The Final Line

We've weaved some lines
lost a pocket of lucky dimes
danced a tango, did a twist
tripping long, hard and fast
down the rainbow brick road
to a strange and distant land
that might be called home.

Lines like dirty fingerprints
on glass before it breaks--
we run unfettered through
a valley of burning stars,
all of them yours forever--
or only for today.

"who's line is it again?"

"who's to say who's..."

The next line is mine--
by words,
by rights.
The next line is yours--
by name and number,
by the flicker of the lights.

But what comes next
is anyone's guess,
anyone's line by line
by silver-tongued line.

We know what they are
and what they mean
contrast of day and night
black and white--
one
melting away
to zero...

The final line is written,
a smudge in the daylight
by the shaking human hand
that brought forth a vision
to fading, fractured sight.


Above: The Virgo super cluster is thought to contain a massive amount of dark matter, as predicted by the unusual way that light is refracted in this distant region of deep space. I have to take their word for it, because it looks fine to me--more galaxies than can be accurately counted, more stars than we could ever know, let alone name.

Below: Looks familiar... hmm.

And now...



British blogger Crushed by Ingsoc has seen fit to name me as a blogger with Inner Monkey.

To be a recipient of this award, you must be kind but curious, and always have the courage to question that which is presented to you. You must love and have a sense of humanity. In short, Inner Monkey is the value that has made great human beings who they are throughout our often tumultuous history.

In turn, I would like to name three more individuals who I feel share many of these same values. If I have forgotten anyone, by all means, claim your Inner Monkey with gusto. Far be it from me to misjudge a fellow primate.

Singleton at the Hippie Parade. A wonderful artist, poet and writer who I happen to share a blog with. The only blogger I know who could/would write head to head with me, as you can witness in the response boxes at our blog. Sometimes, her lines just blow me away, as she pushes her imagination beyond all reasonable limits every time she puts words to her wild, artistic visions.

Benjibopper at the blog of the same name. This writer very much sees the world from the underside up, as is noted in his care of issues regarding marginalized people from around the world. The greatest example of this is his novel in progress, tentatively titled Living in the Dirt, which I believe may be finished now. Inner Monkey in abundance.

X Dell at the X Spot. This blogger, though I have only known him a short time, very much embodies the curious and questioning aspect of Inner Monkey. From dissecting and discussing the kangaroo court espionage trial of the Rosenbergs, which he has done over a dozen or two posts, to the playing of mind-bending games that encourage his readers to use their greatest gift, the gift of curiosity, he is pure monkey through and through. And he doesn't even care if you Google the answers to said mind bending games.

Happy New year to one and all!

Your Love is an Angry God

Are you there, my veiled silhouette?

In the darkness,
hiding
sleeping
--waiting.

I have walked away,
and see the vultures
circling to the feast,
see the sun blazing,
see the storm's rage
sans the pure rains...

There is no water,
not here.

There is no more you,
for me.

In all this earthly
desert--this waste,
I hear only one truth:

Your love
is an angry god.

Your eyes are
story tellers--
my love most broken
remembers all of this:

Your body
so warm it burns.

Your taste...

so

Unique

now

Lost

To the blown sands,
like my footsteps toward home
through these most bitter of wastes.


Top: Two galaxies in mid collision. Their names were not listed where I could find them, but one day that won't matter. There will only be one. It shall be called the Highlander galaxy.

Middle: Ahh... Daylight on Saturn's moon Titan as seen by the Huygens probe. A rare pic, to be certain. The average distance from the sun is 1.4 billion kilometers, or eleven times as far as the Earth's distance. That makes for some cold winter nights.

Below: Footsteps in the sand--as transient a thing as humanity could ever know.

Thank you all for your excellent comments. Party on! It's new years. Have a drink on my tab.

A Gentle Thunder Between Two Hearts

Her smile is my bridge--
I cannot see it
cannot touch it
but I know it is there;
and I wish it would last forever.

Her laugh is my symphony--
I cannot hear it
cannot feel it
but it's melody is in my soul,
building a sonata this night.

Her heartbeat is a gentle thunder,
music that my own heart answers
beat for beat for beat.

Listening to her song...
walking her curving path,
the storm--and the nights
are not quite so long
as they were before.


Above: A thunderstorm during a sunset. Over a bridge, no less. How lucky can one be to find pics like that that match up so well with the subject? Especially considering that they are free domain pictures from NASA, and Astronomy Picture of the Day.

Below: If you look closely, you can see a pinkish glow from refracted sunlight in the air just before the the darkness, indicating a spectacular sunset is taking place.

Beholden

Beholden to holy miracles,
beholden to winds of fate--
the thousand stitch belt
threads of love and hope
for the kamikaze pilot,
a son and a nephew
a lover, beloved
a falling cherry blossom
who would fall from the sky,
though many would grieve
that a boy saw no other way
to reach peace.

A lady lost and looking
into the swirling face
of grinning madness
her final laugh not in kind
but pointed at the self-seer
seeing eyes so bright
they were as a stranger's,
and then their own--
the mirror can lie
if the mind wishes it so

A love charm handed down
from the voodoo king-priest
to the princess of the dunes;
the desert is so long
and the rains only fall
once in ten years
to quench her hot desire
to bathe her in their blessing
flowers from a world thought
long dead and buried

Beholden are these loves
beholden to our burning eyes
to see a finer circle--

To know that peace is not war
grace is not insanity,
and love will rain down
to make the deserts bloom;

Eyes closed when night comes,
breath heavy with purpose
because love is with us
tonight,
and ever after...

let the prayer-songs begin--
a soul will dance to the words
fire licks the night in abandon


Above: Art by Shaun Hyatt. A kamikaze pilot tying on his ribbons before the final flight. The thousand stitch belt mentioned above was a belt made with one stitch from each woman from a village or town, a symbol of love sent with one who chose to sacrifice himself. But one wonders how many people were tempted to ask their son or loved one not to waste their life in such a way. Often it had to be a crushing thing to know that death was chosen, a sacrifice given to a desperate government that knew it's time was short.

Below: Lady with a love charm from a voodoo king priest? Maybe so. Artist unknown. But beautiful all the same.

Three different ideas, yet all were very compelling to me, even as I wrote this piece. The genesis of this poem can be seen here.

Merry Christmas, you all. I hope Santa was good to you. Or at least, that you were good Santas to somebody else.

The Greatest Love Poem Ever Written...

Is the verse that no words gave birth to, lines that pass from eye to bluest eye, stanzas that are felt in every tremble, pauses that breathe as deep as we do, hoping against all that there will be no crying end to this ecstatic beginning--

Truth and ecstasy versus the inevitable fall from grace are the flesh of these words.

My heart stumbles on its own beat, but it will beat ever onward, with or without the light that made it stop for that infinite second where everything it ever was was reborn, the universal chaos finally given order...

Line by line--

Again,
like these words
but with no end in sight

What waits in the dark is another story.

A feeling as grand as creation itself lies still in the palms of my mortal hands.

(dust, but dust with meaning, as are the hands of my love)

Tears as hot as the tears of a burning heaven, falling toward the fire that beckons them through the night. I recognize at once what it is that makes me live and die and live again, moment to aching, elated, anticipated moment...

A song from the darkness,
eyes lit like two suns,
gleaming like twin moons
a perfect world of two.

The greatest love poem ever written,
and no one can know the hour of the end.

Above: Comet McNaught falling toward the horizon, like a tear of heaven, against the blazing auroral sky.

Below: A passing of the Moon against the background of the Andromeda galaxy. Heavenly bodies are beautiful to behold, are they not?

This is my 100th post. That's a lot of bad poems! I figured it would call for something extra cool, so I saved this poem for it. It takes some perspicacity to name a poem what I named this one. But if anyone can do it, I can. Hubris is my middle name.

I have to thank all of you for your support, respect, honor, comments both funny and insightful, and just your presence.

May you all get what you like and what you love this holiday season, no matter what that may be.

Peace and love.

Dr. Seus's Electric Kool-Aid

One fish and two fish;
one fish loves to swim
two fish would rather
walk on the dry land.

red fish and blue fish;
the red sees the ocean
half-way full
but the blue fish knows
it must be
half empty.

Seen black and white,
the red fish is gray
and the blue fish
a hazy shade of same.

In black waters deep,
or white waters steep
one swims left
one swims right
no matter how dark--
or how bright the light.

A circular dance
of life and death
and death and life...

Black and white
in the center they meet,
the Tao of Pisces--
the circle is complete.

I have no idea what Joan Jett would do, nor what she has to do with Dr Seus or the electric kool-aid acid test, but I liked this combo, and that's what matters. Now it's your turn to ponder the imponderable question that this bottom pic poses.

Above that is some sweet nostalgia, and at the top is Empress Josephine, wife of Napoleon Bonaparte, a depiction of her gazing at the fishes. (I take it she's a Pisces, as well)

Peace and love, y'all.

All We Need

It's part of the season
goes with the territory
snow falls in the north
the fire rose sun dips
low to the south

Nothing is what it seems
everything is in the cards
in the defiant stars,
all of it is falling
from out of the yellow fire
in the sun's burning heart

It's part of this season
part of this circle
part of this life

All we need--
a lover's hot breath
on our body
so close as to smell
each other's soul

All we need--
one winter night
and the rest will be
lined up to fall down
irresistibly
like dominoes

All we need is love
(so let it be sung)
All we need
is a warm place
to spend a long night
making our own light

It's the fire rose
of the sun's burning heart
alive and irresistible

It goes with the territory
especially
right here

It's a part of all seasons,
especially
right
now.

Infidelis

The fruit of creation
the grapes of bounty
wither and die
hanging from this
tethering vine
where life once sprung
from green earth
in torrents of beauty
seemingly without end

Toast no living soul
with this wine
bitter and malnurtured;
tear drops
falling into a dead sea
called Lake Perdition

Toast only the light
that delivers all to
the loving arms of night
free from this vine
that tethers and poisons
the fruit it bears
ignorant
indifferent
infidelis
to every desire
hope or wish
to live one day longer
than the hour of the end

Blue Ink

A life of love letters
written on blue jeans
ten years old, faded,
love-worn by Venus
--she of every blue
dream I ever owned.

Love's words etched
on the palm of my hand,
on my head board
carved into the table
under the willow tree
weeping for the ways
love used to dance
under its sweeping bows
the memories flood
the rains caress
drop by drop
rivulets to rivers
to the heaving ocean.

A sea brimming life,
our thousand bottles
bobbing, clinking--
and each one home
to little blue lines
lots of blue, hot ink
tear-drops and runs,
with forever-for-life
sized hearts pierced
by arrows we thought
were only imagination,
writing love's letters
on every dream we
call our own.

Thank you all for your comments and good will. I'm off to Detroit to attend to the business of family and my aunt's memorial services. I'll be back and around to visit all of you very soon.

Above: Is that not the bluest moon you ever saw? And the beaded line of stars to its right is an optical illusion, but a beautiful one at that.

Middle: I very sneakily used the great website I can has Cheezburger to create several banners for my blog, to counteract the rampant brainfarting that blogger has been known for lately. Blogger had seen fit to shrunk my original header down to almost nothing, even though the picture is fine in edit mode. It had something to do with meshing letters onto the picture, and just couldn't do it anymore. So I used the above glorious site to make my own header/banner with the letters embedded. God bles doze txt msg jeenyuzez @ I can hz chzbrgr. Now, I'll be chnging things up every now and then, just for fun.

Blogger will not be happy until we are all on Wordpress.


This one right above this I first saw at a glorious blog called The Lisa Show. I'm not sure who made it, but it is LMAOROTF funny.

Finite

This world has an end
the seasons are finite
the sky is a black void
beyond the cold blue veil
of a comforting illusion

Last night, my aunt died. I miss her already, the world is going to be strange without her; she was the true leader of my family, and everyone acknowledged that. I am so very numb, I can't even cry and I want to let the rivers flow, at least so I don't feel so inhuman. The only comforting thought is that she is not suffering with hideous, wilting pain any more. The next world is now a much better place for her arrival there.

But I have to thank you all for your wonderful messages of love, respect or just plain good will, in both comments and the many sweet emails that a lot of you have sent to me.

Above: The Helix Nebula. This is quiet obviously an explosion, a nova that has created a planetary nebula from the remains of a star that was about the same size as our own sun, about six hundred light years away. A small white dwarf star is in the center, but its light is drown out by the glare of the final stages of its former life.

Below: There's that blue fading to black.


Take care and talk to you later if I get the chance.

Peace and love.

Love Letters to Nowhere

I'll keep a storm candle lit,
so we can all find our way
on these dark roads home.

I'll keep the fire burning
through the midnight chill
so we won't be blinded
by the cold night ahead

I'll keep the flames stoked
as we scratch love letters
to the middle of nowhere
under the full moon grin,
wrapped in the west wind

I'll keep this storm candle
burning until the dawn--
under the billion star fires
at the crossroads of home.

Everything, Anyway

There are these times,
sometimes--
downtimes
like right now times

when anything at all
is too much to ask
when I might as well
ask for everything

if I ask for anything at all.

So I ask for
everything,
and nothing
is expected

Maybe
like me
they want it all.

Maybe,
like me,
they can do nothing at all.

Maybe
sometimes
nothing more can be done.

Maybe
this
is one of those times.


Top: St. Michael, or St. George, doesn't matter too much since I don't venerate saints. But it is a nice piece of art.

Bottom: The Bubble Nebula in Cassiopeia. The central bubble is formed by the leading edge of stellar wind from a star forty times the mass of our sun. This wind is moving at 2,000 km per second, or 4 million miles per hour. Again, this is one that you would like to click, as it is pretty and shiny, and therefore, highly mesmerizing. Very nice.

And this poem came about by request of a very cool friend who happened to catch a glimpse of a line that very few people saw, and reminded me to resurrect it because it was a good one.

The Days Die Younger and Younger

Every drop mixes,
the small drop of sadness trickles
and runs and falls
flowing to the great sorrow
the sea of one night's eternity.

something one cannot know
until they have tasted
the name of these waters
mixing until they are one,
until they know
the taste of poison
or the warming light--
a resurrection of two,
of one

the days die younger and younger
the rain falls every night
soon it will be winter
and the blood boils hot

to mix with the waters
of your river--on your soft shore

and know that every drop was given
to me to bathe my immortal soul
in its quiet murmurs, total embrace.


Top: A river. A big one, too. I think it's in Australia. I think it's called the Trist. Very cool name for a vessel that carries water forward to mix with other water, as this shot is from the very edge of where the river meets the sea. Very poetic and Raymond Carver-esque, as well.

Middle: I loves me some fractal art.

Bottom: A view toward the center of our galaxy. Click that one, you won't be disappointed by the larger view. The giant black hole in the center will only hurt you if you think it will.

Thanks for all the great thoughts and wishes.

My aunt has had her major surgery, removing a large tumor that had been causing the bulk of her problems with speaking and balance. However its all very temporary, in spite of the fact that she has some of the best doctors available. Maybe the best we can hope for is just the chance to speak to her again. There isn't much more that can be done, because the cancer has spread to too many places. But I hope to at least be able to speak to her. At least one more time. Even if anything at all is too much to ask so might as well ask for it all, if I ask for anything.

Except sometimes when I ask for everything. It's good to be optimistic when you can, I've always thought.

Last month, she was exactly as she always was, running around everywhere and staying in everyone's business except her own. I often asked her if she felt OK, and took it for granted when she would invariably answer "fine", or tell me about an upcoming doctor's appointment that she apparently always called off on and never told anyone about. She drives and is fully capable, even seeing to all of her friend's getting to the doctor on time, and doing community work. She never gave any hint of this and must have hid her pain.

And very suddenly, everything is at an end from which there is no turning away.

Everything is marching toward an end I can fend off only with prayers, wishes and hope. But it pains me most that my one year old niece will never know this lady who was like a guardian of every sort during the lives of her mother and I. I can only hope we have learned enough from her to teach children, hers or my own later on, the love that we know and teach what it means to care above and beyond normal, everyday life.

Angels are living people and my aunt Theresa is one of them. She loves the piano and singing when she thinks nobody hears her. She speaks English, French, Latin, a little Spanish and Italian. She knows as many cheesy Star Wars lines as anyone, and always loved saying "let the wookie win!" when people were being disagreeable. She helped me to get my first guitar and some lessons and drove me to many a band practice or gig, even risking life and limb during a few blizzards (the show must go on).

I have the greatest hope for her, and she has the strongest love and support from the family around her. But it is really hard to ignore that a time limit has been set. I feel she can fight, and I know she will, but I also don't want her to suffer. It's one of those terrible and beautiful things, to know ultimate love and to have to say goodbye to the one individual who personified it.

I told her people from around the world have wished her success and a speedy recovery. That there's all kinds of good people around the world who care enough to not stay out, but to give words to the wish, no matter how modestly worded. She is greatful to everyone who has been so kind as to put into words any thoughts on the subject.

Your comments about anything to do with the pics and the poems, your best wishes, your love and all that sweet jazz have helped me out greatly, as well.

You all are in my thoughts, too.


Peace out

Into The Light

...she stepped up boldly,
the wind and a feather
with blue sapphire eyes.

the wind tells her this:
dance, into the fire
you will not be harmed
dance, into the rain
you will be forgiven.

the feather drifts--
blue eyes lingering on...
like clouds brooding over
the windswept plains
waiting to let go
of their ancient burden.

her feather drifts
floats, bobs, sways--
my eyes follow her
even to the places
they shouldn't follow;
the river carries on
to feed the ocean
with it's muddy love.

in weeks we will enter
the season of the flames
everything will endure
a trial by fire of its own.

a crow flies overhead
but I will not die this night
as long as she loves me,
her feather on the wind
I will run forever chasing

shadows

long and lingering
into the light.

**********************************************

Things will be OK, no matter what.

My aunt and I both thank you for your thoughtful words and feelings. I'll answer you back later today and visit you all as soon as I possibly can. Take care.

Then You Would Know

If you could hear the symphony
that I've heard all my life
that nobody else has ever heard;
the thunders or the sighs...

If you could see a perfect painting
but not just one--
all the him's and her's lined up
telling you their stories
what's true from first light
and the lines they made up
the night before...

If you could stand on the lip of a canyon;
a trench filled with living and dead
and still think that there's a way out
without adding another to the pile
to litter another's long march
in hazy direction called home...

If you could look down a volcano's throat
often enough to talk about the heat
in teacher says tones
while the pot simmers on the burner
no pizza tonight,
maybe tomorrow.

If you could live through the seasons
that I've laughed
and groaned
and gritted through

Summers I've kissed
lived and told
and took to heart
to the oldest alter we've known.

If you could only know
what time itself meant
before knowing the value
of its pace,
its breath
and what it would mean
if we could make it lie still,
if only for one moment

If only

Then you would know.
(or do you?)

And I could stop trying to think of
a better way to end this
sorry bunch of inadequate lines.

And I hope it would be easier than this--

Once again, I have thank you all. It's not looking good right now, but we won't stop hopng for the best. My Aunt Theresa has lived quite a long life and accomplished much. One can only hope the best for a briliant soul such as hers. Thank you all for you thoughts, and everything else. Sorry if there's any hold up correspondence, I haven't been able to even focus on an email for one second. Soon, I'll have rejoined the ranks of both the real world and the e-world.

But I think about you all the time, right?

All About the Night

Her everything

Her about this...

The night
the way and the walk.

It speaks to me.

It's Saturday
got nothing
am nothing
and yet everything
is somehow something
on the holiest day of all.

It all adds up:
Her double or nothing grin
glaring black and white lights
her flair for the dramatic
pulls me in by the feet
whenever the music starts
and even
when it stops
for the space
of a skipping stone
heart beat.

Really, it never stops...

it keeps going,
till the end
till the bottles are empty
and the smiles are full
at least call
you may not be able to stay hear

but you never have to go home

unless
she's waiting for you...
******************************************
Thank you all for the kind comments. They so help--friends, even at a distance make a huge difference.

Take care and have a great weekend.