Tag Archives: moon

Connie’s Song- a prayer in 1400 miles of bluesky redclouds, fossils

30 Jul

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Night Meditation Experiment 07242012

25 Jul

Internal bones
eternal bones
we are beings
of bones
and
flesh
we caress
each other
under the
sun
naked
the nakedsun
then the Earth
yawns and
swallows our
flesh
and
bones.
Later a dog
barks in
the moonlight
and unburies
our bones.
Then our bones
bark scaring
the
dog away
dog gone
and our
bones
dance.

Visiting the Bungalow Labyrinth

24 Jul

I ventured to translate this
place by ancient lights in
space- the slime of the
Earth and of the spittle-
into the psychology
of a pregnant woman by the
catacomb of her warm
cathedraled sex- it was
all vaguely in bad taste
of course.

The city was washed in a
melancholy quicksilver. I
had published humorous
little pieces about the
schizo-ghosts of those
drowned animals,
but enough of that,
Barnaby ordered.

Understand it involves
an electronics nut and
a featherheaded girl in-
stead. Grotesquely the
idea appealed to me
strongly like the Milky
Way above me at that
moment in that strange
house of charity.

We were all armed with
the strongest of Universal
forces, Love, but in a
world of manic materialism
this can be, and often
proves to be powerless like
age mistranslated- through
tired elegant eyes- as
everlasting.

-but promise to love
others, too.

Yes, all a delusion.
Remember that book?
It will spread like
an autumn fire among
the windrows.

An apeman sketching
words on near-paper,
think of him as a burst
bubble, a two-headed
lion with one foot and
a woman with two. Live
forever then, O, that
sigh!

It is a house of
Whitherthitherhither-
shins, holy sadness
and magenta stained eyes.
The night flutters by
like a moth snatched
and eaten as a lost
tribe appears crossing
the avenue.

Eyes narrowed broken
glass reconciling the
fantasy years of the
region between. Now
it is a quasisentient
gestalt like Jimmy
Stewart as a Clown
in 1952, the words
here, talk of secrets
lost underground for
years on a subway
train that flew off
the tracks into
a dream unremembered
and things well
beyond the moon.

*Written as a part of Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub*

Anthills of the Mind

22 Jul

Awful dead or awful old- it all
needs fitting together the
ambient with the rest. What
had been deepened by his
derangement- was this
indulgent amnesia?

He knew long ago she had
been the steam yacht of a
famous leader of humanity.
The sheer one-hundred-meter
height of that sacred grove
of yew or lindens?

Obstacles for him to meet and
in fact that was a startling
advertisement for this day
and age. What was the
high purpose of his
gallant band entangled?

A man, a shave and a haircut.
He just saw her in the gloaming
nights and other folklore
in those anthills of his mind-

newspapers in English, Spanish,
Portuguese and French-
thirty six thousand
words-

ants crawling like demons who
may be of worlds beyond the
moon-

he had a vision- of a dead man
winning, and he thought that
might be me as it never hurt
to look a little deeper.

Old Movie Monsters & Me

10 Jul

Note: This is a very rough attempt, and only my second at a song even if it bears little resemblance to a song at the moment that is the intention for this piece at some point in the future. Enjoy. Namaste.

Sometimes late at night
night when I drink
more than I should
and I’m racing with the headlights
and the moon. I feel just
like old Dracula did
crawling back to his tomb.
He wanted to escape the
morning light ’cause he knew
the sun would burn him
up and that’s how I felt this
morning. I crawled away from
the light, scared that if it
touched me I would break.

Sometimes when I’m out swimming
after a long hot lonely day.
I feel just like that old creature
just wanting to touch a
face, but the beauty was
denied him, and like him
I sink below the surface
of a black lagoon.

Sometimes when I’m out walking
I feel as if in a daze. I’ve got layers
wrapped around me
protecting me
from everyone
and everything.
I don’t want to talk about it
because I’m afraid
that with just one touch
I’ll unravel like that old Mummy
might have done.

Now there are nights where the
only light I’ve seen is the moon.
Beautiful and full of hunger and
a chill then I know
just why that old wolfman was
howling on and on.

And I run.
And I run.
And I don’t know
what else
that I
can sing.

So I guess what I’ve been trying to
say but maybe not saying it at all
Is that without you around the days
are rough and the nights long,
and I feel just like all
those old monsters
out bumping in the night
’cause really each in our own way
we’re all searching
for that same thing.