Lost Gift . . .

Inside House of Cahors

Lost Gift

My emptiness . . . 
losing my equilibrium .  . after
profound deafness became part of my life
 . . . is any good
part of me left? I lose my way these days. . .
I think that's why I keep breaking things . ..
my toes, my glass cups and this morning my favorite lamp . ..
I do things wrong, I hit things hard . . I wobble . .
the world weaves and warps around me as if
seen through heat waves and mirages . . .
I can't sense the sharp edges of things
until they strike me . . .
or the ups and the downs . . .
the ground leaps about like a herd of running horses . ..
or a ship floating helplessly
on a restless sea . . .
. . .and I long for the stillness and quiet . . .
of the deep green forest.  ..
and the eternal dark night . . .
those moments before the storm . . .
I find it hard to think . . .
it makes me wonder if there is any point
of me going on .  .  and on . . . and on . .
and no . . . I don't see any hope . .
for anything . . I'm too negative
and turned inward with pain . . .
for it all still hurts . ..  like yesterday's
memories . . and I am scarred with lost dreams
beating broken wings against the walls
of echoing canyons .. .

******************************************************

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

Schwarzweiss, "Untiteled"



http://www.jamendo.com/en/list/a63507/untiteled 



So full of living
 . . dreams and melodies
 . ..  there is laughter and there is sadness
 . . . and somehow too
 . . . I find the sky
 . .. it tells me of forever,
 and the teardrops of angels
 . . . like sunshine and shadow,
 is sorrow and joy
 .  . eternal the passion;
essential the love
 . . . peace, like feathers on the snow
 . .. memory fills my vision
 and takes me to my heart
 . . . Music, purely Beautiful!
 

***********************************************

Dancing in the Shadows

Finding yesterday

                      in your story

my tears    

                     remind me

                       that once                                                                   

I was a victim too,

                            but today

                                                   as I dance alone

where sunshine glances,

                                         I see reflected                                                                                 

                                                                   the shadows

of other dancers,                                                          

             their ethereal arms

hold me                                

                                                              against the painful storm,

and now

with my heart beating                                            

                                 for you,

and as my soul cries                               

                                                     throughout the years ..

my arms are out

to shelter you

and help you find your strength

***********************************************************************

This poem is dedicated to a young woman, a teenager, who was brutally assaulted by a 47 year old criminal . . . no details here . . . they are too evil to hear let alone live through . . . my heart goes out to her.

Cloisters of Cathedral Saint-Etienne; Cahors, France

 

Stuff . . .

 A mysterious walk through time . . . 
electrical storms, blue fire . . . 
a bit of ambient music . . . 
whirling on the edges of yesterday's memories .  .  . 
like flashes of gems weaving a pattern, 
within a fractal, 
within a universe . . . 
and beyond . . . 
like flashes of stars repeating and dreaming . . . 
diving beyond the horizon . . . 
the longing to follow . . . 
to see, to reach, to touch . . . 
to become one with time . . . 
to flow forward while looking back . .
it sounds like this . . . 
a river of water is running over multi-colored pebbles . . . 
slowly dragging them 
from the mountains to the sea . . . 
a thousand years . .  a million . . . 
their flesh becomes sand, 
the dust that coats the heart of the world . . .  
let time . . . be . . . 

  Time Travellers by Mr.Ju

More mr.ju music to be found here:
http://www.jamendo.com/en/artist/339613/mr.ju

A Way-Back me . ..  time has passed . .

Letting Go . . .
         accepting change . . .
leaves a sense of peace . . 
within the rebellious soul . .
The heart lifts up
from an
unbearable burden of heaviness
and leaps into
the drifting breezes

like a forgotten balloon,
after the party,
which follows the melody
until there is nothing
but silence
and an empty heart bursts . . .

Nothing is wasted . . .
my love for you
      is returned
randomly . . .
on the wings of a flickering butterfly -
or in the arms of the rainbow . . .
or the kiss of the breeze as it carries . . .
the desperate cry of the lone wolf . . .
                        and the ashes of
death itself
           grows into
a light that
          flies across a dark sky
so full of embers . ..
a billowing canopy
so pregnant with fire
             and song
that it's as if the loss
of one little star
will leave no hole . . .
in the universe .. .
for the empty space is filled . . .
with darkness itself . . .

*******************************************************

The Voyage of the Damned

Rushing, as I walked to
accomplish my errands . . .
upon
turning a corner I saw
in the distance
a goal. . .
my destination.

The street seemed so far away,
and as I progressed I anxiously watched
as it never seemed to get nearer
and then . . .

I realized I was missing
the moment
and all the barely encompassed
here in the now . . .

I was missing
the golden glow of the fall leaves,
expiring against a silver bright sky. . .
I was missing the
Mandelbrot patterns around me,
the pine needles
arrayed on the damp ground . . .
the sounds of music,
the tone of birds . . .
and the scrunch of my feet against
the gravel on the ground,
each tiny rock a crystal bell . . .

I was missing . .
the steamy smiles of
passers by,
and the breath of freedom . . . .

As the goal
became just another passing moment. . .
I retrieved my treasures
like scarlet leaves
collected in a wicker basket . . .
and held in awe 
what senses,
reaching out like tentacles,
exploring the depths
and the heights . . .
were able to harvest
against the coming storms . . .

What is my goal in the end,
but death,
and a moldering
away in a grave
unsuited to
deep breaths of
Autumn flavored air . . .

************

An Autumn Moment

The leaves flutter down,
gasping a last refrain,
with colors reminiscent of a Turkish
carpet, arrayed on overgrown grassy lawns
and
clinging like starfish
facing their new horizons,
they feel the flesh of the soil
with splayed fingers,
slowly growing numb . . .
as molds fringe the brittle
textures, scraping away the flesh
to leave a fragile lacy pattern
of veins . . . slowly, slowly . . .
gazing sadly at the stars . . .
as they twirl away in their
nightly dance
across indigo skies . .

The scuffed toe of my boot
skitters through the leaves
committing some to their utter destruction,
and arbitrarily sending others
back into a flight
on Autumn breezes. . .
The cold reaches fingers
up my nose
and the laughter of
children is heard
in the distance . . .

*********************

Judgement

Portland

who are we to judge

the quality of your creation . . 
you tried your very best,
tearing into the experiences 

of your inner soul. . .
digging deep into your heart . .
finding the pieces to build something
to share
with the rest of us . . .
to give as a gift . . . . a balm for our wounds
. . . to heal us,
and to say . ..  "I understand . . .
I have seen the eternal fires . . .

I have climbed those broken mountains,

I have touched the dragon's tooth,

I have tasted the tears of angels,

I have heard the song of the silent . . .

I have been there
and back . . ."

the nascence of your dreams,
like the visions of the gods,
is tender and easily bruised . . .

who are we to judge
your fragile child . . .
as if it were the bleeding refuse of
your imagination . . .
disregarded by our inability
to hear the pleading in your voice . ..
"hear me -
oh hear my cry .  .
the crimson patterns of
my spilled blood
stain the very foundations
of my creations . .. "

We see those weeping patterns
and read them .  . as they drip from your offspring
. . . an ocean of tears . . wept . . .  and storm tossed . ..
mixed with war and love . ..  

death and life . . .

and the filthy mud of our humanity . . .
cemented together and formed

into
an angel arising from that rough material,

and
flying above the maelstrom
to lift us higher . .  into the circle of your arms . . 

where our hearts

melt into yours . . 

and we become one

##

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

Portland

LAUGHTER IS AN ART!!

I have just decided - an imperative - a vote from one - and I hear others join me in this campaign.  HA! What is Art exactly?!?: Somewhere in there must be Joy - and Joy includes laughter.

Yesterday I finished loading all the computers in my lab with a new word processor:  OOo4Kids.  Its got a lot of cool features which will just work better with kids than Word, such as: the ability to use the mouse to move objects around on the page. Cool!  Well, I never really had the time to give it much of a test run so I decided to introduce the application to the third grade classes and then just let them explore.  That teaching method worked so well with Stykz - I was astonished and pleased that the children surpassed me in their skills. Even the little ones - so being the lazy teacher that I am  . . .

The kids were wonderful with OOo4Kids. They asked me how to use it and I shrugged my shoulders, "Click around, read the Help section, see what happens and then share with each other."
The resulting activities were fantastic to hear and watch. The kids discovered so many unique features, such as draw, stamp, shapes and other items. They were able to change the backgrounds and headers, fonts and other cool things appeared as if by magic. The favorite was the music feature, where you could add sounds, music and your own voice. Children were running around the room helping and encouraging and I mostly just sat back and watched and enjoyed.

BUT - I live in a universe run by time. Time rules - clocks are Hellish - plus they are never correct but that's another story. I realized I had another class on my schedule. I needed these students to stop doing whatever they were doing and go through the closing procedures I have structured for my classes. "Apple-Q; close your folders and log out of 'Students'." Unfortunately, the sound volume of children's voices is usually pretty high and although my voice can carry across a playground and quite possibly the city I just couldn't get their attention. So I blew my whistle.

Just a couple of light breaths through my whistle and I thought all would be calm - so I took a sip of tea. The children quieted down for a second and then I heard someone say, "What was that?"

And another little girl said, "I don't know but it sounded like a Dollar Tree whistle." Which made me start laughing so hard that I snorted tea out of my nose, and I knew I was going to choke to death in front of these beautiful people. I haven't laughed so hard in years and I would have enjoyed it more without the mouthful of tea - but I was quickly surrounded by a mass of concerned little people, all hugging me and laughing also. A good time was had by all . . . since I lived, and procedures were followed  . . . and although it sounded like a riot in my room and the other teachers were peering through the door (a little fearfully) . . . I think my class was very successful.

So what did I learn from all this? Not to be insulted when someone says that my very expensive whistle sounds like a "dollar store" item? How about, not drinking tea around eight and nine year old people?  Its OK to be lazy? Keep my eye on the clock always? I think maybe I learned that I am right when I say - Kids are born to learn and they learn best when they play.
PLAY IS AN ART!!

Grownups play too:

My review:
Bringing me back to the day - what fun we had in those golden California days - what a blur they were - but fun. Riding around in our convertibles, with the radio up loud - LOUD - and singing, and rocking, bouncing down the freeways totally oblivious to everything else but each other and our exhilaration at living such a free and easy existence.

Yes - smashed would be a great word to call that existence. I just love this album for bringing back that free wheeling life-style and giving us the great guitar work - the outstanding singing - the lyrics - the adventure, the SUPER music. Although this album is not entirely like those golden-olden days - it is close enough to that groovy spirit that it makes me visualize - ah - my younger days. You guys are the best!

Warning: Sadness Here Below!

So now I have a sad poem - which flew into my mind when I was thinking about Jamendo and the issues applied therein - and dealing with my strong "rescuer" self-image and how truly frustrated I become when I can't fix things - so if you are looking for laughter please don't read this poem unless you are easily amused.

When bodies began to fall

when there were bodies falling
while the fire raged
and the wings did not appear
as promised by our dreams
who was there to catch
the burning bodies . . .
our hearts turned in despair
and our eyes glazed over
as if not to see. . .
that the bodies were falling
into a tempestuous sea

##

This little poem is about 9-11 and how I felt at not being superman.  I was traumatized for two years and unable to sleep without dreaming that I was one of those people who had to jump from the heights of those burning buildings and I would waken in the middle of the night with my heart flying out of my chest.  Every single night the very same dream of reaching out a hand to someone else, standing by a broken window, and leaping together as the flames stormed up around us. . . . every single night.




 

More Old Stuff

4-8-93

Are you so totally obtuse
that you cannot recognize
                          my muse
The wrenching of the clouds
          produce only blaring horns
          and clashing cymbals
          a cacophony
          a call of anguish
          a sigh of regret
The rains whisper on
                        despairing ground
               and all of the sorrows
                        cannot be found
A yellow daffodil
Streams with rivulets of mud
               and sings its requiem
               in silence
      to its only hope
                       its dream
                       its sorrow
shedding brown tears
As it sinks below the slime


It dies
And yet to die
The obsidian wall of oblivion
the comfort of the womb
encloses
The peace - perhaps
              the joy of reunion.

##

4-9-93

Somewhere along deserted days

I lost my way

cast adrift

the frayed ends of the rope

hobbled beneath the murky sea

Lost on the endless tide

of hope and pain

Dreams and emptiness

The line of the horizon

An unbroken thread

of despair

And all the salt of the sea

speaks to me

of endless tears

streaming down

into the bottomless gulfs

Eternal depth on depth

So far beneath the rotting boards

of the raft so small

so frail

##

5-15-93

I long to kiss the hollows

                      of your bones

And dance with you

          in the morning

on the rolling tides

of sun waves

I long to swim in your

                       sudden smiles

And float on the

                         dreams in your

eyes flashing

I long to hold you in

                           the pit of my chest

And feel your warm

       breezes

Cool the ache in my heart

I long to touch you

                                  in all your fragile places

And drink deeply

                 from your cup

of flowing wine.

I long to hear your

            voice song

Speak to me in

                  velvet down   

and your laughter

like bird wings

Together we . . . kick

away the sands

along the pathways

to the deadly seas

and dodge

the serpent's thrust

against our alliance. . .

I long to hold you

in ambered embraces

flying through spaces

in a golden stone, perpetual

with pearls flashing deep.

##

Imagine this - I don't even remember who I was so in love with as to write such a poem. I'm sure I was broken hearted.  Life was so strewn with such hazards for me. Let's see, 1993 - college - Oh - I remember. . . Oh my . . . well - that was a bit steamy!


Here is a nice album I am listening to:



5-20-93

I run naked
through flying branches
leaves flap wetly
against bared breast
I run with no thoughts
              of tomorrow
              no gleanings
              of time past
I run barefoot
through forests of tempra
Deep green drips
thoughtfully
down my rebellious spine
I run with song spinning
                out of layers
                deeply
                undefined
I run lonely
Through resonating valleys
winds blow through me
denying my essence
I run with raining eyes
                 on the pathway
                 of me
                 I leave no trace.


##

  6-3-93

You __________________

you are raiding my heart

and daily

you shoot me dead

with the darts in your hands.

The rubber earth

beneath your feet

Propels you

beyond my reach ----

What are you?

That you can rip

so much of me

away in one look.

If you look

do you see?

What am I to you

that you take my offerings

and disappear

into a gray mist

so cavalier______

I cannot penetrate to you.

You___________________

you are the shadow

of my song

the mystery of my days

I paint you in the mornings

and when the sun goes

down

you are gone.

A connundrum

A wonder

Why do I love you? You______________

 a mere shell

around an essence

of my need.

You__________________

like the dew

on an emerald sea

you float away from me. . .

like the beating of a wing

in an empty empty sky . . .

a tear falls

and floods a universe

subliminal

to understanding

beyond a realm of hope

within a dream

and you

where are

You?________________

##

6-22-93

You surprised me today

You came and spoke to me

Thanking me for some

                little note

                I had left

                on your desk

My mind was on Spanish

And you called my name

I remember you

But, ethereal you

you are like a dream.

I dared to look

at your face

But it fades now

your smile

like the Cheshire Cat.

I try to call it back . . .

Your eyes flash dark

And bring a smile

              to my memories. . .

I love you

How can I not?

When you

Spoke to me today

You sat

and listened to my noise

You were there

Your face before mine

I could have reached

                      out

                           and

                                  touched you . . .

Why didn't I?

##

That day comes back so vividly to me. I had forgotten that love. How time slides things away from us . . . and rightly so . . . that was a painful time . . . because love hurts!   I have to confess that I am not putting in this blog most of those love poems.  I think the brain is a little damaged, as if from too much wine, when one is in love. Just one more about my lover__________

July 1993

Days have flowed

like blood

or clear spring water

singing as it rises

over mountain's ribs

And your face

Has been washed

by times rough cloth. . .

your edges have been

smudged

through the grinding

of passing crystals.

Although not invisible

to me

you have blurred.

The sound of your voice

is stilled.

I cannot bear the

thought

of your drifting

so far

from me.

How can I get you back?

##

Well, I remember that lover . . . passionate, but not long lasting . . . like the dew in the hot summer sun . . . quickly melting away . . . and leaving no trace.


This album is so relaxing and comforting. Really very good, another one of my old favorites at the bottom of the stack. I'm pulling them out for a re-listen.



July 17, 1993


Don't take away my voice
O subtle day.
You leap at me from
                    behind kind clouds;
The kind that stay and stay.

Don't take away my song
O slippery sun.
And tear the breath
                    from my troubled veins
On the road where I am from.


Don't take away my tears
O fading star.
You reflect your face
                     on the mirror of my eyes
When I long to be where you are.

Don't wash away my sweat
O falling rain
You kiss against my cheeks
                      with gentle patting paws
Then rip away the furrows of
                                       my pain.

Don't take away my love
O beautiful soul
You touch the central pulse of me
                      with the breezes of your breath
And I melt into your mold.


##

7 - 15 - 93

They tell me

I'm doing O.K. . . . .

That's what they tell me

But I find

Deep in the canyons

of my mind

A flowering bush

A sparkling, flinging

                                   stars into the darkness

                        bush

My creation

sending light

Where no light was

sending might

into the night

No need to run

I'm doing O.K. . . . . .

But the sparks

get in the way

And everywhere I go

I let them show.

##

7-18-93

_________i hate tests

your test was hard

I needed the capacious

memory of a capricious

camel

Which

of course I do not have.

Names escape me . . . . . they are

Ants running, fleeing

the flood

bearing away

the important stuff

the little white sacks

of gene material

the memories

of the tribe

The heart and soul

of the community

slips away

leaving empty

echoing

caverns

within which

there is small hope . . . 

and a small soul

stumbles 

her empty skull in her hands

i_______________

##

July 1993

It has been so long

Since the clouds

broke

and danced across

             the mountains

I haven't heard 

             the mountains

sing

      the dance of the comet

And the moon sighs

when she sees the gray.

She longs to see

her reflection

in my eyes.

She longs to find me

and hold me

once more in her arms.

It has been so long

Since the clouds

danced to the song

the mountains sing

about a comet

long ago

Who fell to earth

and couldn't rise

She sank in agony

her silver scattering

into the broken brooks

And all the clouds convene

to keep her there

Deep in the

Mountain's valley

where the mountain's

waters

wash her gently.

But she cries

for the moon sighs

when she sees the gray.

Her longing for me

grows stronger

every day

as I long

for love.

And the mountain sings

to her valley

where the comet

 lives

and her scattered silver.

##

Well, I think I was on hash with that one. Pretty bad but I like the story so it goes here and maybe will improve, like wine, with age or . . . into vinegar.

 And - well since you asked so nicely - one or two more love poems - will it never stop? Oh - those were the days!

July 1993

Your eyes are the sun spots

which change the direction

of my storms

And I blow in the dark

a gentle breeze

between your breasts

A sigh

A gentle smile . . .

from you

And I robe you

In atmospheres of blue black

And I scatter the stars

between your thighs . . .

I touch your heart

And you give me

an eternity . . .

##

7-29-93

I saw you today

From far away

So I turned away

But the sight of you

Burned into my retina

and you stayed

one inch tall

forever in the green

walking up the hill

with that serious look

of yours . . .

But vulnerable

like best crystal.

And I longed for you

All over again

as if I could

own you

as if I could

hope

to have

even one tiny

piece 

of you.

##

Embarrassingly enough there are stacks of this stuff.  It seems that I couldn't shut up. To bad so many of them are so graphic - I simply cannot put them in a public place - for innocent eyes to wander over.

There once was a time

When I believed

All my dreams would

                        come true.

When was that time?

And why has it drifted

                        away?

I know now that

Nothing I treasure

                        is here to stay.

I see the mold

I see the rust

I see my dreams

          diminished by dust

Though not hopelessly

         for I still dream

Childhood long gone

Fresh visions diminished

A harsh light shines

On life's last mysteries

And a cry swirls in

           the fusion's storm

A cry for what the future

          carries. . .

In the end it is all

                        the same

                        the same

Doomed to repeat

The same mistakes

And we wonder

Why we cannot hear

               cannot see

And the dreams

                evolve

And become . . .

               just dreams.

## 

And that is all for tonight!