Brush me aside
to murky forest depths,
lay against me
like the snowy steppes,
and dare to drop me
as the morning dew.
---
Taste of me
my night's breath,
of meadow-like perfume
whispering through bluebells and lupine,
and the wings
of whistling thrushes.
---
Clobber me against
stoic cliff-side,
drain me helplessly
through tranquil high passes
and traverse my currents
by way of verdant mountain cathedrals
and swim into me,
through and through.
***The seasons are what captured me in this poem, winter in particular.
---
How crept in the warmth
of lucid thought
on this snow-veiled meadow
where summer’s rent is past due
and life’s impetus is bent
on suckling spring,
I cannot guess?
---
But imagine for a moment
life cast out
into winter’s clutch,
where treetops poke up
through snow,
where snow devils foxtrot transversely
through moonscape,
where the unyielding rock lichen
bite into cliff-side,
where jovial scarcity is enough
for life here.
---
Progress forward,
And winter is not lost
to those summer-imbued meadows,
for as fine as the mysteries I shift,
as desperate their dance,
I know any enlightenment
is but in mock abbreviation
to meaningful answer.
---
And yet are any necessary?
---
Let winds scatter,
moonlight shine down,
blue day fade to black night.
Give me a tangible body,
you milk-eyed, blushed-cheeked hope
and I will remember winter’s breath
in this dragon’s land.
This poem is about Dawn, as the name implies. I imagined myself traveling the world round with the Sun, always in morning, never in darkness, never truely in day.
---
Sit down my dear passenger,
- speak to me Oh Morning,
for as desperate the hours
of fluid darkness
spilling into my bones,
there exists in me a flaming furnace
that rages without rest,
without stopping,
without reprieve!
For all dreams
and expectations you have
rest in me
and my light.
So shore up your sleepy eyes;
accompany me Oh Morning
around and spinning
ever drifting into the world awakening.
Do not fear the smoky darkness
burning in my stead.
Out from it you are,
a new day
ever on the shores of crashing waves,
frothy clouds,
and sand-abundant shadow
of tree,
of mountain,
of city.
And the colors of our tryst
blooming, cursing, loving
they are my dear passenger
days fleeting…
****This is a poem about life and death, but more importantly about God, a subject I don't tackle often. It is, really, about a man becoming God and God becoming a man. Also, it is of the birthing of one who is thought fit to replace God. And while I am not a religious man, I like to think I have an open mind to ponder the time after death and if one were to be a God, how one would exist. ****
A Satellite is defined as: [n.] a man-made object that orbits around the earth [n.] a person who follows or serves another [n.] any celestial body orbiting around a planet or star [adj.] Surrounding and dominated by a central authority or power
---
There were leaves
they whispered along sidewalk
perfectly trimmed
the trees creaked and groaned
and there at my door
I knocked
Nobody answered
I was not what I was before
I could not go there
What I remembered
wasn't remembered
not as I knew it
not as it actually was
It had come to me
that perhaps
I was dead
With eyes that were not eyes,
I struggled
to see
With legs that were not legs
I struggled
to walk
I was confused
I could not see
I could not walk
And what of my place
could I make out?
Nothing
Only a presence
that did not stop its march
as it rode into my mouth
into my throat
down into my guts
and up into my head
into every corner of me
it rode
Like oil I could not wipe away
such infringement
It is then that I discovered my place
was not terrestrial at all
but far from it
This was not
where I had come from
With eyes that could now see
I blinked
and what there was
of the presence I had felt
Not even an echo
We never did meet
And it was a long time
before I understood why
And seeing next to me
nebula's, galaxies
a kaleidoscope of light
And color
And beauty
Bursting
I remembered so fondly
that time long ago
My birth
And how, too, this man
would remember
his burgeoning consciousness
coming to life
What gifts I will have given him
what joys he is to feel?
For asleep, he shall now
be awakened
And what he was
Asleep
Time will pass
as he discovers this place
And I will not show him
I will not be awake
but asleep
And there in front of him
will be the Universe
where PURPOSE
and MEANING
they will be found
He will discover
that he can affect
Change
In ways he never
could've imagined
And once his eyes open
he will go to a place he's never been
and he will go to another
and another
In each
He will see
He will know
He will learn
He will be a satellite
So why did I seek the darkness,
the lonely street?
Where did I think I'd end up,
who’d did I think I'd meet?
Each day these streets
they are lit
as I pass their lanes,
soon hidden away and forgotten
in my forlorn shame.
There I am kept apart
in the shadows,
locked behind closed doors
where none follow.
But if I'd watched
turned my lights on,
I would have seen her!
Noticed that smile shinning on me
and seen these lights
on my street.
There is something
quite different
about today.
I feel like time
has stopped alluding
to the moment
ahead.
I feel like it has left
my senses open:
the city doesn’t close
in on me;
the cars don’t break
the calm;
the air breaths
into me
as I fill my lungs.
I am at a loss, though,
as to why this moment should
be special?
So even if I can’t
put a finger on exactly why,
- I’ve concluded this:
These moments you remember,
they are like those
childhood memories
of playing on your favorite tree,
of racing down the school hallway
or,
- like today,
of standing out on the street,
waiting for the traffic
to pass by.
They may not seem particularly
special,
but they are,
in my reckoning of it,
the singular moments
that define who and what
you are.
And right now,
what I have felt,
is but the very instance
- change (!)
disturbed reality;
the very moment
I became
more than I was.
***I lost most of this poem, so it was a difficult test to accept a different version of what I first imagined. And, yet, it is always healthy to try.
