Uncategorized

Timely Death of a Muse

My muse died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or amuse
what was never mine to use
as I see fit,
hear fitness,
feel fitfully?

This muse dies tonight
not from old age
as I had long predicted
must be my sad and unread case,
but for a new voice
or vice,
for deeper lyrics
and wider melodies
and globally local choreography
perhaps a ridiculous younger person’s game.

They say
not to write, unless you must;
Not to paint
or sing
or dance
or become a prostitute
unless you would otherwise eco-bust
ego-lust away this lifeline.

If you can live with something,
most anything, else
to occupy your time
and pay the rent,
then do
and be those more civil relationships instead.

It never occurred to me
perhaps because They didn’t say so,
I might do most everything else
so I could retire into writing
and reading
and singing
and dancing

But not prostitution
because no one would pay
for what I can not give away
with integrity intact.

I miss this muse already
but doubt she even remembers me,
a right hand
useful
responding to her labored demands
too ponderously telling,
psychic yelling,
when I longed to show in grace
integrity’s newest face
rhythm pattern pace
divinely humane race
robustly timeless space
without dissonant disgrace

Showing
not telling,
Belonging
not longing,
Dancing
not marching,
Singing
not shouting
to and with and for
tomorrow’s mute muses,
today’s deaf listeners,
amusing to move on
with overflowing emotions
not mere museless motions.

Now I have broken
my only two rules of unself-conscious writing.

1. Never mention the muse aloud
or dead
for She abhors a nonvacuum
of light,
and

2. Never write
about writing,
For the same non-reason
that optimal sexual
sensual
neural experience
cannot happen
if my sole
and sold-out purpose
is this Great Orgasm.
of we-consciousness.

My more retiring amusement died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or ever timelessly muse
what was never mine to use?

Standard
Uncategorized

Gaia’s Curious Meadows

Queen Gaia
hopes to more resiliently return
to marijuana grazing meadows,
rather than supporting
worn-out tobacco and oil
industrial fields.

That’s what LaoTsu breathed
industrious mountains in Yang,
valley nurtured rivers flowing out
WinWin baptismal YinYin.

Whatever could that mean?

Rumor is,
about those sonnets?
Written transformed
by SolarYang outside enlightenment,
and nondual endarkenment,
to his liberated left feels West,
And incensed by EarthSoul THC
breathed in conservatively right feels Eastern
innocent dawn
from nearby smoking pot.

Ummm…
I thought there was something queer about him.
Disturbingly paradoxical.
Always on chaotic fences
about what’s natural ecology
and what’s spiritual theology,
mixing them multiculturally
and metaphysically up
and down
and across rivers
of bilaterally flowing time.

All those YangLife PositivEnergy therapeutic restorations
with Yin WinWin
notnot ZeroZone Resonance,
harmonic spiraling octaves
of double-fractal regenerative
DNA with RNA flow,
indeed.

Indeed.
Sounds a bit more like LeftBrain dominant
Tipping Pointed Bucky Fuller
than RightBrain dominant
LaoTzu
and his NorthernLIght sonnets
wu-wei
in-between
poetic licenses.

So you think the whole THC thing
is a cosmic MotherGaia hoax?

But not so much a paranoid conspiracy theory
about what some prayed
was higher divine
RightBrain deep listening inspiration.

I think
and feel
health would be Earth’s highest
and best
ZeroZone Wealth
secular ecological–Left
sacred theological–Right
Restorative Ego/Anthro/Eco Therapeutic
WinWin Resilient PolyCultural Outcomes.

I think writing outside,
compared to inside,
feels narrative
with my skinpores open,
my NorthernLight ears able to hear
most everything worthy of listening to
right WiseElder healthy now.
My nose able to smell EarthSoul wealthy fragrances.
My eyes able to see
what more nutrition importantly
unveils PositivEnergy Democracy
behind
and beyond
this Left to Right handwritten notebook
static
stale Elitist page.

Standard
Uncategorized

Hearing Colors

When I see in colors
I say Yes
softly or loudly
and usually in-between
depending on our vibrancy together.

When we see in black and white,
we say maybe yes
and perhaps not
and other shades of ambivalent grey.

I cannot see in black
as I cannot see white at all
except perhaps as shades of transparency.

When I hear in resonant music
I say Yes
to truths of resolution,
trusting resilient motions of emotion
integrity of life
life as integrity
potentiating further regenerations;
new songs for perpetuating tomorrow.

When I hear in words
I’m listening for what’s missing.
Lyrics without a melody
are just more disappointing words.

I see best in full dressed color
and hear our dynamic truths
most resonantly as music
in soft sizzling preludes
on through conflagrations
loud climatic revolutions
followed by silence
black as night
waiting for white
bright dawning colors
dancing new music
vibrant washed.

Learning in full octave ranges
we can see a child
listening for a parent
seeing community developers
and violators
listening to fellow politicians
longing to write and read
hear and speak poetry together
while seeing as musicians
swelling gospel choirs
and drumming
burning orchestrations
of co-redeeming music
in full non-flagging flames of color.

When we hear in colors
we see full octave best
until it’s time for rest
notes that last
until they don’t
turn just right bright
vibrant multicolors.

Standard