Take the rough hewn timbers of us
The boards with upturned rusty nails
Just begging for a tetanus shot,
Take the flecks of paint & the skin-pricking splinters,
Sweep the saw dust & dust bunnies that
Scamper under foot,
Unbend each & every eye hook,
Smooth every hole punched wall,
& screw in each dangling ceiling tile.
The weather has changed & the geese
Call out to you.
Return.
Travel if you must.
Bake pies, let spirit take the form of the aromas
Of cinnamon and cumin.
We have been on the road so long, now,
We sometimes lose our way.
We still have a ways to go to discover a freshly baked smile.
Lower yourself into the open hands of others
& return unto the lands you never really left.
Tomorrow is a prophet & sunlight, its prophecy.
Just pack up & go. Leave the shadows behind.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
November 22 2011 : Dedication
Have thanks
And all evil will be exorcised from it.
Blessings sank upon your heart
Have thanks
& Freedom drinker
Amethyst cutter
Bless the drink
And all that we touch
Have thanks
And do not suffer for you
Are far, far from me.
From Translation of Richard Straus’ “Dedication”
And all evil will be exorcised from it.
Blessings sank upon your heart
Have thanks
& Freedom drinker
Amethyst cutter
Bless the drink
And all that we touch
Have thanks
And do not suffer for you
Are far, far from me.
From Translation of Richard Straus’ “Dedication”
November 21 2011 : The Swan
My fearful singing swan
so mindful yet forced silent
By early white plumage,
elves glide on blissful song in the dell
Parting false company, but only by
Listening you died betrayed & sang
Aways in circles, where the song faded away
You were such a swan then.
From Translation of Edvard Grieg’s “The Swan”
so mindful yet forced silent
By early white plumage,
elves glide on blissful song in the dell
Parting false company, but only by
Listening you died betrayed & sang
Aways in circles, where the song faded away
You were such a swan then.
From Translation of Edvard Grieg’s “The Swan”
November 20 2011 : Who Is Silvia?
Who Is Silvia?
Who is she that fair heaven has graced
That we might admire her beauty?
Kindness repairs blindness
And inhabits each mortal thing,
The dull earth dwelling brings forth garlands.
An Erasure From translation of Franz Schubert’s “Who Is Silvia?”
Who is she that fair heaven has graced
That we might admire her beauty?
Kindness repairs blindness
And inhabits each mortal thing,
The dull earth dwelling brings forth garlands.
An Erasure From translation of Franz Schubert’s “Who Is Silvia?”
November 19 2011 : To the Distant Beloved for Pity’s Sake: There Never Was A Shade
There never was a shade for pity’s sake
As my idol awaits,
Languishing beneath ardent rushes
For the sound of love escapes
Through every cell, and every plant proclaims it.
Love knows, the gods know
Into blue hazy lands we travel hills and valleys
With our sighs that speak of our pain:
Love reaches for what love has concecrated.
From translations of Handel “Ombra Mai Fu” (“Never Was a Shade”), Vincenzo Bellini, “Per Pieta Bell’idol Mio” (“For Pity’s Sake”), and Beethoven’s, “Auf dem Hugel sitz Spahend” (“To The Distant Beloved”)
As my idol awaits,
Languishing beneath ardent rushes
For the sound of love escapes
Through every cell, and every plant proclaims it.
Love knows, the gods know
Into blue hazy lands we travel hills and valleys
With our sighs that speak of our pain:
Love reaches for what love has concecrated.
From translations of Handel “Ombra Mai Fu” (“Never Was a Shade”), Vincenzo Bellini, “Per Pieta Bell’idol Mio” (“For Pity’s Sake”), and Beethoven’s, “Auf dem Hugel sitz Spahend” (“To The Distant Beloved”)
Friday, November 18, 2011
November 18 2011
Each time I am distracted, a piece of my mind is torn wide open like a bag of kettle cooked potato chips.
Each time I must drag myself back, life drains out of me, a blood donation gone awry.
It’s easy to say that an even life is the best path, but sometimes deep breathing leaves me empty.
Finding poems like really cool rocks, is more a matter of luck than observation
Like spotting that black girl at the crosswalk tonight with square hairstyle, wearing a green orchid.
I can’t make this up especially when inspiration drains from me like dinner sunlight.
Poems dragged up from god-knows-where: that is slave labor.
But the sparkly garnet ones, the ones that are secrets,
The ones that gaze at our faces the way stars gaze at our poems,
seeking constellations in syllables and rhyme, is just like fishing,
waiting for the unspeakable that lurks just below the water, tugging at your line.
Each time I must drag myself back, life drains out of me, a blood donation gone awry.
It’s easy to say that an even life is the best path, but sometimes deep breathing leaves me empty.
Finding poems like really cool rocks, is more a matter of luck than observation
Like spotting that black girl at the crosswalk tonight with square hairstyle, wearing a green orchid.
I can’t make this up especially when inspiration drains from me like dinner sunlight.
Poems dragged up from god-knows-where: that is slave labor.
But the sparkly garnet ones, the ones that are secrets,
The ones that gaze at our faces the way stars gaze at our poems,
seeking constellations in syllables and rhyme, is just like fishing,
waiting for the unspeakable that lurks just below the water, tugging at your line.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
November 17 2011 Instead of Coffee
The clay is not what you think it is. It is breath pushed upon us by the priest at the baptism of a fool,. The Lord, God, breathed directly into Adam’s nostril never removed his chewing gum. Make mussels in tomato for me and I will make gespacho, balancing heat and cold. Boil the linguini al dente just the way you like it. I am no addict but I have things hidden in my attic that would shock others. We strive so hard to look for that moment when the great God leans into our ears and whispers us the great secret. There is no secret. Sometimes instead of coffee, this is what I do: I sharpen a paint brush and leave myself in skidmarks across the page. That is it. Make your enemies and your alliances. For chrissake sake, open up what you think you know and dump it all right out on the table like emptying a handbag. Keep your head in a bag if you want courage. Keep it in a key spot, under a rock for safe-keeping, for when you need it. Really need it. Some believe courage is for any time but I don’t agree. I want you to know who I am and I want our love story to be filled with questions and color.
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