Naked

.
.
.

Woman,
I stand naked
on the third
stone from
the sun.
Come to
me and help
me see, my love won’t jump
the gun. The angels trumpeting
and I keep forgetting to pick
the roses for your long silky
hair. We must beware. We
must take care to never
ride alone in boats that
are made for two.
It’s up to you. You
must renew the splendor
lying deep within my eyes.
Woman, I stand naked on the
third stone from the sun. Come
to me and help me see my love
won’t jump the gun.

July 1974

Ha! I Was Right!

This addiction to significance!
This abiding love of substance!

YES!

I was right about the weaving dance!
I was right investing in romance!

The days of
pomp and circumcision
are
over!

It’s this sanctifying vindication,
where souls soar amidst the sacred,
and live beyond elusive dying
Sharing now eternity.

Credendo Vides!

Dec. 2004

Land of the Living

Resting            for a moment in geologic time,
Now                 is when here is where you are.
Reaching         for a view from a higher orbit,
Reconciling    seasons and their reasons…

Did you leave home to get here?
Did you leave home to get here?

Questing         for an instant of eternity just now,
Jesting            as we mop our common brow,
Surfing            on these cycles we all ride, while
Dancing          in the land of the living.

Did you leave home to get here?
Did you leave home to get here?

Aiming            for the substance holding at the center,
Posing             for the shadows that it casts,
Hungry           for the pattern we are made from,
Desperate       for the living that will last.

Jan. 2001

In the Cemetery

There is no one here.
And then…
all arrive
to me within.

Memory grows
beyond my years,
laughter and grief,
beyond my tears.

No separate souls,
No specters rise,
No demons linger,
nor give surprise..

Yet time compresses here, revealing
men as mayflies, not concealing
life’s most essential glories
often quenched by numbered stories.

June 2004

Bower

I am grateful
that in my life I’ve seen
More trees grow than fall.

Oak and Ash overarch my Cedar house now.
The cool shade of their cozy liability
Grants such a cautious comfort.

Each year a bit closer,
cooler,
shadier,
Acorns and helicopters in the gutters
And the flowers off the porch.

Ivy, too, climbing taller on the walls,
stones,
and posts,
It’s a green grace around a blessed bower
For a creature like me,
allergic to towers.

8/29/2008

Treasures of Darkness

The treasures of darkness
where chaos tricks the vicious cycles
into divine spirals
where each part reveals the wondrous whole…

Above the juggernaut memes
of our arrogant swivet
shines the present perfect picture
of the ancient argument.

Born anew from that dark, tight womb,
this light embarrasses the sun.

Who knew such fear could yield
to love so potent and revealed?!

Love beyond reason,
life beyond words:
this classical treason
earns the right to be heard!

Dec. 2003

Depressions

|  Words                            shallow
|                           are                                   depressions
|  i   n        o   u   r        m   i   n   d   s   c   a   p   e
|  that we
|                        allow
|  meaning
|             to flow into.

|  In droughts
|          we        stumble         thirstily      across
|                that           landscape

|  During Floods
|                               w e   s w i m  a b o v e
|                                           t h e m

9/9/2008

Mudpies

When all we could make
was mudpies,

we worshipped them
and mud.

Many paths called “up”
are only
horizontal.
The crucial question then
must be:
What’s “up?”

Up is ever where
heart and hands are active,
walking on the water,
dancing in the fire,
where the third note sounds
as you play duets,
feet upon the gravid ground.

Discovering Evolution

Inserted like this –
Injected like this –
Projected like this –
Into the manifest cosmos,
into this body,
this spin body,
this body that leans into time forward
and digs into time past.

We greet and conform.
We maximize the gyroscopic virtue,
the memetic momentum,
to protect this body
this insertion sleeve,
this injection mold,
this projected light show.

But over time –
repetition reveals the spin,
and the Spin infers the Orbit,
and the Orbit celebrates its focal tether.
Time then is redeemed by its revolutions,
then disengages like rocket stages fall into the sea.

Tether-savvy, we become
responsible beyond circumstances.
We anticipate larger patterns.
Smaller arcs define sublimer centers.

We ride each orbit
and at conscious perigee we jump
onto its hub  –
again and again,
until, at last,
hub-ness is internalized.

Then we can expand,
then we can exude
centricity in all circumstances.
Love flows in all seasons, all work, all play,
and the rise and fall of
all projections,
all injections,
all insertions
into the manifest cosmos.

Dose of Mama

Stress is imbalance,
with too little comfort,
with too little hope.

Our bodies cycle.
(men, too!)

We behave too linearly,
like machines,
like fools, hyper-masculine.
(women, too!)

This underlies
much imbalance
much stress.

I’m not a feminist
nor a masculinist,
but it takes no rocket scientist
to see the world needs a BIG dose of Mama,
while Daddy chills a spell.

After that,
a whole new world
can be envisioned.
Together.
Yes!

Belili Productions