Finding your voice

I've seen it before and

after all,

it only happened once

upon a time well

spent, broke, long ago back

then when 

ever you were told

to speak

easy, think twice before

crossing the line

drive thru and through

a glass looking eye

lid, keep it on, preserves

or jam, like free-style and ad-

liberty to justice for

some reason

a cause and effect of

listening between the 

sheets, three to the wind

and rain and rapt on window

panes in the

riddle me this

one time, one point

bullet in the chamber

hallways that lead

by example how to

do it yourself, dependent free

will to say

what you mean 

and nasty and quick

like, Its My Life

or Death Wish.

Image of painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Veronica Veronese, 1872 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "Se penchant vivement, la Veronica jeta les premières notes sur la feuille vierge. Ensuite elle prit l'archet du violon pour réaliser son rêve; mais avant de décrocher l'instrument suspendu, elle resta quelques instants immobile en écoutant l'oiseau inspirateur, pendant que sa main gauche errait sur les cordes cherchant le motif suprême encore eloigné. C'était le mariage des voix de la nature et de l'âme—l'aube d'une création mystique. / Lettres de Girolamo Ridolfi

[Suddenly leaning forward, the Lady Veronica rapidly wrote the first notes on the virgin page. Then she took the bow of the violin to make her dream reality; but before commencing to play the instrument hanging from her hand, she remained quiet a few moments, listening to the inspiring bird, while her left hand strayed over the strings searching for the supreme melody, still elusive. It was the marriage of the voices of nature and the soul—the dawn of a mystic creation.]"

Panthera poema

Crouching in the shadows

its form blends into the pitch.

Pads perching on pillows,

lightly as an idea as not

to break a thought...

Whose scent fills in the breathing air,

sourcelessly seeping like smoke

with out fire. The spilt perfume vial,

wafting with ripe open stamen

acid breeze that chills your nape.

Of carnal mists and earth dusts,

pores choking on essence

smoking roar that singes

leaves, flashing green torches

smoldering for three days-be four-

Envy eyes curious to find

fresh tracks laid and lining

the way to walk without a 

sound, reason. Knowing 

you know it's there.

Indivisible pre-occupation with you,

incensed and bemused by notions

elusive to all traps set, over-gliding

to terminal reality

true never twice.

I prey the stalking, we share,

means we smell the same.

Image by Singer Ron U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

“...understand the nature of that illustrious vernacular that Dante claims to be tracking down like a perfumed panther, 'whose scent is everywhere but which is nowhere to be seen.' (DVE I, xvi, 1).”**-Umberto Eco (From the Tree to the Labyrinth, p 297, Harvard University Press, 2014).

** “It was thought in the Middle ages that the panther had a richly perfumed breath and left a trace of its passage wherever it had been. But, for the hunters who attempted to trap it, it was practically impossible to locate. So they would smell its perfume but never success in catching it. This explains how the panther became a metaphor for poetry itself.”-Umberto Eco

Close your eyes and blow

Close your eyes and blow

Your wish is my command
The voice would
Beam.
Thy Will Be Done-
would be added
for reassurance and
-brace yourself-here is where
CHANCE (in mighty fine print)
stands
smalland(wedged)
b/w Now and When
what you want(ed)
blows up
to the surface, swerving
amongst chandelier blades
whipping cream
making a breeze
Come and Go around again,
Like karmatic vengance which has
been like you, doing like that
never this now
never this same alike (and again)
selfsame
as wishing thy will
Be come
some one
over there
who Will want
every thing you have
right Now-
for wishes, all ways
(taken for)

granted.

Image by Marjory Collins of Dionne quintuplets, 1940 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Axiomatic

Look both ways.
Don't over do it.
Think before you speak.
Two hands for beginners.
What doesn't make you stronger
(and these)
may be fatal.
It may be
life or death
to learn
what cannot be taught.

Nobody will teach you
that it is (still) true-
You are
you-nique,
you have intrinsic value
beyond axiomatic calculation.
More than enough:
greater than
you give yourself credit for.

Yet you choose to be
(led) blindly,
nothing is never enough,
jumping out on a limb,
and losing grip
on brittle banalities,
broken boughs, evil vows,
twigs of truths
from Adage trees
like these.




Image By Snyder, Frank R. Flickr: Miami U. Libraries - Digital Collections [No restrictions or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sad today, more sorrow tomorrow

Squeezed my eyes so tight

I crimped my nose

trying to seal the heavy drapes

eyelids

the event horizon

line of eyelash hairs

black holes that hope

when

I open-

s  l  o  w  l  y  

to rearrange the world

around me

or just wishing to warp

and disintegrate my reality

I wish to be taken

hostage for a dream

it would seem most simply

escape is what I mean

I find myself thinking

of my keys

prism pavement

welcoming

the open road

to just go

a  w  a  y  

get lost

which I've found

you cannot do 

accidentally

to night 

I fight

gravity

pinned in place

notching another

non event rising day.

Image by Chameleon, via Wikimedia (Public Domain).

Just passing through

You are going to think
I am out of my mind but
sometimes
I pretend I am a tourist
in my town....
Just a traveler passing through
time and place, spacetime and outside
myself.

I examine the flora and fauna,
trees, blades of grass, the dress
of the locals
as though I've never been here before.

I watch the people on the streets, mid-week
converse or casually pass by
with warm smiles
and think it must always be sunny here.

I see dayworkers, most of which
nice enough, don't live here.

The police are all pleasant, people
drive generously,
children are clearly safe
on the streets with all
wheels welcome-
what a world they've made here.

A parade is about to begin,
Homecoming, again.
Art murals on walls,
scenic electric boxes,
cute painted fire hydrants
let no spot
be unbeautified-what a place!

Then I see me
driving around, doing errands,
chores, walking, sitting, reading,
and every time
I think-
It is clear as day,
there is no way 

she is local,
she is not from here.
But look-
she sees me watching, 

she's the only one
aware I'm there.
She smiles,
not like them,
and is clearly miles away.




Image by Robert Payton Reid, 'A summer's daydream' c. 1896 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Cockcrow of the crows and a cockatoo

There are city dwelling birds

that are not your common stool pigeons.

The ravens occupy the east

side of the tracks.

The gulls guard the windy west.

On garbage day they all rise early

not for worms in the green box holes-

they know the small fries

are at the bottom of paper bags.

We had a murder

before our pine tree was felled

from illness. Yet, like serial flyers,

they moved to another pine,

preferring needles and sap

to the plethora of palms;

mexican fan, kintia, canary, 

the King and Queen and the Phoenix.

The ravens also get dates,

taking them out to 

happening intersections

and drop them so they 

get cracked by cars,
rolling through

while the fair gulls glide along

bellies filled with stale soft bread-

And I remember good old Fred.

Taken in and taught by those

crows

how to

blend in seamlessly-though he's a cockatoo.

They fly as one flock

rise and cockcrow,

the gulls sneer and squawk.

The city birds are not blind

deaf or dumb, 

winged with wayward choice

The murder

doesn't mind

one more white bird

or a cock or two. 

Image By Liftarn (Traced from Image:Odin's ravens right.PNG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.