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DrewTM |
I thought it was Worth Noting.
Originally posted here.
The Evermore
to swing with you
on an old porch swing,
to sing with you
resounding songs of joy
that transcend language.
outpourings of feeling.
Together
like two fledgeling phoenixes.
wherever we want,
like bumblebees.
above the earth like silent watchers,
ready and poised
to enter being with a blast,
to exude living energy.
to sweep through the air and cross the sky,
and command the clouds
that tower in the firmament,
only to come down with the rain
and splash in puddles.
so soft,
but cold as ice
like the frigid air that brings exhilarating silence
when it's so cold we can see our breath.
to run on the moonlit grass in summer,
the cool blades prickling our feet
and the warm air swirling with the dance
that was written on our hearts at the beginning of time.
Or out on the earth,
conquering vast expanses of wonder,
discovering beautiful intricacies of being
and imparting upon life our hearts
that are beating.
This essence that fills our veins!
no one can take it away.
meet the boundless potential.
Drink in the day!
the evermore lies waiting.
no use staying only for life to arrive, and late.
no, we will meet it with a smile,
then challenge it to a neverending game of tag
God's green earth is out there,
He will show us the way.
we have many things to do and words to say.
To climb to new heights,
to live, to breathe.
not knowing where you are,
Here I am waiting
to begin the journey,
live life, and breathe
Labels: Drew
2 Comments
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Fred |
let us leave this place, this acrid empty place
ravenous moonscape, this Mojave, this Sahara,
this Death Valley with its wheels within wheels of dust,
which gives up hollow papery carcasses
as a token of its love. we can only be lost here.
there are no maps for this wandering unmarked trail.
we can only walk in wavering spirals,
covering and uncovering our own footprints.
hold my hand, my wrist, the hem of my shirt,
even though I can't lead us, I will lead us,
by the nape of my neck, by the way the sky unfurls
and the clouds twist in the wind, by the compass of straw
I hold here in my hand, by elocution, by echolocation
by calling and recalling our names against the night,
by the hard glint of stars, by the sheets of darkness,
by the sextant I can make with my fingers.
it doesn't matter really how we'll escape, we'll escape,
we'll unveil our eyes and see clearly,
read the runes on the palms of our hands,
we'll blossom propellers from our shoulder blades,
fall beneath the earth and follow the secret rivers,
sail a ship through the sand, we'll escape from here
build monuments from paper mache and yarn,
cannonade abandoned buildings with a fusillade of of seeds
tear down all your idols and bury them nameless
we will preach sermons to the wind, write our fables with a finger in the dirt
unfetter the wonderous and leave caution dangling in the breeze,
circumscribe a circle around the circumspect never to enter again,
and plant a forest of saplings upside down,
so their leaves anchor the earth
and their tangled roots web the sky
we will do what our hands find to do
and we will do it with all our might.
Labels: Fred
1 Comments
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Fred |
This is time as a cistern. The street signs are estranged friends and dillettante guardians; I don't look at them much these days. These are the things that are important to me; the crushed and eroded concrete on every other rounded street corner, the doodling vagaries of the paths leading into the hills, barely following their natural contours, neon downtown, bold and glistening, a trembling illusion, a subverted oasis, a permanent mirage.
I have tamed the menagerie and reduced it to cages, classified it into domesticity. This is some kind of tenuous immortality, the way the noise is endorsed by the silence, the desert ceding its own essence, the foothills like altars upon which lie mixed offerings; pine and fir and pine and fir distilled into the homes of the hermetic wealthy.
Wisdom here is an oracle written in the sand with a finger, a mandala revised by the whims of the wind. And the way it is lit; both by the buildings festooned in lights and the moon, which turns the sand into a mirror, which sees in it its own wicked, blasted surface.
Labels: Fred
1 Comments
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Dalia |
milestones will be crossed
the foundations of the settlement will crumble
beneath fields of broken controversy
The empty melded mineshaft
will oversee
that mountains and fields and the World’s Longest River
belong to everybody, everybody
and the capstones will cease their monolithic fortitude
bringing back acres of finesse
consuming the walls drastic,
effervescent in all further doings
while the filthy pit of mire and misery,
the world and the earth segregated by
all that is made
inching toward a greater disaster
sleeping through chaos
and waking to the alarm of hazard-induced immediacy
chambers and shells, clusters of hidings and burned and beaten bearings
come out, come out
and see what they have done
deny and wait
and leave and ignore
but never will there not be hope
for hope
Labels: Dalia
1 Comments
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DrewTM |
Labels: Drew
0 Comments
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