Wednesday, September 29, 2010

A Requiem In The Wood

Set beside the light
under a requiem play
to the service of those
who've whispered in agony
their final words
a death before death dies.

In darkness a mirror they gaze
into the mask distorted face
of their withered bitter existence
of the hearts always remembered
but forgotten are they.

To what heroism do they pay?
A life of yeses and uttered agreement
A life of terror as in premonition.
A life of sitting on the edge of the bed
of the lover they've wed
tomorrow this face
will turn cold and grow old.

But not to them,
not to them do their memories fail
for they live in the redness of their eyes
a bloody river which murks the world
it's all they have and all they know.
They once knew the inside of their friends
walked among the fields of truths.
Or were there weeds of lies among the grains?
Who should know what they became?
One day so close.
Blink.
And they're walking away.

Thinking is all they should know,
thought deep in what they refer to
as passion of knowledge
and the acceptance of folly.

For it was they who were convinced.
Convinced of the good there was within.
Within those fields they danced,
a ballet to the debt of yesterday
and the promise of tomorrow.
Sitting in trees of songs,
no more good-byes
should need be cried.


Love who should they have known,
years, centuries ago
if it had been found.
Lost in the wood where every stone
looked the same
and every wolf
called her name.

But in silence this bird flew on
into that wilderness
and with every sweet berry
passed poison through her blood.
The accumulation of gracefully masked trickery
soon broke her wings...
among other things.

They stare on.
They know this fate
for they too have lived this way.
Broken bones,
broken soul,
a life of empty lay on the forest floor.

On look the scavengers
to feast the remains.
It is her gift
all that is left of her to give.

And that there is where,
a requiem play.
And she will join they
who died that very same day.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Filth.

Bathe in your own filth. Sit there and marinate in it. Let it corrode the veins of the you they see before them. Know of your lies and lustful verbiage. Know of your callous smile as they offered the divine pathway of peace before your eyes. But you, omniscient being, knowing, perceiving that this, was not peace but a night of gloom you were to be walking. A lost pathway for your exiled soul. Realize in the silent seconds of servitude to a mere cage which provokes you into agonizing astonishment and palpable personal persuasion, that in that horror of midnight blackness, behind the walls of apathetic absolution, in surreal breathlessness, in that brief time of blithe dreaming.... you existed. Through serenity in a lie, you were alive. You moved with the passion that became your thorny crown. You lived. In dreams, you were real. You were free. No longer relying on the cerebral choke hold of that underestimated organ residing in your skull. Intellectually inclined to perfect conversation but intuitively longing for confirmation, substance, assurance. Dreams know of no promises. It is a curse they share with lies. Dreams, elaborate lies, perhaps simple ones, what difference would it make? You lived but for one hour amongst the stars and they sent you to the gallows, a black bag of delusion over your head. A noose of reality, truths, of which they slung around your neck, spinning in wistfulness from the apotheosis of what now remains a stranger occurring inside. Silence at the realization of idiocracy on the part of your being. Thus this hanged man's sentence carried out. Bathe in your filth. Know it all. In dreaming alone, we exist.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

The Earth Being

Can you see her?
Between the wasted words
she lay.
She is Earth,
Everlasting home.

The storms blow through,
they leave their paths,
their bent trees and scarred terrain.
Eroded heart,
she screams her pain.

Can you hear her?
Your black oil pours through her veins,
tars the life you see within.
She cries, she cries.
You sigh, you sigh.

Can you feel her?
Her body warms.
But quickly grows cold
to the stain
the change
of mind.

Can you taste her?
Your bitter clouds which swirl
in her eyes.
Dazzling gems and diamonds for you,
buried within.
She cries, she cries.
You sigh, you sigh.

Alone she wanders,
her thickets she walks.
Barefoot
broken shells of vacant beaches
but she smiles.
The pain of physical miles
harms not the injured part.

Stomp on her many glorious grounds
the distant yells as you pound her down.
Pushing her being,
may she retreat inside her.
Drag her dusty meaningless remains
on the floors you built,
a gift from her loins.
A solemn trail,
of blood, of tears, of death.

Can you smell her?
She strides with roses on her back
amongst mountains of snow.
Still life amongst the evergreens,
gold on the walls of her soul,
worthless but beautiful.
Remark such dazzling stone,
steal the breath of supple youth within.
Worthless.

She awaits.
Under her clouds of dreams,
hopes of future showers on her head.
But clouds form fast and storm breaks
free.
Gray mixes in blue,
Hope remains.

Silence echoes through the canopies,
she falls back on the wind,
waits for their call.
She cries, she cries.
They lied, they lied.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

An Agony. As Now.

"I am inside someone
who hates me. I look
out from his eyes. Smell
what fouled tunes come in
to his breath. Love his
wretched women.

Slits in the metal, for sun. Where
my eyes sit turning, at the cool air
the glance of light, or hard flesh
rubbed against me, a woman, a man,
without shadow, or voice, or meaning.

This is the enclosure (flesh,
where innocence is a weapon. An
abstraction. Touch. (Not mine,
Or yours, if you are the soul I had
and abandoned when I was blind and had
my enemies carry me as a dead man
(if he is beautiful, or pitied.

It can be pain. (As now, as all his
flesh hurts me.) It can be that. Or
pain. As when she ran from me into
that forest
Or pain, the mind
silver spiraled whirled against the
sun, higher than even old men thought
God would be. Or pain. And the other. The
yes. (Inside his books, his fingers. They
are withered yellow flowers and were never
beautiful.) The yes. You will, lost soul, The
slow river. A white sun in its wet sentences.

Or, the cold men in their gale. Ecstasy. Flesh
or soul. The yes. (Their robes blown. Their bowls
empty. They chant at my heels, not at yours.) Flesh
or soul, as corrupt. Where the answer moves too quickly.
Where the God is a self, after all.)

Cold air blown through narrow blind eyes. Flesh,
white hot metal. Glows as the day with its sun.
It is a human love, I live inside. A bony skeleton
you recognize as words or simple feeling.

But it has no feeling. As the metal, is hot, it is not,
given to love.

It burns the thing
inside it.
And that thing
screams."

~Amiri Baraka~

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Sagacity

Nobody savors when they're freed,
or sees when the roses bleed.
Glimpse the pools in those eyes,
unearth their suffocated cries.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Some Things Considered (excerpt)

"'Feeling. The most crippling of all feeling is that which is felt alone. It seems as if inside there is a universe with unexamined knowledge waiting, but the beholder lacks the ability to express and therefore eats itself up. It eats up everything; the mind, the heart, the soul, the very fabric of life until all that is left standing before it remains a reflection of a hollowed shell that embraces nothing but to expand the lungs and pump oxygen to the dead organ inside its chest. Yes, surely I am uneasy of the future for such beings. So alone, so alone and so skeptical. No one ever taught them to be that way. They will wander on into a field of shadows, battling the whisper of 'fool' to the south of them. Happiness. Indeed, happiness is far from what lingers, rotting on the skin of these beings. What fools. What bravely gorgeous fools.'
The Ferryman shook his head and boldly struck the water. He was dragging on toward a deeper death, much to the dismay of the lingering being cautiously absorbing the information provided by such a seasoned soothsayer and reluctantly enduring psychologist to the recently passed.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Shaking Up the Dust

An intuition of omniscience lay,
in dusty heaps upon autumn leaves,
that no one sees.
Watch it, guard it, make it yours,
it will unleash its truths,
it will flourish in light, in secrets left untold,
In a garden of time yet to pass.
It will corrupt you.
It will heal you of fault.
Listen to it, then ever so gently,
Nourish the death between the cracks,
See it smile, feel it warm the air.
Never avoid, never ignore,
keep watching, keep watching it grow.
All the treasures it will hold.
It's real, it exists,
in deep feeling it is free,
in time so will you see,
it's free, it's free,
just let it be.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Sometimes

Sometimes if you sit real still,
you can hear all the sounds,
all the sounds in the world.
And there, right there,
you're free as a bird,
just watching those candles burn.
You'll hear your heart,
You'll feel it beat.
You'll hear the sands,
the sands of time,
just passing you by.
If you hear it,
If you feel it too,
devour those helpless hours,
until the tears rip boldly away.
Until your heart whispers, "Everything,
Everything will be okay."


Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas

"Passion isn't a path through the woods. Passion is the woods. It's the deepest, wildest part of the forest; the grove where the fairies still dance and obscene old vipers snooze in the boughs. Everybody but the most dried up and dysfunctional is drawn to the grove and enchanted by its mysteries, but then they just can't wait to call in the chain saws and bulldozers and replace it with a family-style restaurant or a new S and L. That's the payoff, I guess. Safety. Security. Certainty. Yes, indeed."

Tom Robbins

Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Everlasting Hold of a Heart and a Soul (unrevised)

Within the wasted valley of isolation lay a phantom companion beyond that which the world could tell. He wakes only at the dusty crossroads of light and dark and dances majestic circles around your being. This shadow travels with the hope of only complete truth, never to succumb to the changes of heart which so proven mortals fall. He will not disappear and he promises to stay forever, clutching you to his chest in a near claustrophobic grasp of adoration, admiration, of respect, and of love. The weary traveler bats no lash at the coming of a grotesque reaper, to take before ripe the child in you. He will not struggle in a battle sure to fall, but remind you only of the false hope left over from a starry-eyed juvenile who spent a century incarcerated in unrequited longing. Yes, it is a person buried in that heart, a person who bleeds just as the whole does. A person who consistently dreams, a person who once conceived a notion that people knew him, people must know him so as to be protected. "But people are dangerous." The traveler whispers, "If I know, you've known all along, my love. You are not meant to associate with such giants. Dream, my dear, but dream small for moments of beautiful time will pass by your eyes for many more years. You are only destined to bleed until dry." With that he collapses and fear begs him to cry, "Cry, cry the tears you've held in with such science. Cry until the salty seas within have dried. You are alone now, no one shall see this pain, this anguish, so cry until the sores of younger tears reappear. Cry until the vain blood drains from silk sheets. You remember don't you? You remember. You remember."

And he sobs as he is commanded. Rivers drain from the mountains of his cheeks and merge into a vast lake seeping from his chin. Eyes glowing red now, the reaper whispers his lies, "Now, what do you want more than ever? Reply child, what is it you desire? Freedom? I can promise you freedom if you leave the traveler's arms. I can promise you so much more than he. I have lived over thousands of years. I was birthed at the dawn of time as an idea and I can live forever. I can promise you, a thought never disappears but a soul such as your shadow, he will be forgotten."

"They'll only forget if you leave with him." The traveler whispers as if a lover, confessing the reality he holds in his arms. "Stay. Stay forever and I will stay too. Until the end, my love. Together we will become like water, forever replenished in a cycle of sheer importance to the life it supports. And I will be there with you, always."

He looked up at the sympathetic smile of the traveler and for a moment was lost in the discovery of such a being. So overwhelmed by his comfort and mysterious familiarity that he may as well have been swallowed whole by himself. Absorbed in the beauty of the being holding tight, drawn to the pleasure provided so simply in his arms. He held the traveler even closer now, grasping the weather torn clothing on his back which like burnt paper, crumpled apart and scattered in the air. The traveler smiled and stroked his head. There was a sanctuary in those arms and every stroke to his head comforted the shattered heart being held.

But the reaper wasn't finished. He walked in circles around the huddled mass of heart and of soul and smirked at the pathetic idea of their pairing.

"You cannot stay here forever. Even you know that." He was speaking to the heart with a vicious truth, "You will only grow older, you will whither, and you will die. Why go through more of this pain when the looming of your death is here, you see? You can have relief in that squalor but only if you come with me. Even I know you are unhappy, and you have been for so long. Why suffer? I know the answers you are looking for and I will take you to them but you must let go, child, this has been no place for you anyway."

He felt a rain drop, cool on his head and he looked up to see tears falling from the traveler's eyes. "You have purpose." The traveler whispered in an almost desperate tone, as if he were unsure of it himself, "Stay, my love. Please. You will see the sun, it is there for you and for me, we will taste it and we will let the tang drip down our throats like citrus. We will be glorious. Give it another chance like you have so many a time before. See? See the stars? They are there and we can live among them. We can be like them, it just takes time, my love. Be patient on this road. Don't lose control. You have time. You are young, my child, so young and so many years to go -"

"Years of burning, years of longing, years spent with a leak at the seam." The reaper had interrupted this time enraged with the absurd hope the traveler laid before the heart, "You know better than that. You know you have no business being here. Leave, child. Leave with me and we will search for the place you belong."

He began to back away from the traveler's arms. He could not help but understand that the reaper was correct. For however brief a time, there had been nothing but anguish, nothing but provoking chaos, nothing but a trail of misguided lusting and torture, nothing but a hole that had still to be filled. What if there was nothing to fill that void? What if this was the life that lay out before him? But that is destiny and only fools believe in destiny. Or is it fools who do not? Maybe he did need to leave. Maybe it was time to search for a real home where love, belonging, and importance grew wild from the ground with no natural predator.

"Do you really believe there will be love there?" The traveler had read his thoughts and although an honest question meant to remind him of the reaper's purpose, he couldn't help but hear perhaps a glint of hope like mica among the rocks. "You can't possibly believe him. Look at yourself, who have you trusted in these years? Where has that led you?"

This time he pulled away out of disdain. Who was this thing to judge him for his foolish ways? He looked with disgust at the traveler, but the look merely dropped back to understanding between lovers, for the traveler stared in bewildered sadness.

"I did not mean to hurt you, my love. I only want you to stay. If you go, I shall be forgotten and for that my existence has been taken in vain. You are loved because I love you. You can trust another because you can trust me. I will not tell your secrets, my love, and I know them all. I will never betray you, my dearest. I will hold you for as long as you desire and together we can be one."

The heart looked into the lustrous eyes of the soul. There was love between them, a married understanding of the nature of their being. But they, even together, are so alone in their individuality and unshared, unique sparkle.

"One day, my dear, perhaps one will unlock that and on that day someone may see us as we are and not as perceived. But together we will play a game of hide and seek, and you shall find me when I am needed and I will love you even when hated. If you leave, you know not what lay before you. Your wanderlust is deep and it will not disappear. One day our passion will be returned in heaps of orchids, fragile and beautiful, but everlasting even in the midst of death. Someone will see us and take us to where we belong and we can be free of this sadness. We will know only acres of forest to be explored, only mountains that need be climbed, only freshly fallen leaves to roll amongst. We will drink from springs of life eternal and know only of immortal love. It is there for you, I know. Stay, my love, and we shall unlock the gates to those wonderlands. But first we must search ever so earnestly for the key buried in the soil."

"How dare you punish him further!" The reaper was shouting now in a defiant voice that rang throughout the valley, "Orchids! PAH! Orchids are fleeting, far from everlasting! You foul being! Leave this child in peace now! An orchid will whither from the oil of touch, you know that as well as I! Orchids! Absurd! Child, you must follow me so as to avoid this ridiculous future of helpless hope and of lies from this soul!"

But the heart looked at the traveler who had an honest plea that shone from his eye. He believed in him. He loved him. And so he spoke in passion filled words of wisdom which, although spoken softly, were true and therefore could be heard among the roar of machines and through the muffling of cotton. "But if cared for delicately," his voice carried through the words so faithfully and secure, "an orchid can thrive alone and through patience and sleep, in time new flowers will sprout from the soil around it and that single flower will be lonesome no more."

And the reaper faded from view. The traveler kissed the heart delicately on the forehead and parted ways, looking not back at the heart, but to the ground instead, with a half smile of pride for his lover. The clouds remained in the sky and the valley stayed cold and damp. The ground was covered in a frosty dew that froze naked feet until paralyzed. But a light, small however tenacious, split between the gray seams of the clouds and there was but a slight warmth in that sliver that stood bravely between the hazy, shadowed atmosphere. The heart did not smile and the search over his shoulder at the past did not seize, but the heart took one ever so important, ever so defiant, and ever so courageous step forward in the frozen landscape. He then closed his eyes and began to count. In the distance could be heard the laughter of a traveling soul, echoing over the Earth as he searched for a place to hide.