Tag Archives: poetry
The Perpetual Beginner Poet
This may come as large surprise,
but I did once take a beginner’s poetry class
which I often confuse with my beginner parenting class.
In which we learned good verse
and voice
have structure
pattern
imprinting rhythm
rich metaphoric content
perhaps even epic regenerative story,
assonant bouquet,
climates of hue and cry.
Who would or could a poet be
or hope to at last become
and yet unresponsively disagree?
Not me.
Even so,
if what I write
cannot resonate within your calling day,
and hopefully tomorrow
and resiliently flow on back
through all your best, not worst,
imagined yesterdays,
Then we are not yet our resonant poetry
so it is not so richly mine,
nor true poetry at disfamiliar all
of any kind
or mean spirit
natural
or unnatural.
Strong poetry cannot flow anonymously
autonomous.
My poetic muse shrinks,
like wound from salt,
from capital competing
absent co-infested resonance
resiliently wounded assonance
cooperative co-governance
restorative resilience
of integrity’s best eco-aspirations.
Poetry
with green me
grows not only rhythmic swell
and political ebb,
but also liberating healthy smell
and not so hoarding ego fell.
Poetry praises time we share
nakedly co-resonant,
resplendent as spiritual underwear
inviting nature’s brilliant subharmonies
to speak again full-voiced revival choir
without degenerate
autonomous
naked despair
In which we learn good verse
and voice
have structure
pattern
imprinting rhythm,
rich analogic content,
perhaps even revolutionary story,
assonant bouquet,
climates of secular hue
and sacred silent cry.
Family Jazz Farmers
I am reading Wendell Berry stories
again,
still,
today.
And notice
over these past several weeks
he unfolds two bipolar themes.
Berry is,
was,
a cooperative Southern neighborhood farmer
of organic hospitality.
His protagonists grow on multigenerational farms
as Berry grows into writing while farming,
thereby farming readers
co-investing in cooperative
organic
ego-feeding
ecosystems.
But Berry’s NegativEnergy tension
emerges against nationalistic
anti-productive family
automated military ballistics
reaping death harvests.
All forms of death
are terror
in and outside Berry’s local farm community,
Yet death’s most absurd forms
are international and civil wars,
tariff warts and tumors
against short-handed family farmers.
As any farmer
worth her compost
knows,
Everyone losing opportunity for organic life
risks isolating
marginalizing
competing
de-commodifying death.
Similarly,
I hear an NPR commentator
this evening
remind us
Everyone loses empowering trade
in declaring wars.
Whether firing retributive ballistics
or tariffs
or both,
bleeding death and threat thereof
are the opposite of cooperatively farming
and feeding health
together.
Wars are LoseLose Games
unto violent absurdity
while cooperative farming,
planting and harvesting,
culling and replanting,
seed sharing and mutual cooperative composting,
multigenerationally,
is WinWin traditional healthy economics
and family politics,
secular democratic trust
and sacred faith
in PositivEnergy ZeroZone communities.
Similarly,
I hear another NPR commentator say,
of an iconic Jazz Master,
whose primary instrument
exploring high and low extremities
of piano-fortes:
He performed cooperative jazz
THE Right Way.
This seems to smirch the Master’s reputation.
Music performed THE Right Orthodox Way
is not jazz,
without capital-hoarding over-investments.
Jazz is not ballistically force-fed at people
Music sharing is about cooperative RightBrain planting
and harvesting invitations into resonant life.
Jazz performance
at its organic ensemble creolizing best
is about several right and left farming ways
inviting us to muse with
our right sharing amusing ways.
THE Right Ways
are about competitive performance wars–
who gets the biggest and baddest button
spotlight,
and not at all about jazz forms
of cooperative improvisational farming,
Recomposing stories
about healthy forest
and ocean
and breath
and light major 7th
and dualdark minor diminished
octave sharing.
I was dreaming Wendell Berry poetry
again resonant,
today.
HummingBirds and SpiderWebs
Where might we see
yin’s silent voice
surfing on a windstorm?
Where might we hear
AnimaMundi,
speaking with GrandMother MoonLight,
for octave systems
through PositivEnergy stringing words
of Mother Spider,
instinctively born
of fractal RNA wombs
Seeds of potentially perennial,
revolvingly dynamic,
unfoldingly systemic
spirited GeoLogical Time
Rhythms
ZeroCenter Zones of Pattern
Yet HummingBird Yang
of vibrant Joy
co-arises,
square fractal dances
flights consciously exercised
growing us joyfully smarter
than we really can fly
Northern up
Southern down
Western sunset backward dominant,
LoseLose dualdark
cosmology
Eastern dawn of Spring reborn
WinWin forward baptized
in resilient ecotherapies.
PostMillennial PositivEnergy
dialectals,
dialects of ZeroZen Tao
spoken ecometrically
as sung polyphonically by yin Spider’s
nutritional nesting Energy–
joyous celebrating networks
Octaved spider webs
with polypathic LeftBrain emergent
scales of flight
hovering joyous HummingBirds.
SouthernSoul with NorthernSpirit
Wild WinWin Revolutionaries with WiseElders
Young yin-webs
network hosting
listening for
full-flight
HummingYangers.
Where might we hear
yin’s silent voice
humming through a windstorm?
The Ambiguous Apprentice
When does ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically political verse?
I was emphatically reading pieces,
ambiguously written
about my sons,
to my oldest son’s girlfriend.
The longer I read
the more she cried.
Now it had been my hope
and passion
to become the next Kurt Vonnegut
of PolyCulturing Healthy Outcome Design,
or at least John Irving
at his all ecopolitical lives matter, and not, satirical best,
and so I finally had to ask,
Are these tears of sadness?
Yes and no.
Sometimes, says she,
mostly happy that someone else
sees him as I do
when I am at my best,
but sadness too
that we live in your world
of our own re-creation
about what you write
is too often left unsaid
uncreated
or even thought about.
I thought this might be a compliment
and so I read bravely on
through her quiet tears
of sad happiness
until she asked me to stop.
Could you teach me to write
like you?
No.
I doubt I could even help you write
like you.
Why,
are you having trouble writing by and of yourself?
Yes.
I worry I have nothing to say,
no place to safely yet nakedly live.
About half the poets
and novelists
believe that is a prerequisite
to great literature
and becoming an authentically mature artiste.
Having nothing to say.
Yes. But saying whatever very well.
And the other half,
what they mainly have to say
is to have something to say
which you would be wiser through hearing
yourself say
what you just said.
And if they believed
as does the opposing mindless half
then they would not embarrass themselves
by writing any no thing at all.
Well, which is right,
do you think?
More to your point,
which is right
about your writing?
If you can trust each empty page
longs to fill with your good humor
and best wisdom,
then you might begin
by having nothing on your Left languaged mind
except some brief turn of lyrical phrase
or return of some event
devoid of context
which musefully incarnates as content
as your pen rolls along each shaping word
and returning phrase
and 4 dimensional as seasonal
reasonal harmonic lines
and sentences for joyful life,
not just lonely sad death.
Next thing you know
sad death cooperatively together
restores joyful life justice
where lived sad loves lived evilly alone
and you are editing in search of paragraphs
to create sufficient spaces
between maturing lines of thought
you heard as one compare/contrast before
you’ve always said
and hoped someday to read,
then editing through pages of ego/eco-logical content
about…
what?
We’re not sure
until we’re done.
———————————————————–
She was crying again.
So I found an old barely used notebook
and a fresh pen,
a nearly full box of gaily pure white tissue
and handed them to her,
Suggesting she might write about tears
of sad yet lovely joy.
Where might I best begin,
she wisely asks.
At the top,
either left or right
depending on which hemisphere you most speak,
I not so wisely answer.
And, the first principle of multicultural story telling
is to be sure your reader
continues to understand and appreciate
and feel gratitude for
your protagonist
inevitably our favorite underdog,
because life’s a joyful sad bitch
but what are we going to gratefully do
with it?
The pen and notebook?
In your left and right hands?
So, I just start at the top
and re-imagine us
whether protagonist-in with antagonist-out,
or potential future solution
within a vexing co-present problem,
ways we choose to fold and unfold
sad space
as also joyful time of opportunity?
Spoken as a true tragic-comedy loving physicist
pretending to become a metaphysical teller of history,
your story,
written as we speak together
in domesticating yet still wild imaginations,
political thought experiments,
narratives,
prose as also poetry.
Precisely as I see our sadly joyful situation too.
All we have are protagonist underdogs
and antagonist overlords,
and each lies both sadly and joyously
across each bicameral heart and mind
singing
When I fall in nondual co-arising love,
we will be forever,
Reading stories of favorite sons
to tearful joys of future daughters
for revolutionary story telling,
more cooperative
than my damnably antagonistic
overlording sons!
When did ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically democratic verse?
People of Sacred Corn
People of sacred wild Cornucopias
found ourselves politically alone
competing to survive
in Earth’s choking climates
of totally domesticated despair.
Corn People,
PolyCultural Planners,
greeting Yang-behaving bean bodies
growing up and into our digestive tracks
and tracts,
our speaking parts,
to sing like tassels
our Divine Corn and humane Yang-beanish ego-rising lines
of harmony
co-arising nondual Earth anthems
of graceful GreatSpirit incarnation.
Domesticating corn people
finally also meet Yin’s squashed voices
flowing bilaterally out
well-grounded cooperative incorporations
intending divine corn
and Yang-bean
and Yin-squash
mutually braiding
weaving up and out
trimesters of rich
and deep
nutritional development,
with winter dormancy in-between
summerish diastases.
Corn and Bean and Squash diversity
during August pre-birth deliveries
reducing competitive domesticating relationships
to favor cooperative democratizing trinities,
of Spirit and Body and Bilateral Flowing UnSquashed Minds.
These corny holonic domesticating resources
enjoy differentiated cultural climates,
Diverse partners prevailing
through multicultural nutritional landscapes
up and out,
down-rooting and inward feeding feeling
as outward bleeding
into each Other’s Common-Space
and side-by-side solidarity reforesting times.
People of the Corn
and beans and squash,
co-domesticating temporal WinWin differentiations,
preoccupying Earth’s global climate
in different times of day and night,
months and years,
transgenerational eras and stages
of mutual democratization
into trust
bean-sprouting
within interdependent pumpkin patches.
People of the Corn
invite diverse beanish vertical needs
and polypathic squashy tendril outputs
in different revolving stages
of our mutual domestication,
integrity empowered
through deep nutritional gardens
and forests of time,
like climates of Earth,
organically democratizing solidarity.
People of sacred wild Cornucopias
found ourselves politically atoned
through competing to survive
in Earth’s stroking strumming climates
of globally democratizing,
healthy wealth,
Original PolyCultural Intention.
I’m Not Sure
I’m not sure
if nature’s spiritual voices,
if Earth’s cultural songs and dances,
are merely subjectively interesting
nutritional creolizing metaphors,
or if all ecological analogies
are necessarily and objectively interesting,
or perhaps even both,
sacred-secular co-arising.
When Pigs Can’t Fly
If love is healthy
and health is love,
whether a screaming rabid eagle
or a peaceful mother dove,
then it matters,
whether you are a pitbull
or a kinda bitchy beagle,
When someone nominates for CEO
a person who flat out tells you
I am a pig,
and not only that,
I could fly like an eagle
if not for all you lumpen doves,
Run,
don’t walk,
fly, if you can,
in most any other direction.
To do otherwise
is like saying healthy Earth
could be more lovely
if flying pigs
were plutocratic CEOs.
Singing Dance for Public/Private Health
What I care about
and what I am working
and even playing hard with
is better understanding what and how
we and Earth
communicate to and with each other,
regenerating mindbody health sometimes,
and yet degenerating pathological climates and subclimates,
gestalts,
ecopolitical chemistry puzzles and games,
systemic syndromes articulating wu wei
Tipping Points of MultiCultural ReGenerate Enthymemes.
Only up to half of effective human communication,
whether you talk or listen,
write or read,
or sing or dance or draw or sculpt or design or recreate,
or preferably all of the above,
is about word choice and language,
dialectal articulation
and successful transfer of accurately informing verbal messages
from a voice source to one or more ecosystemic receptors,
ears to linguistically and culturally hear
health v pathology of climatic autonomic feelings,
thoughts,
insights,
concerns,
prayers,
hopes and fears,
loves and angry-paranoid hates
and all complexities in-between these dipolarities of thinking/feeling.
The other half, or more, of communication and all that ecopolitical jazz
of dance and song,
is all about non-verbal context,
or/and natural climate,
or/and academic climate,
or/and political climate,
or/and economic climate,
or/and ecologically healthy historic-cultural climate,
or/and environment,
or/and medium of nature’s most regenerate messages
as positive over double-negative
double-binding eco-cosmological
Right-timeless/Left-EternalYangTime.
In communications theory,
we often focus on sight,
on what we can see of speakers speaking
and listeners listening and watching and feeling and caring, or not;
smiles and frowns
ups and downs,
happy-health and pathological down messages,
positives and negatives,
and even humors of oxymoronic double-binding not-nots
within time’s naturally unfolding logic
with analogical ego’s aesthetic mindbody live-function/evil-dysfunction,
Evilive is when light-filled healthy
and dualdark equipoise equivalently balance co-arising Tipping Points
of bicamerally balanced ecoconsciousness
transforming into a deeper, more resonate, climate potential
of and for rich-dense-harmonic-octaved positives,
as physical/metaphysical long-term trending regenerate multicultural health.
Yet communication,
as Thich Nhat Hanh observes,
is a function of nutrition and health,
and/or malnourishment and pathology,
so optimized messages
are not only redundantly heard and seen,
but also sometimes smelled and tasted and remembered
and touched
and felt
ecoconsciously and/or autonomically,
intuitively in reverse-deductive time’s enthymematic reweaving deja vu,
back to matriarchal loving womb’s non-paranoid DNA-inspired compost,
as portentious of good and bad to follow,
especially lensed-framed-calculated-climatized-hypnotized-actively hopeful for future anthro-bicameral
post-millennial
polypathic regenerations of peaceful multiculturing love.
As Earth’s clouds of unknowing
predict rains of water and light’s fertile nurturance,
predict trees with organically networking ecopolitical health-development roots,
predict an anthrocentric world of paper
predicting Earth cloud’s most viral DNA-sympathetic, non-paranoid, messages,
predicting more loving health
and less hating pathologically trending climates of devolving change,
through lack of full-enthymematic octave-optimized timelessly classic communication on our Golden Rule Tribe’s part,
especially as song and tribal 4-step danced
and hopefully as analogical/ecologically balanced nutritional poetry.
I so hope
you can and will write and sing and dance this enlightenment poem
back to me
in any polypathic dialect
we could all ecologically comprehend
as another great rich message out to fellow Earth Tribes,
We know we made this mess,
and feel really really bad about it,
but we sing and dance and ecopoliticize cooperatively
and hope to get better with this Golden Rule
of light’s regenerative fertility
through stronger yet more flexible harmonic co-arising balance.
How do you follow your ecopolitical light,
and learn from our dualdark TippingPoint shadows?
Dancing Soul Disorders
If I could write as dance,
sometimes get down mean
and sexy dirty blues,
recreating confusing hybrids
not safely translated in static language,
these ecstatic moments
entered and left without embodied holy shadows,
remembered fondly but soulfully
in smiling enspirited muscles
unwilling to let go of sensual life
without breathing glistened music.
Refrain training love moments to last through
passion rails of kicks and licks
balance taking giving leaps of faith
Earth will hold these swirling bones
bound arteries of flowing bliss
and dripping pulpy agonies.
Dance scripts unveil
moves and positions already body revealed and loved
within Earth’s kindness
and just balancing reward,
truth in and through beauty,
healthy love abundance in rich organic life
and peacefully arresting pause of death,
pregnant silent pause.
I lust not merely right write
but dance
with each cell swelling to sing
big and small
fast then slow
up as down
around each day’s choreography
on through abandoned freedom’s passion night.
If I could dance as write.
gdill52 