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! 

 

A Huge Giant Blog & Happy 2KX

No explanations or reviews. Just listen and enjoy:

The music pours through me
         clinging to the edges of my being
connecting my existence
to the entity which forms shape
completely surrounding me
                 guiding me. . .
conceiving tears
            from my face
    collecting them like so many spare parts…
to forge on its anvil  . . .

a trip through time
and lost places - long known - long forgotten
electronic beings embrace
running toward fear, outrunning the shadows that salute them
                       finding joy and . . .
                                     always the sorrow

uh - the light is too bright
                    it hurts my heart's eye.
She looks with her fingers
                 finds

longing is forgivable

but the fluttering in my ears
             is
       your voice. . .
your warm brass entices me
         further
                  further. . .
where there be  danger
                 apprehend
the wide open spaces
the dark engulfs the light
in a chasm
so deep
so hidden. . .

                 loosed by the flow of the music
like spring's waters breaking the ice
from the creek

give her freedom to run
down the easy way
to the sea
where her tears are stored
and waiting for her



##

1-5-10

go fight against the coming storm
ye who scrabble on the darkened hills of Earth
Her breasts can not abide you. . .
She wishes yet to destroy your abodes upon Her cold tits. . .
you are nothing more than
an irritant . . .
a molecule
 
She shrugs you off with a twitch of Her shoulder
and yet you cling as a lover
with hatred yet returned

the stars gaze without care
and the sun tries to burn your very bones to ashes.

You little thing. . .
All alone against the storm
the tide that turns against your back
you seek reprieve and finding none. . .

turn and kill each other.
You turn to kill your Brother. . .




##

1-6-10

  Sunlight sparkles on the teeth of the children
                    pearls on black velvet
. . . . laughter that bubbles and sings like the spring
or a dream
and the eagle lands on the tall black fir
bending low
to see the things that dance and glow. . .

their bodies move like the birth of the breeze
on the stillness of the mountain of earth. . .
yet they bear wings to rise
and the butterflies
flutter near
to see this moving tapestry. . .
a garden of joy

these small soft aliens,
strangers to this fragile planet. . .
enlighten us with their frivolity
and care less with an ease
and the grace of the angels
touching our hearts with a love that is old as creation

and with the songs of the gods of antiquity
and the birds in the trees
they fill our souls. . .
with pure wisdom from the heights of the heavens
and of a profound and ancient peace

##

1-6-10

Orange on a purple tide,
the sun strikes his last note
as a token of return,
a promise for tomorrow
and the hope a new day brings

and through the long long dark of night
that orange purple note remains
within my heart
and lifts me up
while giving joy a chance.

##

All the Kids love Computer Class

A roomful of children
laughing and
playing the games, racing
chasing, running, action,
all computer games, though
perhaps things they should be doing
in reality
instead of the virtual. . .

but for one small lone child
always so intense. . .
straggling hair past his shoulders - a
red bandanna headband
never quite doing the job

yet his eyes shine from behind those strands
as he struggles passionately
over his music. . .
on Garageband.
A song he has collaborated
with a close friend;
composing for months,
on the computer in the back of the room - in a corner  - far away from the rest - even his friend has deserted him
so now he sits alone,
hunched
working out the nuances,
of his tune, his
face so pale and closed in
. . . . dimples flashing as he wins a note,

but
determined
as he tries to find the music
from deep in his heart
to win the peace he needs
to heal his soul.

And yet his song remains unnamed.

A true story as observed by myself. Over the months I have witnessed and loved this child  for his determination to learn how to use Garageband and I dedicate this poem to him for his willingness to teach me what he has learned.  To: Lukas K.

So - I've been enjoying GIMP: 

I call this Thing2

This was a collage I had made when I was into doing such things. I decided to scan it and play around with GIMP for a bit and then, voila. This thing. Poor dear thing - what is it? At least I am learning by doing, like my kids - which reminds me, Monday is back to school and the hardest time of the year for me - t-e-s-t time. For those of you who know me and how distressed I am at being the Testing Coordinator on top of being the Computer Teacher, please give me lots of lovings? No such word, hum - well still. . .

  Thing3

I worked on Thing3 with Gimp also, making it worse and worse. I wish I knew a better way to work with the bamboo pad. It is so awkward with this big laptop as opposed to the tiny one.

I drew this picture when I was in one of the park-facing classrooms, repairing a computer this winter holiday. I was all alone, except for the heater repair guy rambling around that huge building, and bored, so I drew this little brick building in the park. There was this little person there for quite a while as I drew. So I watched her as she was walking toward the school. Suddenly she stopped, bent down to look at the ground and started yelling violently, waving her arms around and scolding something there in her sight. Perhaps it was just a worm.

It was a bad day for me and crazy people. I had an adventure earlier with a totally insane man at the bus stop. He decided to get violent with me, pushing me and commanding me to leave as this wasn't the stop for the likes of me. He also called me an "Oogle" which made me start to laugh. This situation wasn't funny because I had to defend myself, putting my arms out, palms facing him and repeating, "You're in my space. Step back. Step back or I will hit you!"

He was bigger than me and I didn't want to fight;  I'm a Flower Child after all. He would run around the shelter and squat down and peek around the wall and yell, "I still see you. I still see you!" Then he would run back and pretend to shoot me. I tried ignoring him when he had his finger on my cheek pulling the trigger, over and over and over again. Not my idea of fun. When the bus decided to come a million years later he turned into a normal acting citizen. Go figure!

I think I'll Google Oogle.

Found it: From the Urban Dictionary

"Oogles are street rats that don't have street smarts. They are the ICP kids, the tweekers on bikes, the 15 year olds who runaway cause they think it's cool, not cause their lives at home weren't working out. Another good word for an oogle is poser. The kids that pose as punx don't know shit about the scene, don't know shit about the music. Age is often a big part of oogle-ism, you have to be around for a while before people will respect you in street scenes. Some kids grow up and get street cred. Others are doomed to be oogles for the whole time they choose to hang out. Tweekers and 'juggalos' are doomed to be oogles for all of eternity. Oogles don't know shit about squatting. these are the kids that sleep in doorways. You find them in every city.

"Yeah, that oogle got murdered cause he was too stupid to find a safe place to sleep, some jock rolled him in his sleeping bag outside of the library.""

Hmmm - I pass as a street kid??? I don't know whether to be flattered or alarmed.

2KX - look it up in the Urban Dictionary!

Thing4

HA - I'm learning stuff. Like my globe? - made it in GIMP - WHOO - WHOO - love that GIMP - boy I'm excited. Back with more stuff. Stay tuned. Well - whatever - I know its not perfect - I'm half asleep after all.

Books

Life is a story and we are always retelling our part of the never-ending tale. If someone catches us at it they may call it a lie. But we know better - the true tale, worth telling, resides in another realm, one within the imaginings.

So maybe, life isn't real, but a series of books on a library shelf, located somewhere in the heavens. Could be: think about it.

I have loved books my whole life. I am a voracious reader and have accumulated over 2,000 books in my library. A few are worth sharing. Some deserve to be hoarded and kept for posterity as long as their molecules hold together. Others are for pure entertainment. Many are full of important knowledge.

I revel in my library.

I begin now a Post which will be focused on books. Particularly the ones which have endured in my heart and have added a layer to my life.

The author I chose today is: Louisa May Alcott, a woman of such integrity and enduring stamina that she should be any girl's hero. Let me find something to tell you about her. I have something in my library. . .

Here is a link to a pretty concise biography of this lovely lady. http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/louisamayalcott.html

Louisa May Alcott was born in 1832-1888 in Philadelphia. She never went to school but was well educated at home by her father, Bronson Alcott. Her father was a Transcendentalist Philosopher and Educator and ran a small school of his own for a short while. Some of the close family friends who were a strong influence on Alcott were, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Nathaniel Hawthorne; all worthy of emulation.
The Alcotts lived a hard scrabble life and moved often. Louisa May Alcott took many menial jobs to help support her family during these hard times. These jobs included being a servant, seamstress, and nurse during the Civil War, much to the detriment of her health. She became an advocate of abolition, women's rights and temperance. Her big break came when "Little Women" was published in 1868, a story about her family during her childhood. She continued to publish a book a year until her death in 1888.

I remember when I was given an ancient copy of "Little Women" when I was eleven. I loved the smell of old books and would bury my nose deep into their pages until I had absorbed as much fragrance  and other worldly essence as I could stand. Then I would read. First sniff. Then engorge on the colors and details of a well told story. My brain would race with mental pictures to accompany these tales and I had a vivid imagination which holds true today.

Although I had been an avid reader since the day I could hold a book, and had a real strong desire to read every book in the public library, I had never fallen so hard for a book as I fell for this one. To this day, this book is my love. I have her stashed carefully away in safekeeping, her pages fallen in disarray and her cover scuffed and abused. I took her out today to look at her, but put her back for fear of any more damage. Sadly the incense is also gone but the memory of it is so strong that it will never fade away from my mind.

I did want to include a couple of covers from my collection of children's books. These two are from my Louisa May Alcott collection, both of which I also owned as a child:

Some Music to Sooth the Savage Beast

Happy New Year - 2010!

Loneliness - the Entity

Yawning abyss - that black hole in your soul

like a gaping wound you try to stanch the flow

of hope and dreams

escaping your grasping fingers

as you wrap your arms tighter around your heart

Big black hole - like a ravenous mouth eating at your heart

hungry for more

hungry for your soul 

you alone stand to battle

with bare hands

against the dragon of your very being - your  own creation

the dragon's mouth the yawning abyss

the fire inside

the fear

the fear

You stand in that big empty black cave

no sound but the insistent  plop of the distant water

or blood. . .

Your ears strain to catch the sound

of happy voices

others

even one sad cry. . .

someone

where are you . . . where are you - anyone?

No one is there but you alone

trying to appease the dragon inside you. . .

you inside the dragon

Is it love that contains you there 

ensnaring you behind the sharp teeth

like prison bars

dripping with poison and contempt?

Is it hate that embraces you with skeletal arms

enshrouding you in its violence

its hatred sneering at your tears.

No one to hold your hand and walk your walk

No one to hear your words and share the talk

Oh - God am I the only one

the only one

so alone

so cold

?

I hope so

for the pain is too great to bear

the heart wrenches itself from the breast

and tries to escape

with its life-giving rhythm

like a precious jewel

falling away and lost forever.

OH
I pull myself together wiping away my tears
put some color on my pale cheeks
Put a big smile on my face
Don't forget the crinkle and twinkle in my eyes -

and go out to meet my friends
in the places of light and sound
for
I too can laugh and play
always being the clown
They love me there
hugs and kisses
in that world



But still -      NO ONE is in that hellish place with me
No knights in shining armor - nothing - 
No life raft to float me away - nothing
No big shiny happy ever after ending - nothing
No rescue from the burning building - and again I say - nothing. . .


So - I turn inward
and thus I am truly lost. . .

This one came streaming out of me like the crystal stream my sister and I found once - pouring out from under an old tree in the beautiful wilderness of Eagle Creek - where we hiked for days and slept under the open sky and saw such heavenly beauty that it is indescribable. Perhaps the dark ugly stories are sometimes easier to explain.

Joy and Peace for all of 2010!