Juicy round autumn
Juicy round autumn
burnished red and golden
mesmerizing quality of time today.
Hunger forgotten when life is a garden.
Sow and weep
while you sleep
a new day grows.
Getting our time together.
Getting in touch with weather again.
And there’s been so much to weather
again and again and again.
Sunrays are playing
warming the walkways
flashing out rainbows
in random puddles and streams.
Clear skies and starlight
awaken the night hours
expanding the time to harvest our dreams.
This is where the idea is born.
Soft green meadows gently transforming into fall
Sounds of dying, scent of woodfire and candlelight
No separation between what is becoming
Accept and be revealed
Summer’s wild adventures
Spring was a torrent of clarity, precious rain,
Earth coarse, ready for fecund pleasure
Queen of night in daylight’s realm
obsessed in flowering
roses and daffodils
valleys and nubile hills
all is vanity and laughing vice
“But, Mother, I’m not a nice girl.
I’m a creature of the breeze; secure in shadow;
alive on the cutting edge of the storm.”
Myth in revision
Standing at the back of the playground
learning theater, tucking metaphors
into interstices of sense and anticipation
In spring, kicking stones along sandy riverbeds
reading the classics
to savor practice: valor, glory, dramatic lines
the stink of rot where flowers bloom
ancient feuds, retaliations, rage
tyrannosaurus feeding future waste,
absorbing a zeitgeist of want, of predation
Within greed-swollen seed infectious fear
makes merry with misery’s habit
Mythology frustrates, curls back on its own ash
Eyes burn with hazy summer wine and wilding
Feet connect dust to sky — but only in designated
spheres, with designated peers, self-selected inhibitions
Sweat out poison into the ground; now, eat the bounty
Midsummer farce, far from honor, far from sunrise,
counting out the chimes as if time were treasure
Silly summer madness as if what matters
is so circumscribed, so predictable
Early autumn firelight
reminiscent of witch hunts, ghosts of calvary,
dire warnings and endless hide and strike
The game, the funhouse, turns deadly
Sanctuary calls, demanding sacrifice
The noble phoenix fed on frankenseed
can not rise
Skies descend, dark mirroring
Smell the woodsmoke, intoxicating, soft and sweet,
masks the taste of bitter bile, secret vomiting,
starving despite harvest’s gay array of treats
Faded, nearly blind, falling in and out of
shamanic fever, primeval native callings beyond sight,
ripple of tribal beat at the periphery
ecstatic vision dark/light/agony and brilliant breaks
seasons, years, moments of clarity
no need to navigate, to invent boundaries;
dance of the highlands warmth and sustenance
High fields of food and seed
aglow for harvest.
Aching for thrill and release,
late summer serenades
wraiths, spirits of Pan,
amorous nymphs a’hum in ripe foliage.
mingled weeping and merry cries
stragglers on night shores,
legends told in ghost voices, echoes
Spin and float
And echo through this day of harvest.
And lines from blues songs
Hover ’round me as I work.
Love’s a word, a concept,
I sometimes believe in.
But when tension holds me like a sieve,
I can’t believe in anyone.
A child grows
And learns to know
The Norms and Bounds and Social Graces;
Learns to see a world that we
Have carefully wrought and framed.
We grow old
And feel we’ve sold
A hope, a dream, an inspiration
To more comfortably fit into
The slot above our name.
Obsequious in resentment
Heart-full caring loners
wring tattered woe, fling out
rope distilled from wellsprings,
Cultivation rituals hung taut.
spun into fine golden fabric.
Gifts of remembrance.
Sunbeams sing along brilliant waterfalls.
Sparkling rivers feed turbulent melody.
Those who have found the key
play here. Time loses consequence.
Old wounds age,
grow into fascinating scars,
retold to bind kinship.
We become free explorers
frail and strong,
innocent and wise,
reticent and gaudy.
Obsequious in resentment,
angry actors diminish hope,
express frigid gargoyle smiles
In a time of awakening;
In a season of wild abandon;
In a moment of sensation –
In a flash
In a long and luscious indian summer of my life
Glorious dreams were made.
Sound doctrines magnified.
Quick impulses of insight found light and sparkled
long into the autumn night.
I will remember
the chill of golden woods
the fairytale rolling mountains
the days upon days of cool clean crispness
like the sweet/tart fruits of harvest.
In a clearing
Along a riverbed
Furry forest sounds and scent of moisture
Early morning dawn awakening
to a season of wild abandon
a golden moment of sensation
In a flash — alive to an open season
Alive to a new awakening
Ceres on the Cusp of Venus
Call in the harvest
My Lady awaits (impatient
is She, as all Immortals)
She sends cauldrons for filling
on chariots of the Moon —
stars burn in celebration
We have given diligent care
and service, enchanted the
wealth of the surf and sun,
bound nature to noble
Welcome Grand Goddess!
Enjoy the fruits and glories
our labour hath wrought
for your adoration.
Work and Love
These are the best,
of life’s offerings.
Mornings come later now
permeated with scent of harvest
green and red and the bright orange
of the Harvest Moon
Morning air, heavy with moisture
seeps through my pores
into my bones
I see ships sailing in rough sea
their fortune a deity’s toss of dice,
ships laden with treasure
and sailors desperately loved
On a placid pond three ships sail
a fine sunny regatta
The deep decay of harvest
carries me home
Today the dark approaches, loosens veils of entropy.
Pixel colors whisper, soft hum of trails diminishing.
Lumbering, tales sweaty from slumber sweep
crumbling crusts, twigs and dust,
Luscious Moon, brilliant, rises
like a sacred flower unbinds, radiates,
Celestial song, deep-breath effulgence,
lofty spirit. All we who hear it open our wings.
This night we fly over poignant fields of work requited,
imbibe euphorious mystery of peace. Labor’s release,
rewards of harvest, ritual feast of play.
Uproarious dance with moonlight; voice, arms, soar
in embrace so strong, complete.