Monday, May 25, 2015

More Poems in Journal Anima


I’ve seen so many bridges
dreamed of ancient gatekeepers
a fluffy white dress
and dogs that fly me
through the gates to the big house

I’ve come from a far off land
an alien amongst you
somehow I’ve won your love

my wandering isn’t over though
and soon another bridge
will magically appear
when the river is too wide
to ford safely
first the bridge appears
then the river
and it’s time to cross
with my children and animals

a trumpet will sound ahead
the elephants will parade first
to announce our strangeness

and like a dream I had once
I will see more names
written on the wings of an angel

I will never forget you

but for now let’s toast
to the mystical tension

between order and freedom.

Notice Me: A Poem of Aphrodite
(in the Spirit of Sappho

Inanna gathered all the me.
The me were placed on the Boat of Heaven.
The Boat of Heaven, with the holy me,
pushed off from the quay.

Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth

Desire has shaken my mind
As wind in the mountain forests
Roars through trees.

Sappho, 15

I am a sea-shell
sing through me,
radiate scarlet
to the western sky.
Laughter’s darling
is the breeze
that lifts my hair
cools the sweat
on my neck.
I am the wind silvery
with glee,
the trees ravished
with desire,
bending bodies
as if they remember
some pre-tree time
and the motion of water,
leaves like hair
sweep the earth.
Centuries run round
circles of the sun
Inanna, Ishtar, me.
Beauty catches the poet
by surprise
notice me.
Notice the glow
of youthful skin
the playful glance
remember the giggle
that catches running
from each silly child
to the other
until no one is immune.
Though I shout “stop-stop!
My sides are hurting”
notice me rolling
from side to side
finally breathless
no laughter left
until eyes meet again
erupt into a giggle-dance
again and again.
Recognize what Beauty is,
I am the purple
interwoven into everything,
the silence between things,
the song, the cricket’s chirp,
the heavy stillness
of dead heat in Su(m)mer,
the quiet of snow falling,
The wee hours
when traffic dies away.
Remember in the desert
the sound of ocean waves,
remember in the mountains
the vista of the prairie,
remember in old age
the beauty of your mother
when she was young
her hair brown and soft.
Notice me
even in the pain of love
the absence of love
I am the presence
in what is not.
I am color—
what makes you
choose one over another.
A painting for this wall?
Or to leave it white?
Like the brrrrrr
in a man’s deep voice
or the delicate collar-bone
peeping through a woman’s blouse
desire springs through
all things life-giving,
wonder at it,
this is me
this is yours.

Treasure Hunting

From the depths of the sea
a white whale rises up
across his forehead is written
I am tied to his side.

The goddess Ganges is also a river
deep within I find
Axis Mundi
the alive meet the dead
I immerse myself.

Lady of the Lotus-born
buries the treasure
under the snowy mountain ranges
something is cooking underground
it is time for me to dig.

My mother is Persephone,
I am Demeter,
for twenty years
from the underworld
she has taught me how to live
Hades is not so bad
I listen
my ear is to the ground.

I find a trail of pearls
through the forest
and meet myself
at the talking spring
I peel off my outer layer
from night emerges day
I string the pearls
so I won’t forget to retrace
the path of becoming.

Merlin retreats into stone
stone retreats into forest
in visions Merlin visits
with coned hat alive with stars
he gives me his hat
and a blue third eye.
A door in an oak tree opens
words and then pages fly out
The oak says, “Unlock the secrets of nature.”

I dream the Dalai Lama smiles
and gives me a sacred stone
as I hold it in my hand
images and colors flow out of it
I fly with the stone
to the innermost circles
of his Buddhist palace
new architecture appears
new circles emerge
within old ones
here babies are asleep
a chamber orchestra plays
women wash white linen.

A pattern emerges
what is hidden
buried deep within
earth, water, and sky
in the architecture of the soul
are rooms I seek
here one thing transforms into another
just as straw is spun into gold.
Apparently, I am ready for alchemy.

A Local Habitation and a Name

To sit in the moonlight
wrapped in a blanket
rocking back and forth.

As the dark grows
I hear many walking
in the woods
I see only shadows
in the pale light
as they walk or
scramble through the
fallen leaves
to be close around.

I hear breathing,
some walk slowly
stopping to consider,
others follow each other
in a mad dash,
all the while
the owl hoots
high up in his overview.

Nocturnal comings
and goings,
dreams while awake,
bathing in cold moonlight
all heals an un-named pain.

Beauty, movement, animal
beings, dream sequences,
happen outside me now.

The dark formless
inner stirrings
take shape
and are given
“a local habitation
and a name.”*

* from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream