ELEMENTS, ELEMENTAL, ELEMENTARY
IF WE CAME FROM STARS
We carry their carbon footprint
Our DNA ancient as starlight
Stars sing in space/they are in a dance
that connects all of us @all times
Astronomy/astrology. Three Wise Men /Bethlehem
All of these stories are stars/as we are stars
Beaming Light among us/and rising and falling
Every star song has a chorus. SING WITH US!
TO BE EUDEMONIC WITHIN SPACE & TIME
To allude to classical lines
To use natural(recycled) materials
To include nature as part (not apart
To open up areas /allow Light in
To be organic, living, breathing
As it is in our bodies, so in the spaces where we live
To build with and for -to let Light live.
From RIVERS & TIDES to mud-brick Cathedral
Everywhere Natural and Living is Holy and wholly helpful
For we only have Space, and Time is counted
And to make and create is the task of our lives
Each one linked by the same necessities
As in beauty and life-let your Dreams Breathe!
A SPARK OF MADNESS
SPARK OF MADNESS Correlations between those
of "altered states"
and those who made art out of chaos
Painters, poets, novelists-surrealists
all used that spark of madness to make art .
Dali's masturbatory fantasies, Baudelaire's praise of
Van Gogh's absinthe, Burrough's heroin,
Bukowski's alcoholism-like Leary and LSD
Ginsberg and marijuana
one asks if art is best served by madness or repose
"Kubla Khan "from a laudanum-inspire
visions and projected fantasies
There are so many who do not believe they can
Let them BUY these works
if only to prove or disprove that quality comes
from a "spark of madness!"
TO MAKE A SANCTUARY
a safe space/blessed area
drawn to ancient lines
affirmed in landscaping
Zen monks raked sands
in patterns like the wind
to encourage meditation
Spiral galaxies spin
we are within them
tiny seashells in deep oceans
Moving in a Sacred Way
where every ending
is beginning/ cycles
You start in art./Life follows
Leaving only photographs
is beginning/ cycles
You start in art./Life follows
Leaving only photographs
THE LAST ART
"What is it about poetry that people love to hate? Why this periodic denunciation? Why such anxiety and embarrassment about poetry? I got interested in what contempt about poetry reveals about culture." - Ben Lerner.
THE CORPSE OF POETRY IS DISSECTED
in bored classrooms by clinical grammarians/
As soon as you utter, you trespass upon meaning.
Speak song, and lyric intrudes
Let the body of language walk and talk, perambulate
Watch how our Inner Sufi animates this world dust
Trust indigenous song-cycles.
Learn how ancient these drum beat word rhythms
Then, when words argue back, try to deny rant and
Stories reincarnate and resurrect.
They flow in narrative streams.
They glow with visions and epiphanies.
THEY LIVE! The death of metaphor is premature.
It serves a vital purpose-to restore depth and significance to speech.
Your word is your bond your stock,
your shares, your instruments of exchange.
Trust your visions! Trust
YOU GIVE AWAY YOUR ART
YOUR LIFE A CO-CREATION
Yet, when you live beyond your love-
a subtle devastation. You still talk to him(or rather
He tells you to get off your "pity pot" -and star
And your smile shows that you know this is true
But what can an artist do in a Luddite world?
So you downsize to a granny flat and you give your
old art away
to make space for the new and you discover a simple
When you release all that you have made and given
You become ,anew. Your new creation-is you..
WHEN FAERIE YOUNG She lived in country
felt at one with trees, birds, animals
(Not so trusting with humans who seemed to lack connection-
to themselves or all other forms of life..)
From harmonic growing life to finding broken
she learned older ways again-wind, water, signs,
How to read /the way to be/when others could not see
Her children taught her she was love
having this foundation of connection Others called her EARTH MOTHER
Her white wolf sits tranquil by her side
She lives in forests now/attracts those who pilgrim
come to learn from earth, and need a MOTHER OF
to guide them..
Thom World Poet
THERE IS THIS DANCE BETWEEN LIFE & ART
It is not like DANCING WITH THE STARS
It is more a danse macabre Your breath & its demise
Your daily/nightly/limited life
Each day has counted syllables
You have enough energy to defeat lassitude
But doctors and health are more than excuses
Your words lay unspoken, unwritten
Your life a story you did not finish'/Your memoir
Your EPIC SAGA another bag of dust on the shelf
Unless and until you devote to Muse once more-
to explore the untended emotions, the lost paths the
the Light in your eyes will guide you
to spill all those shadows into ink stained pages
which become as wings, and lift your only/many
IN ALL TIMES YOU LOVE
morning, kissing pillows that at night have held a
as outside moon witness changes guard with sun
Breakfast as you feed upon daylight milk
and the flow of energies gives you reasons to
Noon, when , paused for reflection, you take time
back to recall
how time for memory is not time lost at all
Afternoon-siesta, where you digest the day to date,
slide down the wormhole of where you were when...
evening , after twilight turns its lemon light into stars
you blink ,remember where you are, and turn your
dream frequency on
Night has come-a blanket sky.
WE ARE SAVED VIA ART
Creativity is evolving All energies transform us
We choose essence and direction There is point and
Even nothing has something to offer
Material means more than spaces between materials
Emotions are a supermarket There is always more
Each moment a surprise Sometimes a fine line between description and result Here be the mojo. And the magic What happens next? Unknown..
THERE ARE STILL FISH IN BARTON SPRINGS
small, but visible. There is an eel that sometimes
And then-those legendary salamanders-tiny,
Unique to this habitat. All long before a human hand
drank from /
a human body slipped into these cool ,refreshing
So some say words are flowers on the waters
and the truth is to actually enter the Springs
first by sitting, watching, waiting
next by merging with those waters
which will always be more than we who come as
for temporary admission. Whether drought or no-we
We are the wild life sun sipping by the sides of Pool
We are those swimming in those waters so cool
Fish, eel, salamander ,snake-all take to the waters
We are All water!
WHAT YOU HEAR AWAY FROM HERE
is as old as stone. Flint, to be precise
and it is tuned and attuned
as earth is a song/we learn
to sing along/with and besides/
so we may understand fully/why we hum
as if hearing sounds /beyond our audible spectrum
Deserts know. They hold the wisdom of past oceans.
They whistle winds through them.
Sand and glass notes are heard by desert dwellers.
Stones sing! That is why we value crystals/diamonds/quartz/silicon
Our clear glass world needs to hear again-
the singing distance of deserts
SINGING WITH ALEPPO
NOW WE HEAR THE SAME OLD DIRGE Military
Civilians paying twice. As in Aleppo.
As in Palestine. As in Standing Rock.
As the last messages filter out /stained with blood
We send our love, strength and support to all civilians threatened with extinction.
Already, hospitals are bombed
Every individual has a name-not just a body count.
Under the same moon, murder is done
Do not blame the moon, nor stars
Guilt does not bring the dead and dying back to life
This is a blues. A keening. A howl.
An ululation for every man, woman and child trapped in their only home
Being bombed as you read this last line.
HOWL WITH ME! Sing with Standing Rock!
THE DOOR OF WINTER IS LOCKED TIGHT
OUTSIDE IS FROST, AND SNOW & ICE
Inside-both fire and feast frolic with a warmth this coolest season would deny.
Inside, we huddle closer in these times
when human heat seems such a threatened species
replaced by gunpowder wars and walls
We are diminished unless and until we seek shelter
within the company of one another/keeps us stronger
Like the fire of your energies, in these dying days will keep ye well enough to breathe through cold, and
snow, and frost
Leave winter outside.. Come inside. With us..