Light Too Far

Rose snipped from thorns
Still another grows
… yours dies,
You look too far
For beauty.

Walk over earth,
No place to dig,
You search too far
for gold.

Questions rise 

Past your throat,
Seeking answers
Closer than the vein
In your neck.

Tear at your clothing
For the truth
Naked to the world,
Immodest
Toward yourself.

Against your eyelids
Dreams are played
Fear to wake,
To look too far.

Darkness
Holds as many stars
Lit within your chest,
You look too far
                               ....For light.

Rose Petals Falling in the Garden

Memories fade to susurrus.
Dusk cast shadows
Rise the temple wall.
Amber skin, maternal fields,
Upon soft abdomen,
his ear falls.

Below the peel of empyrean,
fruit of a woman,
brave the man
who clings the rind,
But braver he
let’s go in time.

Saccharine she
Whose taste is closest
to touch the Beloved's face.
Pressed he hears,
Her oceans howl...
hurling hope on waves.

To love a woman thus
is to be born to her
over and over – again.
Upon his brow, lips land
Her winter eyelids close,
falling, falling in the garden.

        go the petals of the rose.

Tetrabiblos (short version)

Introspection and a curious awareness of surroundings make for endless fields from which to amass self-inspired knowledge. This awareness does not manifest in words; no, these are only learned approximations of our inner experience (qualia) of the universe. We are conditioned to think by and within the boundaries of popular bodies of knowledge. But the experience of knowledge in the silent center of our “being” comprises the truth we “know.” Perhaps I too much fancy my own erudition; but with each turn of the page of ancient discourse it seems I merely confirm that my own a priori realizations, apparently not just mine, have withstood the test of time, condition, and socio-cultural climate. These ancient minds did not have the blue prints (or desire) to make rocket ships, but had the knowledge to do so as thinkers. I find it takes more genius to dream of flying than to build an airplane.

I fell asleep reading Tetrabiblos, lying in the sands that comprise the sexy chiffon skirt of Alexandria, when Ptolemy rippled into my dream and asked me, “What do you see when you stare up into a clear night sky?” I replied, “I see stars. What do you see?” Claudius looked up and paused, and said smiling…“Hmm…I see constellations.”

We are all given a brain, sensory organs, and modes of expression; but the real ontology of knowledge flourishes in the ‘experience’ of thinking. With so much concern for subject matter and poetic adornment of words, there are few who explore the dynamics of their faith, for it is this that gives truth to facts.

No Small Year (2013)

No small year, he thought. People left the earth by violence, sickness, self neglect; friends of the heart were found, love reborn, spirit awoken.

Confused by bitterness, blessed with forgiveness... he struggled as some turned their backs on him, while others carried him. Where he once fancied himself as a wealthy man, he soon realized himself to be destitute. So he took to sail over oceans within oceans, and discovered fortune in placeless places, but still found the holds of his heart hardly seaworthy of such precious cargo.

In a tavern, set in a distant port, of some distant harbor, he took on a masterful and beloved companion and they read and wrote poetry, smoked sweet pipes, danced on the deck to the nay and tabla, and cleansed in the ancient trade winds. The two wayfarers saw brilliant reflections in the mirror of every still and flowing God-given thing, conceivable and inconceivable. In these shimmered the images of the divine female, child, and male.

An unfolding spirit detangles a wound soul.

A year ends EVERY day, each the luminous culmination of an aeon. Make each days anniversary a timeless and meaningful discovery... Be humble with what you have now, and rejoice in what you cannot carry, let alone fathom. When you are compelled to speak, it is really something great asking you to listen.