Packing Up

Moving out feels much sadder
than moving in, more gladder–
which is poor grammar
for severance of love’s embodied glamour.

Packing up
feels more like packing in
and down,
cutting ties with my own stage,
this playful working space,
for everyday self
and other witnessing life

Not a fabulously grand stage
but my intimate memories
triggered by damp basement
through dusty attic,
inside resonant
and outside growing resilient,
front yard exhibitions
and back yard more inhibited glimmers
and shivers,
and emotive rivers

Moving out
without regard for loss
feels too surgical,
silent shriek of bad faith
divestment from personal
cultural placement
more sacredly cherished
than secularly calculated
in clock time to move on.

My best therapeutic intent
to know I leave this tiny spot of Earth
at least as healthy
and beautiful
as I have found her
while unpacking
in her abandoned
bramble thorned sadness
inviting my hope-filled gladness
too few years ago.


Historic Traces

Embracing my retiring place
includes not only green and granite geographic dimensions
in space
But also extending back experienced roots
of 264 seasons past
having co-evolved this matriarchal wombing 2020 present

As if co-gravitation of historic time
with current place
were a creative pre-visioned design of space
dipolar co-arising deja-vu choice
to embrace, with coincidental love revivals,
or disgrace, with even more bipolar fear-mongering,

And usually something merely mortal
yet immortally cooperative
in-between what has been competitive Win/Lose explained
and what could become WinWin integrity
of exclaiming dance and song

Embracing my ego place,
How could that go wrong?
While not ignoring ecosystemic health
of this historic evolving space,
sacred integrity of revolving incarnations,
romantic race
toward multiculturing grace,

Withour fear’s least merely secular


Places I Would Become

Places I like to be
look like faces I could become
looking at opportunities and risks
for this place I have come to be.

Faces I would like to see
looking back and forth with sky and trees,
flowers and healthy seeds
flowing down clean rivers
of cooperative mindbody economies,
smiling our mutually political gratitude
for healthy happy polyculturing faces.

Graces Earth regenerates to share,
reincarnate Time’s investments
through healthy places with clear-flowing faces.


Metaphysics of Poetry

All language evokes poetry
to those with ears to hear it.
And yet,
All stinky farts are blare of trumpet
to those without noses to smell it.

Nouns are verbs waiting to sound dynamic
to those with ears to love them,
nouning, prenouning, verbing, renouning
contentment or contentiousness
between these known and reknown labels,
metaphysical evolution of poetic language.

Verbs are fractile,
mutually holon-icalling,
four temporal dimensional unfolding,
to those with bicameral minds to watch them

Fold, such as “light”
UnFold, such as “not lighting”
PreFold, such as “en-lightening”
ReFold, such as universal enlightening diastatic reiteration,
or not so much,
as compared to “Light”, back in former moment
of MetaLanguage eco-systemic temporal memory.

Verbs are fractile-holonic
just as ecological paths
follow Earth’s economic goals
to eco-politically plan
a ReCycling P=N(NP) EcoPolynomial
InForMating BiCameral Processing and Storage
CoOperator InfraStructure,
QByte octave/di-fractal-polar= (0)-interest soul,
where “interest” is integrative, inductive +/(-,-),
Win-Win binary gaming systemic,
to and for those who have mindbodies
investing perhaps too much competitive v. cooperative
RealTime flow on-line

Probably writing poetry,
or humor
or speaking with ecotherapeutic intent,
for both our Interior Landscapes,
and/or our RealTime Exterior Special Case Natural Landscapes,
sometimes including frequencies and functions
of organically synergetic/dissonant families,
upstairs/downstairs going through their day
with/without you.

All hope is eisegetical faith,
corroborated only by those who exegetically LOVE!
to share
our contented,
peacefully rational,
polynomially eco-logical
in-formation as bicamerally (-,-) temporal-lobe exformating
balanced octave prime relationship functional
with double-fractal harmonic
regenerative systemic
PermaCultural (0)-soul Memory.

All poetry evokes language
to those with eyes to see it revolving
eco-logically reiterative cycles
of internal seasons with external reasons
as external seasons with internal reasons,
bicameral metaphysics of language
and rationality
as poetically informating evolution.

And yet,
there are those stinky farts to reconsider…


Greetings to a Profane Space

A new home feels slightly pregnant
with possibility
yet empty of sacred reality

Not yet any echoing memories
of bumps on stairs,
late night scraping chairs
stuffed with familiar intimates.

Organic warmth sacrificed with each move,
attenuation of sacred relationships
with a new view,
a different character of silence,
more inscrutable
than mere absence of familiar sounds left behind.

Each move a commencement
toward a renewing sense of home
and incarnation
of ego-self within eco-other
nondually co-arising
toward a more sacred place.


Beauty School

Pupils do not smile;

they do shrink or swell

inviting light’s response,

or not so much.


Beauty bursts surprising grace in place and space.

But infatuation,

addictive potential love of beauty,

hope becoming faith,

sustained or unsustainable through repeating peace recovery.


Beauty grows through relationship,

the surface of goodness,


or even excess.

Creative beauty thrives through time

each moment we return to places

where rejoin our longing and belonging

our purpose with our meaning

our becoming in this being

our function in this in-formation

at this time

and in this relationship of home.


Pupils do not smile so much as mutually swell.

Man/Sha Legends

Professors Beaver and Peacock’s Sex Talk

Dr. Beaver: So, I am curious, what do Peacocks, over in the Philosophy Department, do for a good time?

Dr. Peacock: Not in that tone of voice. Too shrill.

Beaver: Sorry, didn’t mean to ask at you.

Peacock: That’s right. Deeper, down in your chest.

Beaver: What, are you an M.D. now?

Alright then, from my heart to your ears, what do you do for fun, if you don’t mind my asking such a bridge-building question.

P: Not at all, but I’m surprised you don’t already prehend that Peacocks lay graceggs, which is how the party gets started. But, the real fun begins as we regeneratively incubate them.

B: Oh yes, I can imagine you can become wickedly emphatic and synaptic with all that grand plotting going on.

In the Communications Department we have string building parties. Well, OK, occasionally producing an orgy of sustainable delight, but I’m not comfortable talking RNA, and all that.

P: Well I wish you were, we use those fertile string-forms in our graceggs for compost. But you guys never invested enough attention in regenerative string and graceggs, as I recall.

To bad, and ironic too, because we couldn’t hatch an egg in Philosophy if you guys hadn’t produced the book on Consonant Balance Principles of Interaction. Dr. Norton’s influence is enormous, for Peacocks, especially with the newer EcoMetaphysician strain.

B: Yes, well, we produce our most resilient strings on the more engineering and design side of Communications. Those Wellbeing Polydoctors are a little off their egg, or so it is eisegetically postulated by the Bridge Builders Guild.

P: Not to protect my own nest, but I think if they would remember that the best strings will someday be fertilizing our most abundantly organic graceggs, AND it is our graceggs that inspire their next generation of string polyculture, then maybe they would finally get it that it takes two to sustainably tango, if I may speak of dance and motion, graceful cooperation of pace and place.

B: I notice that rhetorical move into rhythm. What’s that about? Are you making deeper moves toward me?

P: I most urgently and widely hope so.