So long the head and not the tail,
now cringing from uncertainties.
The horror feared will now prevail:
You’ll negotiate necessities.
The pressure for change
Met excuses for permanence
Who begrudges the strength of the ignorant,
The placebo of the disenfranchised?
Strong enough now to invade the western sanctum
comes the novus ordo seclorum,
no longer handed down to us
but rather rising from within!
With freedom to stop the shredding of
cheap copies of original sin.
I see men as trees
And we’re not the machines we thought we were.
Speak to me,
A seminal word
With a primal voice.
Your resonance rectifies time,
Your octaves move my blood.
I seal our link,
I bless our nexus.
From your lips a syllable fills all reason.
Your eyes lift the fogs of age and eon.
O sweet mother daughter sister bride,
You glisten as you listen.
Gravid from above, you glow.
I know you.
I had a pleasant job when I was 16 working in a small, private greenhouse and cut-flower garden. Immersion in floral rainbows and thick greenery each day delighted me then as it does now. Behind the greenhouse was a small yard of luxuriant, thin-bladed grass with a carefully pruned, standard size apple tree growing in the midst of it. About twenty-five feet tall and perhaps thirty feet across, this robust tree provided cool summer shade to the yard. I enjoyed taking my lunch breaks in this yard, leaning against the apple tree.
During my lunch break one day, having already eaten my sandwich, I took a notion to climb the apple tree. It was early Summer and the apples were still quite tiny and the leaves were nearing their full flush and strength. I do not remember exactly why I needed to climb that day since I usually rested during my break. I do recall that I liked to peer into the canopy when resting against the tree trunk. I had marveled at the patterns of filtered green light diminishing daily until the shade was almost complete from the converging growth. From this perspective the canopy formed a flawless fractal flower of greenery evenly spread by its living fan of twigs, branches, limbs, and trunk. I believe I simply could not resist being up into the thickness of that beauty.
from the dung heap below
no judgment just soaring
Cramming for their finals
aiming low for safety
sitting still for portraits
roots clipped for decoration
fruit tied to long-dead trees
unrecognizable residual freedom
slip zone goes
by flows by downstream
light passes, hope passes by
Wake up and Percolate!
Aerate and Saturate!
Wring out carefully,
shake the ear free of common combinations
aim for the heart with no tricks, no guile
thermals from the dung heap