To follow sad's tomorrow,
Only leads unhappiness,
And trails defined by lights outlined,
Hide pathways to the rest;
The darkness holds the light of letting go,
That fear itself will never know,
There's a world beyond your circle and square testament,
With joy unreleased and lost happiness;
Just waiting for your fall,
And rise beyond walls,
To capture not behind then, but futures ahead,
Is to free imprisoned spirit of lost unled,
And take footsteps in the moment of destiny's caress;
Now breathe vitality,
Whence you brave the fix,
And wonder how ever,
You got on without risk.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
Rings of know
I peer about the wood I know,
With trees I stand at station,
Warm light filters down on me,
Through canopies high relation;
The view mirrors for deposit,
Into my roving mind,
Collecting life's experience,
Building libraries with time;
Light plays upon the foliage,
That clings to the season,
We move toward the light,
In understood-unneeded reason;
The saplings of my youth,
Have grown in height and girth,
Not all survived surround me,
We'll all rejoin at dirt;
To those trees begot before me,
They highlight in my eye,
Still landmarks from my child's perspective,
Still towering toward the sky;
I train upon my favourite Oak,
A mighty elder stand,
Existing long before me,
It reigns upon the land;
This figure of securement,
That stood every storm,
Did guard me from youth's treachery,
And shouldered weather's scorn;
And now that I've grown skyward too,
And shed my childhood need,
What of the noble guardian,
Who gave with every deed;
Can I look beyond protector,
Look beyond the see,
And appreciate his entirety,
Including seed to me;
The sturdy Oak of childhood scenes,
Was once a sapling too,
Though I glean youth's persistent glint,
It once played in the nude;
Chapters of our lives,
Written formerly hide behind,
An opaque bark of settlement,
Severing history from this time;
We are the product of all before,
And only part of future's more,
Yet, to see ingredients of the potion,
Sovereign bits before the whole,
Tasty slices of experience,
Adds richness to the bole;
To image youth's revisit,
In stories often told,
Unwraps rings of perspective,
And brilliance to life dusted old;
It changes old's description,
In manifold ways,
Breathes intimate understanding,
Into once empty bays;
It starts when saplings yearn for light,
With eager stretching bold,
And listen to distraction,
The stories of the old;
What trickles entertainment,
One day floods understand,
And current's flow in youth,
Next forming knowing's pad;
The tree that grew before me,
Each new ring of know a band,
Of my father making whole,
My ideal of a man.
With trees I stand at station,
Warm light filters down on me,
Through canopies high relation;
The view mirrors for deposit,
Into my roving mind,
Collecting life's experience,
Building libraries with time;
Light plays upon the foliage,
That clings to the season,
We move toward the light,
In understood-unneeded reason;
The saplings of my youth,
Have grown in height and girth,
Not all survived surround me,
We'll all rejoin at dirt;
To those trees begot before me,
They highlight in my eye,
Still landmarks from my child's perspective,
Still towering toward the sky;
I train upon my favourite Oak,
A mighty elder stand,
Existing long before me,
It reigns upon the land;
This figure of securement,
That stood every storm,
Did guard me from youth's treachery,
And shouldered weather's scorn;
And now that I've grown skyward too,
And shed my childhood need,
What of the noble guardian,
Who gave with every deed;
Can I look beyond protector,
Look beyond the see,
And appreciate his entirety,
Including seed to me;
The sturdy Oak of childhood scenes,
Was once a sapling too,
Though I glean youth's persistent glint,
It once played in the nude;
Chapters of our lives,
Written formerly hide behind,
An opaque bark of settlement,
Severing history from this time;
We are the product of all before,
And only part of future's more,
Yet, to see ingredients of the potion,
Sovereign bits before the whole,
Tasty slices of experience,
Adds richness to the bole;
To image youth's revisit,
In stories often told,
Unwraps rings of perspective,
And brilliance to life dusted old;
It changes old's description,
In manifold ways,
Breathes intimate understanding,
Into once empty bays;
It starts when saplings yearn for light,
With eager stretching bold,
And listen to distraction,
The stories of the old;
What trickles entertainment,
One day floods understand,
And current's flow in youth,
Next forming knowing's pad;
The tree that grew before me,
Each new ring of know a band,
Of my father making whole,
My ideal of a man.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Copper Rain
Jobic and Francois' family farm lay, for about a 1/2 mile, adjacent to the town's train station. The farm also lay directly under a path taken by fighter planes going to and from the front lines of war. Often, when pilots saw action on the rail lines, especially valuable steam engine locomotives, they would drop down low and cut across the farm field for an approach. 20 MM and .50 caliber rounds would be fired to affect maximum damage- leaving the stationed locomotives bullet-ridden and, if the bullets hit their mark, with jets of steam hissing out from their pierced skins.
The boys would run around the field collecting the discharged casings that fell like copper rain onto their field with every attack. Boys will be boys and it wasn't long before the collection of these shiny sky-fallen leftovers became a favourite pastime. No sooner would an attack pass than the boys would be out picking up the war's still-warm leftovers. It was on one such outing that Jobic, while stooped to pick up yet another .50 caliber prize, heard the familiar drone of attack planes behind him. He'd been so excited by the chase, he hadn't noticed when the wane of the last squadron's engines became the wax of the next. He panicked as the fighters dropped down in their all-familiar approach and began releasing their rounds of destruction overhead. He screamed to his younger brother who, some 30 metres ahead, stood in between the triggers and their target. Francois threw himself to the ground as bullets overhead began riddling the nearby locomotive with fresh piercings. One pilot's approach was too low and his guns fired rounds into the field around them. Jobic froze as the firing path shot toward Francois and, with a moment that has forever etched itself in to his noble mind, he witnessed a .50 calibre round rip into the ground beside his brother. It peeled a large strip of soil and grass from the earth and sent it flying whole into the air where it momentarily hung, like a wrinkled green snake caught mid-pounce. The bullets continued plotting their line away from Francois and toward the tracks, though Jobic's eyes did not follow. He remained immovable in his fear until the moment Francois leapt up and began to run. Jobic eventually gave chase, once again running through the field, feeling the air against his face and most jubilantly, seeing the image of his brother running ahead.
There would always be plenty of casings to collect while the war continued overhead, though never again would the treasure hunt follow the action so closely.
The boys would run around the field collecting the discharged casings that fell like copper rain onto their field with every attack. Boys will be boys and it wasn't long before the collection of these shiny sky-fallen leftovers became a favourite pastime. No sooner would an attack pass than the boys would be out picking up the war's still-warm leftovers. It was on one such outing that Jobic, while stooped to pick up yet another .50 caliber prize, heard the familiar drone of attack planes behind him. He'd been so excited by the chase, he hadn't noticed when the wane of the last squadron's engines became the wax of the next. He panicked as the fighters dropped down in their all-familiar approach and began releasing their rounds of destruction overhead. He screamed to his younger brother who, some 30 metres ahead, stood in between the triggers and their target. Francois threw himself to the ground as bullets overhead began riddling the nearby locomotive with fresh piercings. One pilot's approach was too low and his guns fired rounds into the field around them. Jobic froze as the firing path shot toward Francois and, with a moment that has forever etched itself in to his noble mind, he witnessed a .50 calibre round rip into the ground beside his brother. It peeled a large strip of soil and grass from the earth and sent it flying whole into the air where it momentarily hung, like a wrinkled green snake caught mid-pounce. The bullets continued plotting their line away from Francois and toward the tracks, though Jobic's eyes did not follow. He remained immovable in his fear until the moment Francois leapt up and began to run. Jobic eventually gave chase, once again running through the field, feeling the air against his face and most jubilantly, seeing the image of his brother running ahead.
There would always be plenty of casings to collect while the war continued overhead, though never again would the treasure hunt follow the action so closely.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Forged Memories
I remember wrestling with my father. I don't think he so much wrestled as held me down playfully as I squirmed to escape. Often, my brother would be squirming alongside me-this added to the fun. The both of us turned about as our father kept us happily captive, his strength always softened to our needs, though rough enough that our boys' exuberance was always spent up joyously. I remember getting older too, and stronger day by day. I remember being locked in my dad's playful grasp and sensing I could finally break away. It filled me with gushing pride. I toyed with testing my new limits by pushing to find the smallest of dad's yields, only then pulling back and continuing in the joy of our tussle. It didn't dawn on me that my father simply wouldn't use all his strength and risk hurting us, or that our own strength was beginning to test the limits of safe play. As we continued to grow, the physical play faded away; my confidence did not. I miss those ransack moments of tangled close contact with my dad, though in someway I have always kept the feeling of my father's presence within me. Now later, and a father myself, the role is reversed. I still have my father to draw from and guide me, and Jacob has many years to go before his strength will test any of our limits. In the mean time, I cherish our chances to play and forge our own enduring memories.
Boundary
To fall freely 'gainst the rushing wind,
It stretches back my skin,
And taunts the closing of my eyes,
To save my tears for last goodbye;
I chose to step beyond the edge,
And break with nature's hesitation,
To plant my foot on passing cloud,
Redeem old cautions lived aloud;
Fearless will paints the sky,
For others to adore,
Sets blazing path of brilliance,
And spoon fed thoughts of more;
To all that look behind you,
To all that need a path,
With connected points from here to there,
And fear the unknown's wrath;
Plump spigots dam the cosmos,
Bar doorways t'ward tomorrow,
Stay waiting for their sunset by,
a thirsty quench of must know why;
To drink the fresh discover,
Still rough yet sublime,
By overturning custom,
And ideas rot with time;
Is no guarantee of honour,
Nor your fidelity,
Just open door and viewpoint of,
The next boundary
It stretches back my skin,
And taunts the closing of my eyes,
To save my tears for last goodbye;
I chose to step beyond the edge,
And break with nature's hesitation,
To plant my foot on passing cloud,
Redeem old cautions lived aloud;
Fearless will paints the sky,
For others to adore,
Sets blazing path of brilliance,
And spoon fed thoughts of more;
To all that look behind you,
To all that need a path,
With connected points from here to there,
And fear the unknown's wrath;
Plump spigots dam the cosmos,
Bar doorways t'ward tomorrow,
Stay waiting for their sunset by,
a thirsty quench of must know why;
To drink the fresh discover,
Still rough yet sublime,
By overturning custom,
And ideas rot with time;
Is no guarantee of honour,
Nor your fidelity,
Just open door and viewpoint of,
The next boundary
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Exposed
Shall I bear my essence,
And carve my beating heart,
A stilled relief of consciousness,
Painted to an art;
Is it a shame to know I care,
The little boy still speaks,
Exposed to wind and rain,
And criticism's sleet;
Thought by word,
And turned around,
These marks I cannot flee,
Characters show expression,
Words exposing me.
And carve my beating heart,
A stilled relief of consciousness,
Painted to an art;
Is it a shame to know I care,
The little boy still speaks,
Exposed to wind and rain,
And criticism's sleet;
Thought by word,
And turned around,
These marks I cannot flee,
Characters show expression,
Words exposing me.
The Pen
Can I stop the wind from blowing,
Catastrophe I see,
And end the rising tide of ocean,
Drowning suredly;
I stand before the masters,
Slaves and in between,
And slowly raise my head with open mouth,
Hitherto unseen;
Times mold upon form sets hue upon see,
Your shell is hardened and glazed,
I stand before you,
I bleed a dark case,
Others have surely bled too;
The path is filled with fallen leaves,
Wither in silent song,
The heals of sealed perspective,
Deaf to crunches set undone;
Frantic for the potion,
To divine the open mind,
Pour upon impassable,
Set motion of a kind;
Voices carried thru the air,
In every shade of yearn,
Fall failed despite the carriage,
Nurture stacked against the turn;
We build our own reflection,
Tiny mirrors at a time,
The silver painted backing,
Society's or mine?
The image we becometh,
Roughed out in early bloom,
Is the remnant of our essence, that
Fights to live,
In battles strung,
'Gainst outer world,
'Long pathways bits left strewn;
There are traps to sensibility,
That do not snap nor sting,
They anchor in the background,
Twist discordance in a ring;
Snares befall our wary eyes,
Cataract and blur sincerity for guise,
No deed nor absolution,
No pity to a bend,
No song for the impassioned,
Brings false judgement to an end;
Tears another plead,
To soften, crack or scratch,
The emptying of sorrow,
In pooled epitaphs;
Still a shined resilience,
Still nothing stays to seep,
Not straying from the pathway,
Varied hues will not keep;
Self the redefiner,
Self the Pompadour,
Self masks us righteous,
Truth the only cure;
The feeling of your surety,
The surge in feeling right,
Feeling the addiction,
Confuses right for sight;
So bleeding now before you,
In form for now again,
Truth stains to raise attention,
Penetration with a pen;
Catastrophe I see,
And end the rising tide of ocean,
Drowning suredly;
I stand before the masters,
Slaves and in between,
And slowly raise my head with open mouth,
Hitherto unseen;
Times mold upon form sets hue upon see,
Your shell is hardened and glazed,
I stand before you,
I bleed a dark case,
Others have surely bled too;
The path is filled with fallen leaves,
Wither in silent song,
The heals of sealed perspective,
Deaf to crunches set undone;
Frantic for the potion,
To divine the open mind,
Pour upon impassable,
Set motion of a kind;
Voices carried thru the air,
In every shade of yearn,
Fall failed despite the carriage,
Nurture stacked against the turn;
We build our own reflection,
Tiny mirrors at a time,
The silver painted backing,
Society's or mine?
The image we becometh,
Roughed out in early bloom,
Is the remnant of our essence, that
Fights to live,
In battles strung,
'Gainst outer world,
'Long pathways bits left strewn;
There are traps to sensibility,
That do not snap nor sting,
They anchor in the background,
Twist discordance in a ring;
Snares befall our wary eyes,
Cataract and blur sincerity for guise,
No deed nor absolution,
No pity to a bend,
No song for the impassioned,
Brings false judgement to an end;
Tears another plead,
To soften, crack or scratch,
The emptying of sorrow,
In pooled epitaphs;
Still a shined resilience,
Still nothing stays to seep,
Not straying from the pathway,
Varied hues will not keep;
Self the redefiner,
Self the Pompadour,
Self masks us righteous,
Truth the only cure;
The feeling of your surety,
The surge in feeling right,
Feeling the addiction,
Confuses right for sight;
So bleeding now before you,
In form for now again,
Truth stains to raise attention,
Penetration with a pen;
Pea Shot
Oh, to be free and unlocked from our plight,
To emerge from the sludge and break from the slod,
To slip like a pea shot from its pod,
To bid my conscience good night;
To emerge from the sludge and break from the slod,
To slip like a pea shot from its pod,
To bid my conscience good night;
Rattle Can
I step to an edge,
The updraft a thrill,
I gasp at the beauty below,
A stretched verdant valley,
With spilled over greens,
And wonder of this should I know?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, I shake it 'til sore;
I pick at the corner and guide the page over,
Words at the top to below,
Something is missing,
Soon I'll stop guessing,
Is purpose of reading now sorrow?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, I plead to restore;
I stare at the park, dotted with trees,
I sit in the shade, I hear children's glee,
My hand feels at ease on the worn wooden bench,
I smile and wonder, is this re-memory?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, my smile hides a cry;
I gaze at the pictures stuck on the page,
Arranged in a way for my eye,
Some turned and yellow, while others are fresh,
Can't I stop wondering why?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, tears for your store;
The fill of the magic continues to fade,
Returning a strangeness to world,
Strength is my weakness and fog now persists,
The weed is only half old;
We hold hands and hers look like mine,
They're warm and I start to cry,
The hug is the first of my life.
There is warmth and love in her eyes,
Then tears start to form,
All I have for this stranger is why?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, spare me your store
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle no more.
En memoria de mi abuelita,
Yolanda Cornejo y su
batalla con Alzheimers
The updraft a thrill,
I gasp at the beauty below,
A stretched verdant valley,
With spilled over greens,
And wonder of this should I know?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, I shake it 'til sore;
I pick at the corner and guide the page over,
Words at the top to below,
Something is missing,
Soon I'll stop guessing,
Is purpose of reading now sorrow?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, I plead to restore;
I stare at the park, dotted with trees,
I sit in the shade, I hear children's glee,
My hand feels at ease on the worn wooden bench,
I smile and wonder, is this re-memory?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, my smile hides a cry;
I gaze at the pictures stuck on the page,
Arranged in a way for my eye,
Some turned and yellow, while others are fresh,
Can't I stop wondering why?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle some more,
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, tears for your store;
The fill of the magic continues to fade,
Returning a strangeness to world,
Strength is my weakness and fog now persists,
The weed is only half old;
We hold hands and hers look like mine,
They're warm and I start to cry,
The hug is the first of my life.
There is warmth and love in her eyes,
Then tears start to form,
All I have for this stranger is why?
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, spare me your store
Rattle Can, Rattle Can, rattle no more.
En memoria de mi abuelita,
Yolanda Cornejo y su
batalla con Alzheimers
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Southern Down
Don't know why,
But heavy thru the mind,
An ankle yoke tight,
Bindin' me to blind,
To all that's sweet,
And covet'd in life,
Washed cold all over...
This winter's last harangue,
Absorb'd right thru,
Chill'd preservation not feelin' worth the due,
Don't wanna look beyond,
Don't wanna lite jus' yet,
Some mental states worth reapin',
Even dark lowly few;
The creep of lightless moments,
When agony afoot,
Serves to keep the senses churnin',
And memory imbued;
The fault in bathed luminescence,
Is blanket songs of air,
That fail the dark recesses' spark,
When light doesn't dare;
The same suddenly goes different,
And knowing takes a breath in,
To understand and cogitate yur life,
From other planes within;
So scream is but a whisper,
And despair a cold employ,
A thanks to my inheritance,
And further that it's coy.
But heavy thru the mind,
An ankle yoke tight,
Bindin' me to blind,
To all that's sweet,
And covet'd in life,
Washed cold all over...
This winter's last harangue,
Absorb'd right thru,
Chill'd preservation not feelin' worth the due,
Don't wanna look beyond,
Don't wanna lite jus' yet,
Some mental states worth reapin',
Even dark lowly few;
The creep of lightless moments,
When agony afoot,
Serves to keep the senses churnin',
And memory imbued;
The fault in bathed luminescence,
Is blanket songs of air,
That fail the dark recesses' spark,
When light doesn't dare;
The same suddenly goes different,
And knowing takes a breath in,
To understand and cogitate yur life,
From other planes within;
So scream is but a whisper,
And despair a cold employ,
A thanks to my inheritance,
And further that it's coy.
Looking's Doubt
Ugly flower, ugly bloom,
I do not see what I like,
I do not see my making,
I do not see any part,
That I have formed,
And fed thru life;
Ugly flower, ugly bloom,
Foreign touch and feel,
This is not my always liking,
Not my chosen version real;
And what of that before me,
And what without what should,
To what does habit's liking,
Shadow real away from good;
Should I peel my own obstruction,
Shall I look beyond redoubt,
Shall I shiver 'way abstraction,
Rename ugly, other beauty,
Re-look seeing, looking's doubt.
I do not see what I like,
I do not see my making,
I do not see any part,
That I have formed,
And fed thru life;
Ugly flower, ugly bloom,
Foreign touch and feel,
This is not my always liking,
Not my chosen version real;
And what of that before me,
And what without what should,
To what does habit's liking,
Shadow real away from good;
Should I peel my own obstruction,
Shall I look beyond redoubt,
Shall I shiver 'way abstraction,
Rename ugly, other beauty,
Re-look seeing, looking's doubt.
Eyes of Me
Eye to see,
Eyes of me,
Still is always changing,
Dispense with haste,
The day to day,
As life looks back,
But not your way,
Our senses always aging;
You fantasize the grandness,
Picked of day to day,
To see glory from your final sight,
But hold!, Fantasy may stray,
And all that fills the viewpoint,
The all beyond the scars,
May settle with the moments twix,
Those all important stars.
Eyes of me,
Still is always changing,
Dispense with haste,
The day to day,
As life looks back,
But not your way,
Our senses always aging;
You fantasize the grandness,
Picked of day to day,
To see glory from your final sight,
But hold!, Fantasy may stray,
And all that fills the viewpoint,
The all beyond the scars,
May settle with the moments twix,
Those all important stars.
AM images
I pass a rack of used clothing among dated household items at this old man's yard sale. I spy a faded grey skied suit, long-tired and divorced of form, and know that once, someone stood eight feet tall with pride the day first purchased. I sit outside La baguette listening to the courtyard busker's mastered french cafe repertoire. The butter of the warm croissant coats flavour down my throat as a wee wren balances on my finger long enough to share a piece of my experience.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Phoenix
I cannot see the ocean wide,
My eyes are not that big,
Am I slave to scenes before me,
And blind, say what streams in?
Into shared mentality,
Into reflection's box,
I stitch together settings,
The hound pursues the fox;
We scavenge for an anchor,
Comfort settles soul,
Constructing visions of convenience,
To suit our timid shoal;
Wretched simple beings,
Repeat solely as they're told,
Rebuilding same sand castles,
Reliving casts of old;
The meek cultivate security,
Drawing weeds of doubt,
Firm-up feelings of identity,
Casting non-conforming out;
Drink nectar of disillusionment,
Ambrosia 'gainst the toll,
Fill mentus with delirium,
Perspective seldom soiled;
Partake in fodder for the masses,
Artificial bliss,
Be mindful of heterogeny,
Savour populism's kiss;
It starts with sips of mimicry,
Nature's generation's foil,
Then yes & no & right & wrong,
We tame our conscious toil;
Next acceptance by the spoonful,
And independence scorned,
We nurture children to our image
And leave nature never mourned;
The cycle wears us to a preference,
It is, what we are told,
Always eyes upon our actions,
Youth propertied by old;
Against this titled backdrop,
Questions stymied less they fit,
Is it wonder that identity,
Fits mold society has script?
The sweetness of rebellion,
To spy another sky, and
Raise prophetic rasp,
To break personal tradition,
With profoundness that will last;
The rub is action to the concept,
Friction 'gainst everything you're told,
Told from infancy to last rites,
Repetition 'til your sold;
So somewhere 'long the journey,
In subtle, silent, fixtured ways,
We piece together cobbled selves,
Become our prison's keeper,
And shutter-in to stay;
Awareness lightens meaning,
And falsely sits atop,
Keyed chambers of perspective,
Growth starves to a stop;
Emaciated senses, serve sadness by their miss,
Quiet controversial, discordance in assist,
But truth, ever present, finds fissures thru to top,
And even the most knowing, feels knowing feels soft;
Sometimes screaming, sometimes silent,
Truth tugs for us to stray,
Self-interest warns not listen,
It's ourselves we must betray.
The uproot of the anchor,
To dislodge intuition's discontent,
To remake shackles into wings of freedom,
And live life without lament;
Is to captain your own mutiny,
Kill prisoners, burn the boat,
Cast bloodied sole survivor,
To drown instead of float;
Confusion overwhelms you,
No tank to help you breathe,
Just panic boiled oblivion,
Waiting to conceive;
Lungs burn with feared uncertainty,
You choke with desperate yearn,
You reach for help, but nothing's left,
You dread your final turn;
Denied required condition,
The struggle falls to null,
Your listless self suspended,
Surely darkness next to fall;
It's now the final moment,
The end you engineered,
Acceptance of the failure,
Then silence....
Nothing....
Then first again you breathe!
Inhale refluent breath,
As lungs retrieve new air,
As body returns faculty,
Death receives repair;
Empty chambers of awareness,
A world less intercede,
Floodgates of authentic sense,
Warm your last recede;
A new born full developed,
Nurture tamed to need,
Express existence in a moment,
You're at once the tree & seed;
See change in all dimensions,
Beyond the human stock,
Know petals on a flower,
Share destiny with rock;
You live this very moment,
And walk in unison,
With carbon & her sisters,
Under cycled moon & sun;
A rebirth freed from slavery,
Emancipation from the writ,
Your sight shows new horizon,
Can actions form to fit?
Alas, desire that drew you forth,
Now drifts you every sway,
Foreign currents of enlightenment,
Threat paradise with decay?
There's difference twix awareness,
The open mind's dream,
And translation thru to action,
An adventurer at sea;
It's addiction to our pathways,
Habits worn & weathered thru,
Lowlands in the mind's landscape,
That flood despite renew;
In patterns well repeated rest,
Of new divorced perspective,
Regression blamed to failed accord,
Twix mind and fleshy mistress;
Only action tames the waters,
Fear pulls you under seas,
Eschew body's pined responses,
Know siren's empty pleas;
Lost is wild response,
Dulled by learned bequest,
Hidden reams of authenticity,
Bound by social jest;
To break another practice,
Entrenched beyond the first,
Takes more than moments of euphoria, and
Occasioned novel burst;
Unyoke from learned reaction,
Brave uncharted sea,
Leave lifetimes of familiar fare,
Break habit out of thee;
Trade pride for pure humility,
And on every notion wish,
To engage a world in conscious dance,
See truth rid the twist;
Shed patterns of behaviour,
Lay bare and live exposed,
Consign pathways to disappear,
Live fearless evermore;
Patience oils the process,
Progress drawn and incremental,
Expect delays in disentangle,
Recall the time distilled to form;
Freedoms on the pathway,
Not wholly destination,
Each moment gleamed along the way,
Savoured breath beyond the fray,
Each step a reinforcement,
As dust settles on the past,
You grow to true comportment,
Discordance drains to last;
And as meaning waters down to truth,
Passed withered vines of expectation,
You refind happiness of youth,
A phoenix rising to the air.
My eyes are not that big,
Am I slave to scenes before me,
And blind, say what streams in?
Into shared mentality,
Into reflection's box,
I stitch together settings,
The hound pursues the fox;
We scavenge for an anchor,
Comfort settles soul,
Constructing visions of convenience,
To suit our timid shoal;
Wretched simple beings,
Repeat solely as they're told,
Rebuilding same sand castles,
Reliving casts of old;
The meek cultivate security,
Drawing weeds of doubt,
Firm-up feelings of identity,
Casting non-conforming out;
Drink nectar of disillusionment,
Ambrosia 'gainst the toll,
Fill mentus with delirium,
Perspective seldom soiled;
Partake in fodder for the masses,
Artificial bliss,
Be mindful of heterogeny,
Savour populism's kiss;
It starts with sips of mimicry,
Nature's generation's foil,
Then yes & no & right & wrong,
We tame our conscious toil;
Next acceptance by the spoonful,
And independence scorned,
We nurture children to our image
And leave nature never mourned;
The cycle wears us to a preference,
It is, what we are told,
Always eyes upon our actions,
Youth propertied by old;
Against this titled backdrop,
Questions stymied less they fit,
Is it wonder that identity,
Fits mold society has script?
The sweetness of rebellion,
To spy another sky, and
Raise prophetic rasp,
To break personal tradition,
With profoundness that will last;
The rub is action to the concept,
Friction 'gainst everything you're told,
Told from infancy to last rites,
Repetition 'til your sold;
So somewhere 'long the journey,
In subtle, silent, fixtured ways,
We piece together cobbled selves,
Become our prison's keeper,
And shutter-in to stay;
Awareness lightens meaning,
And falsely sits atop,
Keyed chambers of perspective,
Growth starves to a stop;
Emaciated senses, serve sadness by their miss,
Quiet controversial, discordance in assist,
But truth, ever present, finds fissures thru to top,
And even the most knowing, feels knowing feels soft;
Sometimes screaming, sometimes silent,
Truth tugs for us to stray,
Self-interest warns not listen,
It's ourselves we must betray.
The uproot of the anchor,
To dislodge intuition's discontent,
To remake shackles into wings of freedom,
And live life without lament;
Is to captain your own mutiny,
Kill prisoners, burn the boat,
Cast bloodied sole survivor,
To drown instead of float;
Confusion overwhelms you,
No tank to help you breathe,
Just panic boiled oblivion,
Waiting to conceive;
Lungs burn with feared uncertainty,
You choke with desperate yearn,
You reach for help, but nothing's left,
You dread your final turn;
Denied required condition,
The struggle falls to null,
Your listless self suspended,
Surely darkness next to fall;
It's now the final moment,
The end you engineered,
Acceptance of the failure,
Then silence....
Nothing....
Then first again you breathe!
Inhale refluent breath,
As lungs retrieve new air,
As body returns faculty,
Death receives repair;
Empty chambers of awareness,
A world less intercede,
Floodgates of authentic sense,
Warm your last recede;
A new born full developed,
Nurture tamed to need,
Express existence in a moment,
You're at once the tree & seed;
See change in all dimensions,
Beyond the human stock,
Know petals on a flower,
Share destiny with rock;
You live this very moment,
And walk in unison,
With carbon & her sisters,
Under cycled moon & sun;
A rebirth freed from slavery,
Emancipation from the writ,
Your sight shows new horizon,
Can actions form to fit?
Alas, desire that drew you forth,
Now drifts you every sway,
Foreign currents of enlightenment,
Threat paradise with decay?
There's difference twix awareness,
The open mind's dream,
And translation thru to action,
An adventurer at sea;
It's addiction to our pathways,
Habits worn & weathered thru,
Lowlands in the mind's landscape,
That flood despite renew;
In patterns well repeated rest,
Of new divorced perspective,
Regression blamed to failed accord,
Twix mind and fleshy mistress;
Only action tames the waters,
Fear pulls you under seas,
Eschew body's pined responses,
Know siren's empty pleas;
Lost is wild response,
Dulled by learned bequest,
Hidden reams of authenticity,
Bound by social jest;
To break another practice,
Entrenched beyond the first,
Takes more than moments of euphoria, and
Occasioned novel burst;
Unyoke from learned reaction,
Brave uncharted sea,
Leave lifetimes of familiar fare,
Break habit out of thee;
Trade pride for pure humility,
And on every notion wish,
To engage a world in conscious dance,
See truth rid the twist;
Shed patterns of behaviour,
Lay bare and live exposed,
Consign pathways to disappear,
Live fearless evermore;
Patience oils the process,
Progress drawn and incremental,
Expect delays in disentangle,
Recall the time distilled to form;
Freedoms on the pathway,
Not wholly destination,
Each moment gleamed along the way,
Savoured breath beyond the fray,
Each step a reinforcement,
As dust settles on the past,
You grow to true comportment,
Discordance drains to last;
And as meaning waters down to truth,
Passed withered vines of expectation,
You refind happiness of youth,
A phoenix rising to the air.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Gigi's Star
The child leaned her head back until it seemed she would fall over backwards, and in this exaggerated position pointed a soft, plump finger toward the dark sky above. "Star", she exclaimed with a joy that still comes when thought becomes word. "Gigi star!", she followed. The previously named North star had until then been the property of no one. The light from downtown spread before us across the narrow inlet and rose into the darkness above, drowning out all but this brightest of distant fireballs. "Gigi, yes that's a star my love, but that's the North star". The girl stood transfixed by the overhead sparkle. "Gigi star!" Her mother found herself on the verge of continuing the argument, but thought better of it and hastily relented. "Ok, Ok, it's Gigi's star". Gigi looked at her mother fully proud of herself and returning her gaze to the star repeated, "Gigi star!"
So goes the path of political discussion as of late. The unrelenting battle to control the narrative and language of debate by claiming ownership of that which belongs to no one. This detail does not stop politicians from demanding insistently the right to these claims and they do so armed with enough vitriol to intimidate the media into acquiescence. So instead of taking spin doctors to task on claims based on false premises, the media relent and go on to discuss the impact of a conspired reality on our continued political drama.
So goes the path of political discussion as of late. The unrelenting battle to control the narrative and language of debate by claiming ownership of that which belongs to no one. This detail does not stop politicians from demanding insistently the right to these claims and they do so armed with enough vitriol to intimidate the media into acquiescence. So instead of taking spin doctors to task on claims based on false premises, the media relent and go on to discuss the impact of a conspired reality on our continued political drama.
Drip, Drip, Drip
Drip drip drip,
Illusive satiate,
Each beat at brim that overflows,
If not to page where does it go?
Drip drip drip,
Always bothered by the drum,
Curse concious not forgetting,
'Tis delusion or the sun?
Drip drip drip,
What if the flow runs dry?
Without a paper saucer,
Spilled drops of why.
Illusive satiate,
Each beat at brim that overflows,
If not to page where does it go?
Drip drip drip,
Always bothered by the drum,
Curse concious not forgetting,
'Tis delusion or the sun?
Drip drip drip,
What if the flow runs dry?
Without a paper saucer,
Spilled drops of why.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Rage Against The Rest
None, spare him their contempt,
None, spared by his caress,
Entangled house of being,
Rage against the rest;
Bequest of every birthright,
Bewail the setting sun,
Mem'ry can't rendition,
Condition numbered one;
Content irrespective,
Macabre or sincere,
No in, to stay without,
No out, to stay the clear;
A household full of trudging,
Each witness hidden fear,
Each item bears a justice,
Of ticking in its ear;
Can flowers bloom to knowledge?
Can knowledge wilt the tree?
Can morrow on the mindset,
Lay pathway back to free?
We scream, we toss about the pen,
Corrals just beyond the know,
Rivers change their pathways,
Yet source and end a row;
Escape is a delusion,
Delusion false repair,
The weight of false creation,
Thinner than real air;
Demand by vocal outrage,
Righteous rage no cure,
Tears and poor lementing,
Fall deafly and demure;
Can stop be introduced?
A pause for all sincere,
Can stop tread before the ending?
An ending always near;
There's nothing in the knowing,
That sirens sing for naught,
That any expectation,
Will end when end is saught;
Bodice round the belly,
Foundation fills the cracks,
Blush fools that bloods a'plenty,
Pretending there's a stop;
A stop to unrelenting,
A rancour to the end,
The end glossed in heavy lipstick,
Off at any unknown bend;
The poisons in the marrow,
The listless trajedy,
Is purpos'd life to sorrow,
Thru knowing's malady?
Pilloried or quiet acceptance,
Rage or calm inquest,
Braveness in the fleeting moment,
Rage against the rest.
None, spared by his caress,
Entangled house of being,
Rage against the rest;
Bequest of every birthright,
Bewail the setting sun,
Mem'ry can't rendition,
Condition numbered one;
Content irrespective,
Macabre or sincere,
No in, to stay without,
No out, to stay the clear;
A household full of trudging,
Each witness hidden fear,
Each item bears a justice,
Of ticking in its ear;
Can flowers bloom to knowledge?
Can knowledge wilt the tree?
Can morrow on the mindset,
Lay pathway back to free?
We scream, we toss about the pen,
Corrals just beyond the know,
Rivers change their pathways,
Yet source and end a row;
Escape is a delusion,
Delusion false repair,
The weight of false creation,
Thinner than real air;
Demand by vocal outrage,
Righteous rage no cure,
Tears and poor lementing,
Fall deafly and demure;
Can stop be introduced?
A pause for all sincere,
Can stop tread before the ending?
An ending always near;
There's nothing in the knowing,
That sirens sing for naught,
That any expectation,
Will end when end is saught;
Bodice round the belly,
Foundation fills the cracks,
Blush fools that bloods a'plenty,
Pretending there's a stop;
A stop to unrelenting,
A rancour to the end,
The end glossed in heavy lipstick,
Off at any unknown bend;
The poisons in the marrow,
The listless trajedy,
Is purpos'd life to sorrow,
Thru knowing's malady?
Pilloried or quiet acceptance,
Rage or calm inquest,
Braveness in the fleeting moment,
Rage against the rest.
Misappropriation
Be there any words,
Any words beyond despair,
Of laxity and vagrance of meaning,
Lost to wind and air?
Of such a fragile state,
Words work with word's intent,
Penman's temporary webbing,
Woven thoughts with hope to set;
But past dances thru to present,
Side step, forward and glide,
Light shines on day's perspective,
Intention hard to find;
No mortar, glue or pegament,
Holds author's grip to page,
The words let free to propagate,
For strangers to engage;
Were pages left to sob,
To mourn misread intention,
To wet the leaf before your eyes,
With readers lost direction;
Or cry aloud for all to hear,
Abscond or misappropriation!
The theft of pen's delight a sound,
Torn roots of my creation;
But what's another?
And where to turn,
No blade of light shines option,
Without prefer,
We stay interred,
Penning thought with caution.
Any words beyond despair,
Of laxity and vagrance of meaning,
Lost to wind and air?
Of such a fragile state,
Words work with word's intent,
Penman's temporary webbing,
Woven thoughts with hope to set;
But past dances thru to present,
Side step, forward and glide,
Light shines on day's perspective,
Intention hard to find;
No mortar, glue or pegament,
Holds author's grip to page,
The words let free to propagate,
For strangers to engage;
Were pages left to sob,
To mourn misread intention,
To wet the leaf before your eyes,
With readers lost direction;
Or cry aloud for all to hear,
Abscond or misappropriation!
The theft of pen's delight a sound,
Torn roots of my creation;
But what's another?
And where to turn,
No blade of light shines option,
Without prefer,
We stay interred,
Penning thought with caution.
The Rise Beyond The Fall ( II )
Death be unconsoled,
Your dominion does betray,
A limit to your senseless path,
In unsuspecting ways;
You seize future by your grasp,
Break the thread of life,
You damage with impunity,
Wielding paths of strife;
Yet hidden in the darkness,
A spark, renewed despite,
Remembrance of the fallen,
To burn away your shadow,
And redeem a stolen light;
No grievance in your loss,
Your ruin held at bay,
The sadness in the lives you take,
Cannot go back a day;
So lost to your affliction,
Your hollow victory,
Is that which has been written,
Memory;
Untouched,
Resplendent,
And defiant to your call,
We hold from you contemptuously,
To rise beyond the fall.
Your dominion does betray,
A limit to your senseless path,
In unsuspecting ways;
You seize future by your grasp,
Break the thread of life,
You damage with impunity,
Wielding paths of strife;
Yet hidden in the darkness,
A spark, renewed despite,
Remembrance of the fallen,
To burn away your shadow,
And redeem a stolen light;
No grievance in your loss,
Your ruin held at bay,
The sadness in the lives you take,
Cannot go back a day;
So lost to your affliction,
Your hollow victory,
Is that which has been written,
Memory;
Untouched,
Resplendent,
And defiant to your call,
We hold from you contemptuously,
To rise beyond the fall.
The Rise Beyond The Fall ( I )
A light gone out,
The world diminished by her passing,
Tragedy, cannot be undone;
The hearts of those she touched,
Bewail as much,
Her mourning full begun;
Our eyes have lost a lustre,
Our tears cannot console,
We cannot find death's purpose,
It hazards tortured soul;
Expressions of her being,
Play upon our past,
And echo in a feeling well,
Its depth entrusts,
Our love to dwell;
A finely petalled flower,
With strength at her core,
A zest for life and friendship,
Always eager to explore;
Her bloom unmistaken,
Reflecting carefree joy;
Her image will not fade,
The ripple of her light,
Her laughter and blithe energy,
Her smile with warm felicity,
Her nature's burning might;
The depth of mournings' sorrow
The damage by our loss,
Bear sadness to tomorrow,
Grief destined not to last;
Beyond the beautied memories,
To guide a fond recall,
To build upon her legacy,
And rise beyond the fall,
Two tributes to her permanence,
Daughters next in line,
Reflections of their mother
Growing over time;
I cannot see the sun,
Yet know its only hid,
One day the clouds will pass,
Rewarm me as she did.
The world diminished by her passing,
Tragedy, cannot be undone;
The hearts of those she touched,
Bewail as much,
Her mourning full begun;
Our eyes have lost a lustre,
Our tears cannot console,
We cannot find death's purpose,
It hazards tortured soul;
Expressions of her being,
Play upon our past,
And echo in a feeling well,
Its depth entrusts,
Our love to dwell;
A finely petalled flower,
With strength at her core,
A zest for life and friendship,
Always eager to explore;
Her bloom unmistaken,
Reflecting carefree joy;
Her image will not fade,
The ripple of her light,
Her laughter and blithe energy,
Her smile with warm felicity,
Her nature's burning might;
The depth of mournings' sorrow
The damage by our loss,
Bear sadness to tomorrow,
Grief destined not to last;
Beyond the beautied memories,
To guide a fond recall,
To build upon her legacy,
And rise beyond the fall,
Two tributes to her permanence,
Daughters next in line,
Reflections of their mother
Growing over time;
I cannot see the sun,
Yet know its only hid,
One day the clouds will pass,
Rewarm me as she did.
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