a love poem

the first time
your eyes caressed mine
to say
it was like magic
is to tame
the gentle passion
and moments
shared
in the seeing of a glance
you took
my hand and opened my heart
to
the beauty of what I did not see
I
try to understand
why and how
these things happen
but
you explain so much
with your laughing eyes
to make me
not waste my time
worrying or wondering
is this meant to be

the first time
your eyes caressed mine
the winds sang their songs
the sunshine shivered with joy
warming the life within me

I've been living alone so long
running alone is easy
running through a fantasy
chasing myself into reality
looking for what is clear to see

holding on to little
more than I can carry
freedom kissed me in the wind
the rain smiled at me
when I thought
I needed someone to hold

ancient ones sighed
softly calling through worlds
to be living
means we are not alone
running into life
is not the same
as running away


         by  -   john trudell    (stickman)







.

a note found in a box sent to my father i presume either a crucifix or an image of jesus was the gift in the box

i talk
to this fellow every day

i wonder if he listens-
or even gives a  (damn- scratched out)  darn!

however
i'm staying out of jail

Love

Sis




.

ancient distillations

NAKED IN THE BEE-HOUSE




Being humble is right for you now.
Don't thrash around showing your strength.

You're naked in the bee-house!
It doesn't matter how powerful
your arms and legs are.

To God, that is more of a lie
than your weakness is.

In his doorway your prestige
and your physical energy are just dust
on your face. Be helpless
and completely poor.

And don't try to meet his eye!
That's like signing a paper
that honors yourself.

If you can take care of things, do so!
But when you're living at home with God,
you neither sew the world together
with desires nor tear it apart
with disappointments.

In that place existence itself
is illusion. All that is, is one.

Lost in that, your personal form
becomes a vast, empty mosque.

When you hold on to yourself,
you're a fire-worshipping temple.
Dissolve, and let everything get done.
When you don't, you're an untrained colt,
full of erratic loving and biting.
Loyal sometimes, then treacherous.

Be more like the servant who owns nothing
and is neither hungry nor satisfied,
who has no hopes for anything,
and no fear of anyone.

An owl living near the king's palace
is considered a bird of misfortune,
ragged and ominous. But off in the woods,
sitting alone, its feathers grow splendid
and sleek like the Phoenix restored.

Musk should not be kept near water or heat.
The dampness and the dryness spoil
its fragrance. But when the musk is at home
in the musk bladder, fire and wetness
mean nothing. In God's doorway your guilt
and your virtue don't count.

Whether you're Muslim, or Christian, or
fire-worshipper, the categories disappear.

You're seeking, and God is what is
sought, the essence beyond any cause.

External theological learning moves like a moon
and fades when the sun of experience rises.

We are here for a week, or less.
We arrive and leave almost simultaneously.

To be is not to be.

The Qur'an says, "They go hastening,
with the Light running on before them."

Clear the way! Muhammed says, "How fine!"
A sigh goes out, and there is union.

Forget how you came to this gate, your history.
Let that be as if it had not been.

Do you think the day plans its course
by what the rooster says?

God does not depend on any of his creatures.
Your existence or non-existence is insignificant.
Many like you have come here before.

When the fountain of light is pouring,
there's no need to urge it on!
That's like a handful of straw
trying to help the sun. "This way!
Please, let this light through!"

The sun doesn't need an announcer.
The lamp you carry is your self-reliance.
The sun is something else!

Half a sneeze might extinguish your lantern,
whereas all a winter's windiness
cannot put That out.

The road you must take has no particular name.
It's the one composed of your own sighing
and giving up. What you've been doing
is not devotion. Your hoping and worrying
are like donkeys wandering loose,
sometimes docile, or suddenly mean.

Your face looks wise at times,
and ashamed at others.

There is another way, a pure blankness
where those are one expression.

Omar once saw a group of boys on the road
challenging each other to wrestle.
They were all claiming to be champions,
but when Omar, the fierce and accomplished
warrior, came near, they scattered.

All but one, Abdullah Zubair.
Omar asked, "Why didn't you run?"

"Why should I? You are not a tyrant,
and I am not guilty."

When someone knows his own inner value,
he doesn't care about being accepted
or rejected by anyone else.

The prince here is strong and just.
Stand wondering in his presence.
There is nothing but That.

                           -Hakim Sanai  (1044 - 1150)

the anatomy of horror

very small pink clump

few things are sadder than the sight
of a thin gold anklet trapped beneath
a suntan-colored nylon. the people
in the morning clutch their warm cups.
they have water bottles and sensible
shoes, earbuds, catalogs, and weary
faces. the world pulses with violence.
a garbage car slithers into a frightening
maw, a particularly mysterious and
frightening vagina embroidered
on soiled vintage linen. activists
take to the streets, maws gaping.
a garbage car slithers into them.
the absorption rate for the Soul
Eater’s melée attacks is increased
by 5%. I wanted to put the lobster
into a comic, because he’s been
distressingly absent… gaping maw.
many of these links to my poetry
are broken. why are women so angry?
I also clutch a paper cup. the world
pulses with violence. illness waits
as ninja. Nearly half a century old,
I pop a pill. I’ve been a busy little
bandit lately. young gulls. you are
here: foul grin. yes, it swam up his
penis and into his bladder. it is human
nature to have fears and phobias:
mutant wooly worm alpaca.
why are women so angry?
they always throw things like
an angry gorilla when they get mad.
whazzat? critique zombie sex
feels good duh. why are women
so angry? life is harder for chicks,
their all pissed off cause they feel
feelings. how to use slither in a
sentence. example sentences
with the word slither. I wanted
to put the lobster in a comic. why
are women so angry? anyone already
say “sand in Va-J-J?” they cannot
even cook a decent meal anymore so
why bother. venomous email young gulls
foul grin. I tried to hold it and take it out
but the eel was too slippery to be held
and it disappeared up my penis. you’d
be angry too if you bled 1 week a month besides
you should never trust anything that bleeds
that much and doesn’t die. young gulls. trashy
sisters. horrible shiny dresses. furious abandon.
the main goals of feminism were destruction
of the nuclear family unit and emaciation
of the males. paper-cup clutchers: “mama.”
ashen commuter faces. women rely on
emotion and not so much analytical
rationalization, in short they don’t think
as much. a very small pink clump. catalogs.
you just want some female to feel sorry
for you and take care of you and wash
your stinky underwear and your dirty
dishes and cook for you. hello! I am
the virgin mary magdalene! I am carrying
miraculous triplets similar to the virgin
mary. you are here: are you here?
foul grin. why are women so angry? you
want to sit on your lazy asses all day,
and watch tv, drinkin beer and smokin
dope. I tried to hold it and take it out. sex
feels good duh. sometimes it amazes me.
the sensible work shoes. gateways.
a particularly frightening-looking vagina.
the throat, gullet, or jaws especially of
a voracious animal. many of these links
to my poetry are broken. he’s been
distressingly absent: the insatiable lobster
at the end of the course. The insatiable clown
prepared to go shopping, but realized
that he actually forgot his wallet. he actually
forgot his gullet. he actually forgot his
particularly frightening vagina-Cicada;
Clouded Leopard; Clown Anemonefish;
Coelacanth; Common Earthworm;
Common Loon. insatiable unicorns
clutch paper cups. the insatiable clown
at the end of the course just sits there
drooling. Many of these links to my poetry
are broken.


    - some emotionally distressed girl
       with not enough to do,  evidently-
            lady wisdom raped and crying

a heart hymn from the dark shadow

OLD ADAM THE CARRION CROW

Old Adam, the carrion crow,
The old crow of Cairo;
He sat in the shower, and let it flow
Under his tail and over his crest;
And through every feather
Leak'd the wet weather;
And the bough swung under his nest;
For his beak it was heavy with marrow.
Is that the wind dying? O no;
It's only two devils, that blow,
Through a murderer's bones, to and fro,
In the ghosts' moonshine.

Ho! Eve, my grey carrion wife,
When we have supped on king's marrow,
Where shall we drink and make merry our life?
Our nest it is queen Cleopatra's skull,
'Tis cloven and crack'd,
And batter'd and hack'd,
But with tears of blue eyes it is full:
Let us drink then, my raven of Cairo!
Is that the wind dying? O no;
It's only two devils, that blow
Through a murderer's bones, to and fro,
In the ghosts' moonshine.

                                -Thomas Lovell Beddoes





.

NO MONTE CORPINYO

Penedos, altos penedos
do Corpiño vixiante;
sodes, como o meu amor,
tristes, barudos e grandes.

¡Cantas veces, cantas veces
dende o curuto en que estades
sufríchedes impasibles
o furor dos temporales!

Nin os ventos que arrincaron
doridas queixas aos mares,
nin as furias medoñentas
das frecuentes tempestades,

de movervos unha vez,
penedos imperturbables,
de movervos unha vez
foron ata hoxe capaces;

que sodes, altos penedos
do Corpiño vixiante,
o mesmo que o meu amor,
tristes, barudos e grandes.

         -Gonzalo Lopez Abente

 - found on the high mount above Muxi'a Gallicia Spain

vizpo perhaps

"Lady of Philerme," by Mitsui

the pilgrimage eternal

An Improvisation for Angular Momentum

Walking is like
imagination, a
single step
dissolves the circle
into motion; the eye here
and there rests
on a leaf,
gap, or ledge,
everything flowing
except where
sight touches seen:
stop, though, and
reality snaps back
in, locked hard,
forms sharply
themselves, bushbank,
dentree, phoneline,
definite, fixed,
the self, too, then
caught real, clouds
and wind melting
into their directions,
breaking around and
over, down and out,
motions profound,
alive, musical!

Perhaps the death mother like the birth mother
does not desert us but comes to tend
and produce us, to make room for us
and bear us tenderly, considerately,
through the gates, to see us through,
to ease our pains, quell our cries,
to hover over and nestle us, to deliver
us into the greatest, most enduring
peace, all the way past the bother of
recollection,
beyond the finework of frailty,
the mishmash house of the coming & going,
creation's fringes,
the eddies and curlicues



        - A.R. Ammons  (deceased awhile back)

conundrums manifest

 

 

 

The Lords of Maussane

One after the other, they wished to predict a happy future for us,
With an eclipse in their image and all the anguish befitting us!
We disdained this equality,
Answered no to their assiduous words.
We followed the stony way the heart traced for us
Up to the plains of the air and the unique silence.
We made our demanding love bleed,
Our happiness wrestle each pebble.

They say at this moment that, beyond their vision,
The hail terrifies them, more than the snow of the dead!

                     -Rene'  Char




 

prayer

Daylight my darknesses.







     by

   Raymond Souster  (1921-2012)
                -  recently deceased toronto poet