Uncategorized

August Storm

It started the 8th of June
moving away from too familiar
into too alien,
finding no sane oasis between.

Vibrant greens relentlessly fade
to wilting mono-academic drought.
Brown patches emerge with dulled loss of inspiration
of what might have been a family
an ecological home
a contenting pasture for aging bones,
hinky synapses flaring thorny tornadoes
of over-heating defeat.

Boxes realign themselves
incomprehensibly hiding any heathy value
in their move
from what could have been here
if not left there
where fading memories survive
my loss of regenerate presence.

Bags batter
bursting malignant neglect.
Chairs no longer fit
for seating hot self-abusive tempers
of displaced despair, dismay, dissonance.
Dust defecates deafening destiny.

A house that should be homeless
grows incipiently grateful for our habitual care;
downsizes redemptive purgation
into shrinking simplicity of violence
to invisible,
yet screaming silent strangling sensory strings
still slipping
sparkling vents glaring
glacially through stagnant July.

Then,
early August morning spills thick black.
Tall elder treetops sway above,
straining radical rooting systems below
with hope yet fear of cathartic free-flight wildness,
drama of release from double-bondage ambivalence
from petulant
radiant
hot diastolic July.

Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls
competing back against falling drops of grace.
Transition storms through purging soul
stuck in discontenting worthless purgatory
in space without place
house without home
quasi-faith without hope
place with cavernous time
yin mindful without yang passion.

Earth and Sky roar co-arising dark wet flashy passion.
Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated designing culture’s skin,
bleaching dark co-passions through dry-cracked exegeting crevices.

“Abatement is not removal!”
Political abatement is not ecological removal
wild Wicked cackles demented co-investing delight.
“If great transitions were regenetic
then messianic nomads would rule our universalities,
pilgrims would landscape Promised Land RealTime Estates
with co-arising eco-karmic bilateral nutritious confidence.”

The storm abates,
drought removed.
Thunder claps and sighs farewell.
Brief time
now
to soar as evening’s rainbow
before fair decomposing haze horizon
rolls over light’s last disarraying gasp.
As night promises peace,
Thunder cracks and shakes one last remembering.
Yin’s serenity is not always Yang’s sanity.

Promise smiles integral syncopathic teardrops
on this hot tin roof.

Standard
Uncategorized

Tree Flying

Watching each moment,
as high as bone and flesh weight allow,
in my low-limbed high-rise chestnut tree,
immersed in meadow sea of bird-flight creation,
I hope to hear our past
folding back to inform empathic feeling.
A memory,
a smile with bemusing frown.

I become benign prey
of watcher’s warm, yet sometimes too distant stale, intent.
Grace absorbs
through warm skin sky
up and out into warmer guts of flying synergy.

These are my claim on graced Elders
watching in my direction
only when I remember to notice them
waving, oscillating, spinning in and through and by me.
Informing my inner space and flow,
settling my Earthly tenacious rooted infrastructure.

Elixir of warm August humid breezes
breathing watchers in;
breathing echo watched insides reversed out
to feed these weaving sultry leaves.

If I notice empathic trust
then I am gratefully watched.
When I am grateful for in-between prehension
then I am gracefully watching ecotherapeutic us,
together,
tree and me,
riding just-us under tallest canopy of waving leafy branches,
floating Elder trees,
flying breeze
forever.

We are weaving won
waving out
surfing slowly back toward wind-stormed sun.

Standard
Uncategorized

Shoveling I-Cycles

He said he planned to freeze to death.

Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time’s deep freezer of waiting.

No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment in future plans.

I hope and believe that I will choose
when to freeze my death.

I remember his hope
stepping out into Connecticut’s perfect nor’eastern,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite
states and histories,
but then dragging more gracefully out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschey views
framed from inside
by silent flickering orange light
of coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating dry welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint,
while I remember to step
onto my snow covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.

This would be a good New Connected way too die.
Shoveling snow in paradise
evening’s post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow blowers
to finally rest.

Without anger or disappointment.
How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light?
Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death’s diastatic elational surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWin play
as recreating love-life
by day
and regenerating CoLover’s Love of love ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night,
speaking trough nor’easter’ wind
of light redemption
and bright winged mythic co-reception.

If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night’s threshold,
freezing away from carnating restraint
of graceless angry fear of lively shadows
and losing ego’s permacultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace,
recomposing Earth’s Tribal Golden Embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
elating pure true resonance.

He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth’s Paradise,
echoing co-radical Presence.

My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Revolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia’s delicious musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time’s threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing Presence,
free at last to climax multicultural Elation.

Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love’s timelessly available freedom,
when each breath grows sacrament
baptizing love’s diastatic promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth’s ravenous trees of upside-down wisdom.

It’s all so intensely rich and deep,
frosty,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living
to enjoy a dancing Full Moon dying
to become his already present EcoArising Presence.

CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut’s normative normal
natural business
nor’eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply within
newly laid embryonic blanketing womb
tomb.

I hope our kids won’t worry or ever fear
that we’ve chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in quiet reConnecting home.

He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth’s Tribe,
co-rising Time’s elating love,
CoPresent.

Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.

Standard
Uncategorized

Silent Storm Seduction

She laces this dark late winter’s evening
with white manna grace,
flowing flying frosting
folding in and over and around
dark naked tree limbs
dressing up and out
under icey liminal networks
of down and in-flowing rivers,
emptying out onto cold cover
of water’s frozen lace-flaked sea,
hovering over what had been our pedestrian front lawn,
now transformed and mesmerized
with diastatic ice crystals
twinkling in response
to their ice-fire children
following in their post solstice pilgrim path
to die their individuality
within this here-now view.

I smile, perhaps flirtatiously,
with this shy winter’s virgin dream,
a stubborn storm of snow softly settling
quieter than white-noise still quietly,
so so civilly, right,
a silent black and white moving set
framing a wonderful life.

She does not smile back
but I feel her cold embrace
teasing tickling of too-perfect beauty,
hope imagining she could sleep within this heavenly blanket
dreaming down her winter’s rain
of deep composting thirst,
drinking through walls of hibernation
dreaming of spring’s warmest winding offer.

This could go on all night
this reverse stalking
and inside window peeping out
across front and back porches
at Gaia’s grace elational transfiguration,
silent sacred ecodrama major
showing off her magic show
for those with ears to see through silent
first snow of momentous perennial occasion
falling just in time
to brighten renewal day for dreams
of Beloved DiaFramed black with white Communities
through this silent storm of love.

Impossible to ever be the same again.
Unlikely to become unlover.
Such elegant purgation grace!
I would dishonor her
to not sleep within our silent storming space.

Standard
Uncategorized

February Winds

Sunday morning
time for sabbath sacraments.

He steps out into a gusty wind,
some fat splattering sweeps of raindrops
falling across his porch roof
on down through the roaring river valley,
forcing, then ebbing
storm of February wind with rain,
a wondrous primal pair,
he adores.

The birds have started liturgical dance
and songs of ritual and regeneration
without him.
Already flying up in quick dives of floating play
with speaking time,
singing back to Brother Wind
howling on his way.

Calling, chanting cantors, conjoining
swelling sacred song of anti-gravity
for co-arising blissful sweeps of sound,
karmic atmosphere swirling time-rich
sacred rites across his house-bound skin.

Sound of incense sweeps down his river,
north to south with warmer hopes and economic intentions,
reminding it was his time for political baptism.

She incanted from the bathtub
in short gusts of warm blast enculturation,
joining his internal gospel choir,
chirping her oppositional descant
challenging and prophesying and occupying
in full-voiced roar of need
as want
right now,
and seldom bothering a please,
much less a thanks
for caring as best he could
to hear her oppostional rhythms and patterns,
irritating flows of hard-blown breath
with attitude.

Storming and brewing
birds cheering rage in her brain
shouting at co-arising gravity
to blow another way
with her exegetical universe,
her way,
the only way
she can imagine
to function in a reverse and upside down
political world of unheard powerlessness
when inside
she can only find her loud-voiced demands
to turn life around,
spin this slippery wind of Earth
to blow in her right liturgical way.

Baptism completes this wind drenched requiem
of full-life as anti-death survival
to cooperate this week’s regenerate vocational intent
and ecopolitical practice.

She joins her dad
for one last look
through jaundiced eye
at drenching rain that could fly back
from whence it came
if only wiser timed to start this day.

Birds now pray their benedictions
quietly in wind-protected nests
while he listens to swollen postlude protest
against co-gravitating time,
uprooting old rooted systems
decayed for newer octave use
as compost fading into swaying trees
waving back to join upriver’s grace of windblown time,
and forth to rejoin downriver’s centering roots
through February’s purging Earth
decomposing dance.

He closes his door to time’s external grace
to watch a smile warmly cross her chronic face
like a gust of refreshing wind
through a rainy karmic life.

Standard
Uncategorized

Free Reign

Wild grains of ice

blow, swirl,

wave

form flurried frosty fantastic clouds,

evaporating as they float up

to form a soft steel sky,

bleak backdrop behind

swaying naked trees conducting

dancing

singing

winter’s full-blowing opera.

 

Some approach

briefly wave

bowing

bouncing isolated moments,

white lace water,

incarnate grace of space.

 

Bands and billows

tornado up

sweep down blanket roofs

around

and past,

greet this eternally dramatic day,

then move on

continuing adventive play,

compassioning breath and blood beat.

Standard