Dancing on a Breeze

Peach and mauve colored stratus clouds
standing still
melting with the horizon -
it is almost sunset.

Time is stopped and
the only sense of life is
the soft lush wavering of a trumpet
dancing on a breeze.

The band is playing
but there is no sound, only
the soft lush wavering of a trumpet
dancing on a breeze.

Drumsticks rising and falling
in slow motion to an absent rhythm,
the fiddle and guitars glaring in the setting sun
are the only signs of movement.

For a fleeting moment,
nothing exists but
peach and mauve colored stratus clouds
singing to me
in the voice of a trumpet.

A sweet dance, a fragrant sound,
standing now
forever still
in my memory.

Illusionism, a New Faith

Illusion pervades.
In fellowship, I know that I am part of something bigger.
All alone, I meditate. Only in faith, do I know.
Only then in stillness, there is no illusion.
Yet, I write to know that I am not alone in this.
Illusion prevails.

The seasons cycle.

Ad infinitum.

Dreams of Insomnia

To ye who art quite contrary, ye are not alone.
It is the devil's hour, and I am awake to the bone!

Too Much Corn on the Knee

With his bare leg bent at the knee,
he removes the flap of skin above the cap,
revealing a plush red velvet lined interior,
a cavity extending down the length of the calf to the heel.

With a rectangular framework inside
made of brushed stainless steel,
his only obstacle,
all he could do
to keep the kernels of raw yellow corn from falling out . . .
was to panic.

Autumn is Upon Us

Warm sweet nutty frangrance adrift in a cool breeze,
thousands of wheatgrass tickles on bare knees
as I lunge after those scented pockets that escape my nasal grasp.

Eluded by the way the butters and dragons fly,
this warm autumn day goes swiftly by
and I am left in twilight clinging to the heat from the earth.

Pressing my ear upon ground I smile and sense the rising moon smiling back at me.

Despite the patches of dirty flesh, the scratches and insect bites,
these my sacrifices to nature's rites
I humbly accept the the treasures of the day in gratitude.

The Chills Cut by the shadows of the old growth trees, streaks of light wander on the grass growing longer, dimmer. The spirit of the monk, whose shell lies six feet under, forever silent, ponders, "is that a rabbit that ran over my grave?"

An Elizabethan Seaside Adventure

A few days upon the beach doth quell the spurs of stress.
Status quid is status quo.
A few images will tell the tale
of what started with a little woe
ended in pleasure and no sign of whale.
But a few thoughts I will here address.

What manner of friend to nature is man?
For the feeling of glorious grit between the fingers,
the pockets of sea-life fragrance floating amidst the breeze,
the music of ocean crests crashing ashore,
is tainted by even the littlest of litter,
the scent of putrid petrol and
the nasal noise of mopeds
buzzing like frantic flies tethered to the sand.

The Depiction of Other-Centeredness

I was alive, but never knew it
until my son was born.

The reality that surrounded me
was mine or, so, I thought.

To become othercentered,
instead of selfcentered is the dawn of enlightenment.

To survey another is really peering
through a window to one's own heart.
On the day my son was born, I knew this.
On the day my son was born, I was born.
He was a catalyst for me.
I become and evolve because of my own creation.
My own creation creates me.

Reality is not mine or yours.
Reality is not created or possessed.
Reality is the becoming of all things.
Duality is an illusion.
We are one.

(photograph by Mariah Armenia)

October Autumn

Puncturing the skin,
incising the flesh -
with no blood,
and no screams,
I circumcise the gourd.

Pumpkin -
the most erotic fruit.
The fragrance,
so sweet,
infiltrates the senses.
It is compelling.
I love it so.

Am I a Thespian or Drama Queen?

I look up, tis there.
The moon smiles at me still.
I had figured that Artemis
would hurl down that pitted marble
upon my crown.
Doth I offend her like Zeus,
who in his wrath sends
the waters of the earth
into the bowels of my abode?
Who have I offended
that I am taken
from my humble pursuits
and rendered a concubine
to Providence's most untimely whim?
Who have I offended thus?
There'd be laughter in the heavens
if it were so that I cowered.
I remain humble to any and all,
and I shall marvel at any and all,
and I shall drink the urine of the gods,
would it be their will; BUT,
I will not cower, fear or propitiate.
I am this universe
in all its chaos and order.
Merely amused am I
at this vainglorious attempt
to subjugate me.

Inneffable Splendor

Visions
of majesty
and the ineffable splendor
of mountains
never known to the conscious senses.
Snow covered jaggedness.
Arid basins.
Mountains tremble,
Boulders and rocks charge.
Pebbles skirmish.
Dust particles frolic.
I am on the path.

A Mosaic of the Most Beautiful Dream Crumbs and Sweetest Mortar

Shards of mirror,
fragments of bone,
even life can shatter,
but dreams not gone.
Ground like meal,
and reconstituted,
risen like the Phoenix
into my daily bread -
strands of dreams,
drips of hope,
bits of love
keep me afloat
swimming in a mosaic
where the mortar is love.

Pure Beauty is Fleeting

So fragile is the mind,
and robust is the spirit,
too much thought
renders asunder
the more delicate notions
even those in the light of beauty.

A melon may shield the inner flesh
with a skin that is thick and tough.
The skull may shield the brain.
But what protects the mind from itself?

Perhaps it is so that the purist aspects of beauty
are fleeting and naturally dilluted by intellect.
In essence, the mind preserves itself.
We are tantalized then self-deluded by the illusion of cosmic duality.
Ego attempts to grasp the wonder by isolation.
Ego...vanity...our bain and our savior.

When the Light Dies and the Shadows Rise

Ghosts of sunlight dance in a rage
attempting to survive the dusk.
They cling to shadows with
fears of dissipating,
tears anticipating
the dread of non-existence,
the dead and dark of night.
No mind for the day
that will rise again tomorrow
for they know nothing but now.
And, now is taken away
by the laughter of shaking leaves
and the bellows of the wind among the trees.

Pianoforte, Fig & Fennel

[Inspired by the piano compositions of Alessandra Celletti]

Lonely hushed sounds of stray piano notes echo in a room.
There is no instrument, only memories.
But, not my memories - this is the first day in my new home.
My fingers, slowly dragged along the hardwood floor,
explore the undulating warping of a single oak plank,
polished by centuries of wear.
The finger following the contour of the wavy surface
slips toward the edge.
Damn!
I retract the arm and my lying body sits up.
A splinter. I pull it out and marvel at the slowly growing globe
of dark wine colored fluid that emerges. 
I put my finger into my mouth to catch the elixir and begin feeling
the contour of the floor with my other hand.
I look up and the scent of lavender and freshly baked bread
wafting on the breeze from an open window
detracts the taste of iron.
Hungry. I know the kitchen is empty and void of appliances.
There is a fig tree out back.
Oh, how I am craving some grilled fennel right about now.

Faith, Not Prayer

One may pray for life with all one's might,
and to their love of life they clasp
while death comes steadily in the night
to stifle abruptly their final gasp.

Show Me an Evil Deed

Shock.
Humanity destroyed.
Out from the ashes rises inhumanity.

Eyes shut in mourning.
Truth destroyed.
Out from the ashes rises UnTruth.

Unquestioned faith.
UnTruths nourished.
UnTruths flourish.

Still the mind.
Illusion destroyed.
Out from the ashes rises Truth.

Shock.
Inhumanity destroyed.
Out from the ashes rises humanity.

Zeitgeist

The fury, the rage,
My coming of age.
Complacency is fashion,
Revolution my passion,
The bright green of innocence
Is weathered by experience,
To the dull but still fragrant sage.

Sickened by corruption,
To the point of eruption,
I'm not party to the peaches and cream delusion.
Peace in this world is forever illusion.
But stilling the mind, keeping the calm within,
Provides appropriate diffusion.

To stop the war
Requires no less than a war.
But bloodshed will not end by spilling more blood.

As humans continue
To make a distinction,
Among peoples and tribes
Expressing different cosmic vibes,
They oppose and battle
Themselves into extinction.

The enemy is
And has always been
Within.

The enemy is
And has always been
Within.

Within.

Recognize this and the enemy
Vanishes.

untitled

Live in a delusion or eradicate the illusion.
Part of the problem, or part of the solution.
Manifest your destiny here and now.
Forge ahead with an unfurrowed brow.