Uncategorized

Dancing Across Together

We came across this Earth together
and you’re still here.

We sail through all these sunlight days
and moonless nights
togathered in,
and we hear still.

We swim through all our fears to drown
what fills my rage.

We march through angry Earth apart
and disappear.

Or dance across this Earth together
so we’re still here.

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Uncategorized

Scriptures of Communion

In prose,
Writers hope to accurately capture
both felt and thought experiences,
realistic and unrealistic,
in a way that suggests
our writer knows and can deeply feel
the differences and similarities
between realistic and not so much.

Poets hope to not only capture
accurately felt and thought experiences,
realistic and unrealistic,
natural and spiritual,
but share this internal experience
embedding and thereby challenging
writers’ readers in shared language of communion.

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Uncategorized

Last Climate of Night

Lyrics to Auld Lang Syne
Jim Scott, inspired
Gerald Dillenbeck, deranged

May all who venture forth today
be welcome ‘ere we go,
And those who risk a gesture kind
reap all that we would sow.

For love will reach across this time
disarming anger here.
Let all misunderstanding rest
these last hours of our fear.

May all find shelter in our warmth
of new friends as with old,
Where errors past may be forgiv’n,
bright futures swell foretold.

Beyond these embers dying here
to raise a flame anew
Unbound by clock and climate fear,
our song rings clear and true.

Let tales of loss and victory
inspire us all again
And may bold resolve find support
of healthy climate friends.

Surrender final judgments here
so small in vast pretext.
Thus might these last nights of our fear
be first lights of what’s next.

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Uncategorized

Lost Lake Odessa

My world spins round
too fast most times
from Greek deep roots
on Black Sea ports
to cross Jordan’s River
on Catherine’s Great
trains meet sailboats
greeting sea planes
flying off to ports unknown
throughout my Lake Odessa Highways.

Where Ottomans
blend Spanish matadors,
heroes for my day
and night bleeds forth
a calvary of force
to please titillating whims
of Lake Odessa’s middle class czarinas.

I can’t go home again
to places never born.
My mind can roam
and try to swim
and fly to where and what
and whom and why
we might have been
if we had built
a fine fair fortress
for peace that loves to rock
and sing sad songs
of what sights have been
in Lake Odessa.

Instead of gangs
and clicky clacks
we learn polycultured quacks
to flap and honk like Canadian geese,
to transubstand she ate
where America
begins to end
through Lake Odessa’s streets.

I’m much too busy
and self-important
sleep deprived
and programmed lose to lose
to win our way
back home again
where Lake Odessa meets.

The role of God
as played by me
writing comic operas
only kids can see
was what I loved
most secretly
in long lost Lake Odessa.

We need a better god for now
bringing peach tree jams
immortality
of love as wise
reframes lost loves
to live in jesting jars
of honeyed sweet
corns and thorns
for testing streets
tasting ancient Greeks
on shores of Lake Odessa.

We’re coming back
to save each other
from what might have been
without sly rudders,
tipping posts from wu wei mothers
to rebuild our crystal castle love
of forms that buzz with life
and tours that sag with history
spinning sprays of licks and waves
lapping soft and sandy
on long gone skies
of sanguine Lake Odessa.

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Uncategorized

Sensory Overload

What’s left of my mind
when I open my mouth
is the part I could never say.

What’s left of my mind
when you open yours
is a place I hope we can stand.

What’s left of my soul
when you open my eyes
is time soaring through blue brown skies.

What’s left of my soul
when you show me your eyes
is a smile for your own,
send me light.

What s left of my heart
when I open my ears
screams revolting hot climate fear.

What’s left of my heart
if you’ll open yours
is the part I most need to hear.

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