KIND <#>

stirring empty 
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.

Friday, November 9, 2012

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

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

one of these dances

One of these dances
will be my last.

What will I do then?

The dances that follow
   can push me on my way
   can keep me dancing here—

can stretch me fibrous and wet
from hereever to thereever   

birth sounds   
dying sounds   

and dance musics between

one of these musics 
will be my last—

What  music then!