Tying rainbows on Mt. Moody

Up there-
rolling in cumulus
open fields,
tumbling down with
empyrean echoes-
they sniffled
there
and heaved a last great sigh
before resting
as simply shaded shapes
or hanging
thunder clouds.
Where
they lay
their puffy heads atop
the solemn iron mountains,
they reflect
your steely glance in silver volumes
of sharp light.
And slice right through
grey matter
with gentle insistence
by ninth degrees.
Up there
the birds begin to
propose,
always asking
hopefully...
They then spun
a soothing song
across beryled acoustics
waving conductive wands.

That is where
the avians weave bows
in the rain,
seeking to tame
those tangled tresses
inherently
cast over cold
granite shoulders
where shale shawls
lie stoic
dark and morose
under the mercurial masonry,
They are
always adding color,
muffled and soft
unflappably
making rainbows
with nothing but stone and air
up there.

"I try to think about rainbows when it gets bad,  

You have to think about something to keep from going mad." 

-Gwen Stefani (In My Head, No Doubt)

Image of Mount Rainer in Washington state, US, By US National Park Service (http://www.nps.gov/media/photo/gallery.htm) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

DNA (strands)

No end to end

words cannot be said to you

just every non-thing.

Image of painting by Carl Larsson [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Do you have a light?

Carrying a torch
I suspect, like the rest of us-
Firestarters.
Literal ignitors.
Incinerate is also one of my favorite
injections.
Annihilate also,
an equally affectionate term
of endearment; intrinsically, me.
Who'd like to
Obliterate the words into invisible
strands of silken smithereens
that contrail traces of sulphuric smoldering
acid rain and combust blood as dry rust
when mixed with ink.
I think
I am betwixt.

I trust truth
shot from the canons lip
as if it would help
the self-destruction, vis-a-vis
reconstruction along
To start a pyre and burn it all up
before any further corruption
acting like battery acid
leaks out, infuses or incites
one of those pesky muses,
Andromeda forbid.
Albeit-
if you can read this
I remain,
sparkless.



Image of painting by Eero Järnefelt (1893) Burning the brushwood [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Gene-us species

If the majority of people
you meet
misspell your name,
are you required to assume
that alias as yours (truly)
and claim it thusly-in spite
of the misnomer moniker it may be?

If I discovered post facto,
or say, hypothetically, a friend like me
learned their own last name,
denoting origin,
the one they thought was (a) given-
had ex-ante been but taken
for granted as a
charitable donation
and was in-factually, inherently,
a miss-ambiguation,
how can one conclude
where I,
I mean they, are coming from?

And then in the murky middle
floats a little note
of a single syllabic stress
to appease
simp-lee
the soundest
advice-
Yes.
Free to choose
any one that suits, so
call me what you will,
I will be namely unknown.



Image of painting by Pieter Brueghel the Younger, 1621[Public domain], the Village Lawyer, via Wikimedia Commons.

Relief Map

Maps help
with plot lines
direction and depth-
if the spacing is accurate-
to scale, even the unknowns
should be measured accordingly.

A guide
shows the popular points
of interest to some obscuring
the curvature of the surface to
others topography via metonymy
giving a greater gist of breadth with
markers that scratch the surface

As smells
are anything but incidental
like streams too insignificant to note
but make dead ends and detours
from the way it was
to the way we get to Be
finding from A point

You are Here
and Now
you know
Where you've been
topographically alleviated
From
lost in place.




Image By Batholith, Mt. Fuji (Wikimedia Commons) Batholith (Wikipedia) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Mary Poppins (my balloon)

Do you ever wake up with a smile already waiting
behind your mask,
it feels and looks like
No worries,
it's all good,
my pleasure,
and all are true
and on that day
for some strong sensational vibe
that moves in rolling waves
that nothing can pierce your levitated mood
or drag down your magic carpet
-that without any specific reason or cause-
every-single-thing
makes perfect
sense,
it all adds up
it all works perfectly the way
it should, the right answer,
poetic justice, (re:)solutions and serendipity
and
it's all real?

Not really?
Me neither.



Image detail: Hot air balloon from poster "Le Ballon, bulletin trimestriel de toutes les ascensions; 6me année Janvier, Février, Mars 1883. Un numéro: 75 centimes. Pour tous les états compris dans l'Union Générale des Postes. Rédaction et bureaux A. Brissonnet, Propriétaire Gérant, 127, Bd. Sébastopol, Paris. Advertising for the French aeronautical journal "Le Ballon" shows a balloon carrying two passengers flying in the clouds Chromolithograph by E. Pichot, imprimeur, Paris, 1883.

The Earth in equipoise

Home,
the word hums
and soothes in smooth repose,
perpetually proves, be-
longing, to know hospitable
conditions are predictable.

We hold these truths
in suspension,
taut in timely tension,
grounded in granite,
equating gravity
with magnanimous motive.

She spins out
like a top
to a point
where sound and light
are white
in stasis
harm-ony
equate-or
aligned in orbital
epi-phany.
Home.


Image taken By NASA/Scott Kelly from ISS 7/19/2015, Moon, Venus, Jupiter, Earth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.