It is here at the point where no life exists
where shadows lurk and life is made
while Creation does nothing but watch itself
in a hole that never ends

Ether dances and joke at beginnings of dust
as we bring to life that which longs to smell
misty dew, try luck and fate on stages of illusion

Here we eat pomegranates in custard
apple skin, breathing in salty spice from
pink peas in tunnels of horns
here throats are channels of finality
columns of joy in hope

Here silence is the loveliest sound
sights contest to bloom on trees of golden chandeliers and flimsy nightgowns after
dinner mints

At this point of open fluid blueness
sightless serpents mingle with  lights down
their spines
bracken love is made then broken like
crockery on a shelf overburdened with fear

At the beyond orange magic exists in
hair without roots, round and round
in bones without marrow, mouth to tail
as God puts together noses and arses
makes granite curves with candy floss fingers

Here man is woman, woman man
goddesses in curls and red sequined
slippers witness Tarzan at work eating
pineapple with prickles, tongue to tongue

Here a point becomes the only space
space falls into time, time into circles
numbers into letters, letters into nothingness
while black Persian cats cavort on blankets
of faith

At the beyond things jump and don’t move
spring by standing still, guitar notes run
along in blessed focus, locked in flights
of danger

Here you fall and fall, scream a soundless scream ~ blond lashes in a teacup filled
with **** and *****, where a flame is
not a straw to hang on

At the beyond it is so !

Her body
Crafted delicately by nature
Felt like stone

Her mind
Created with every thought
Was wired and tired
together envisioning chaos

Her life
Changing on the day to day
Yet not at all
Was hers
Whether she forgot it or not

the scent of perfume that still lingers on me
heavy and pungent, yet loving and caring.
the roses i gave to you on that monday morning,
a reminder, everlasting and pure.

remember it once, twice, maybe a third,
but don't forget

the roses that wilted I replaced anew,
life that brought contours to your smile.
the constant reminders of safety:
did you get home?

remember these little gifts
i had given even when saddened or tired.

the will to stay even as you push me away,
painful, but love nonetheless.
the promise i held "you, just you
did i write infatuation with my heart."

remember the gift:
don't forget my love.

with light there is darkness,
but in those rainy days, the
moments that are pitch black
no escape from the mind, alone.

I find my voice in the static,
pickup the pen, and I write.

Robinson Jeffers: The House-Dog's Grave

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you,
If you dream a moment,
You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no,
All the nights through I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read‚
And I fear often grieving for me‚
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope that when you are lying
Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.

No, dears, that's too much hope:
You are not so well cared for as I have been.
And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided...
But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

I AM POETRY

‘In the Beginning
was the Word’
light penetrated dark
sound big-banged birthed
three in One creating
~ P o e t r y ~
I am this poised superlative
unchanging yet exotically emitting
all that changes

I am Poetry
fruit of my desires
dropping when fully ripened
as words speaking to
people faraway
nourishing or subtracting
What matters is
that I liberate
alphabets from mental grids
to glide, fast fly, jump or
slowly crawl, landing
at destined places
swords or aces

I am Poetry
work, weep or whimper
not for me
I existentially trance dance
exit without entangling
whimsically encapsulate wisps that
glance at blank paper twists
to be embroidered emboldened in
ink ruby red, black or olive green
a mature Cosmic Queen

I am Poetry
free flow from fingers
fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only
for enticing enjoyment or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
or cantering competition, for I am
already elixired experience
before your digits
press mechanistic keys

I a m  P o e t r y
sequins of Love convoluted or rayed
I materialise in devotional service
purifying all other emotive sentiments
conditioned, romantic, maybe missioned
Heart is my home hearth where rest
my letters, verses, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered  intelligence
visioning dreamscapes Divine

I am Poetry
liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
free from living entities locked, blocked
aliveness is my Supersoul breath
giving voice to quarks,
electrons, protons, neutrons
which would fleetingly escape unnoticed
if I did not momentarily capture
their essence through my
observed stained leaded glass elixirs
bound for ether, if I please

I am Poetry
seeing action in inaction
followed by stillness in activity
transcendental whirlpools
in meteorological orbits I reach
my slender arms to ouroboros
them into language lyrical
or plain
burnished or wisely mundane
I cherish all utterances in sacred
spaces attuning words wholly for
Grace to sanely activate
remaining supremely unattached

I am P o e t r y
moving imagination in imperfect
perfection, exemplified waves or nodules
misty, foggy or clear
intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, dimensioned
I sizzle in my own dictating
fire realm, abandoned all
beginnings and all
Eternity, for I, consummated
voiced and fleshed
the W o r d

In the end I won our game,
Of who loves who more.

One of us still thinks about the other,
How leaving might've been the biggest mistake he'll ever make,
But taking it all back when he remembers all the ways you cut him down.
Even that brownie recipe,
You'd do anything to keep me attached to you.
Anything to keep me with you,
Even if it was twisted,
It was nice to need each other.

Though that won't ever happen again,
Now that the other has another.
It's eating me from inside out,
You saying you were here for me,
If I needed anything.
Turning right around,
All you wanted to talk about was how much better he is for you.

In the end I should've known,
On my ankle your sprout still grows,
Some sick parasite,
Digging into me,
This flower twisting up my leg,
One lasting memory of you,
Wants me to be,
The new black tulip.

empty shell filled with
butterflies, beautiful
liar; the mysterious
whisper just where
you almost couldn't
hear

hot air fills my lungs,
scream softly
"I'm just tired."

The light that is coming, will twist and then bend.
Shining deep in, starts your slavery to end.

Very bad men, morals colored from snow.
Standing between you and the things you didn't know.

The few are now ready with burdens they carry.
Removal of multitudes, if necessary.

Knowing that truth, is far darker than shown.
Lies will increase, though their chances are blown.

The struggling masses resisting the change.
Trapped in a program that's meant to derange.

A few will slip out, being called from above.
together we'll create, a new world made of love.

My breath escapes in fluttered
spurts as I chance upon again
The Dog, leashed and collared,
guarding some plant pots
in solemn contemplation.

A short chain winds up
a stark red pole, attached
loosely to some rusted railings.
It appears as if he could go
flailing out and struggle free
if a momentary scent or sound
would strike him.

His ear flinched,
as if the rustle of a leaf,
before returning to its duty.