February 7, 2017

between the shales and clays ( where Mother births rain )

'Lila Lee',
Alfred Cheney Johnston  c 1920



lucid wave after wave 
and in angry turns 
in timid plum jealous depths 
of the ocean 
where light dare not go 

water is the cradle 
salt to iron to rivers 
back to the seas 
but down here 
it demands atom 
to molecular purities 
hallowed dow ages 
in songs of rain 
once maybe 
surely, eventually  

we were once 
a comet or dark matter sponge 
conscious hive gravity courtesans and wobbles 
magnetic accretion elliptical(s) 
calendars we wobble too
see the poem
bethe poem
ribbon the peel of sky
Icarus and Antigone stole to free Prometheus
they had children thieves of night
had stars where eyes should be
could smell time like wolves
sometimes I get lost on purpose
just to see
if I can crawl scent
to dream where home
is spring to winter
jars, cellar and hearth
words in the glass

 pasta thrown to the ceiling once

painted over to feed Befana
poem says here stop here 
I want to walk 
into the desert night 
with its cold reach bouquet 
dead lights as shiny tombstones 
where suns used to be 

and at the end of every poem 
there is a story 
reflecting need 
and desire 
to play act 
and roll with it 
some of us 
always too young 
to die become dolls 
inside dolls 
scent and dust 
what must 
that does 
with perhaps 
a little music 
you've made up 
for this little vignette 
coda again my friends 

starting with another question 
and leap off the deep end 


are we tubules 
neutrino praise geometry 
scatter moving 
the sea of noise 
no one can alter reality 
without adhering to the water cycle 
are we seed seep bleed 
are we too tied to the cage clouds 
and ways we weigh memory and instinct 
why we worship our soul 
sly whole regards wholly holed 
worm or otherwise dark matter turbine 
turpitude northern latitudes 
how rude of me to want to step off the rain 
how do I explain I had a chance to burn with reach 
for ribbon-ed inside each other infinities ... 

I sink into the abyss 
the bliss chalices trapeze art cling savor flavors  
are agents of the nose and scent gardens with an intensity 
not yet met with ration, reason and those paper cuts 
on our tongues, poems rom licking time off of calendars
who am I and I say lust in a dissolve 
I revolve revolt against the self 
to tithe and tie myself to the mainsail 
staff belly surfing the ride 
water will take when finding places 
where little stars court 
and spark the larks to murmuring 
about faces countenances 
the dances of aggregates 
hurtled pierce arrows of air fire and Earth 
mimicking the beat and we dance always 
in places we store 
our things, our rings we hold on to 
when we need when we hen weed 
bleed the poem wordless plea I invoke the emptying the sagebrush 
life as a thrush who knows how old stones paint the dreams in hydrogen 
and oxygen bonding we plant praying to the wild 
to return to us in song and ritual movement fined hewn handed 
symphonic interludes of spirit entering expression 
hear herd heard temple-d trembling rumbling tumbles 
stumble over the slick coat of night when Winter 
and the exhales explain purpose 
with an etch-a-sketch memory implant 
the window in the kitchen 
of your soul 
follow the Moon 
and the Sun 
and every time you wash 
the dishes you have cleared as those you serve 
are guiding nutrient spell logic the paradises 
palladium stadium desire allows anonymity 
symmetry with chaos 
we weave care to breathe 
deceive ourselves into believing humanity 
is the one tattoo we cannot deny Hamlet in the reeds 
waiting, wading wearing where worn with womb lies 

in the phone booth I remember them coin drop jangle language 
words like rye I am almost done here you got the fusion codes 
or do you want pizza with root beer and those little sugar poisons 
you have grown so fond of ... we are always at the river's edge 
keeping count of days and nights we sway rhythm and ecstasy 
captured embraces of where light races when first declaring 
are wearing of bones is cage that rages against dying time 
tine pine forest bare armed deciduous sentry harking 

WIP (work in progress) interlude back to  poem 
sickness is  poem 
healthy regard is  poem
madness is  poem 
I am  poem

this is the lap and puppet conversation 
at the end of this  poem

" ... ten penny alley jack-knifing the squid lid fidgeting hat 
and pass that which makes you see to, see through 
bones and cages, rages and sages, pointillistic timelessness 

we blink poems, clawing fingers loam, therapy art linger  
you loved the underground shops in Montreal, we got stoned 
on hash we bought from an Algerian cabbie and kept eating more 
we un-stored ourselves onto the neon and white brick slid light 
we fought the need to bleed in laughter tones, palms out wide reaching 
tied to tide tithed tight titular blight we both said mother may many 
many times ... "


EJR ©

6 comments:

  1. There he is, I was wondering when you would post again. A lot here my friend, I might have to digest it in small pieces, you know each syllable, each word..I don't want to choke on a full sentence, as the food for thought sometimes needs to be chewed a bit.

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    Replies
    1. Sometimes I just pull away from all in order to find the tine, time and tide of birth again ... :) Thank You for reading, "Lois" ...

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    2. skipping mud=spring time emit gnirps=dum gnippiks

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  2. Thank you ... for the medicine. You were just the poem I needed to swallow.

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