Night Meditation Poetry Experiment #01 06252012

Listening to
bluebird highwaysongs
tonight-

“Sometimes I get too
sad when drinking-
look at that star
through the hole
in the forest
canopy.”

“It’s the bottom star
in the Big Dipper- the
ladle part.”

“Groovy, I never knew
that at all.”

“Oh, I’m an expert on
the big dipper.”

My favorite picture:
me at ten years old
with the dogs dressed
in my best Pops
impression-
walking in the
wintersnow on
the farm.

Your favorite picture:
me and my sister as
children- dressed up
for some reason- you
love my sunglasses &
blue suit. I am standing
there with my sister
in the side yard.

“How old did I look in that picture?”

“Between eleven & thirteen.”

A new year of new rivers,
a woman jogging
gorgeously in pink-
for a moment she
was Athena- like
that four hundred
pound cyclist
that day between
flying discs, ducks,
and music.

And we beat the watermelonsun
like a drum- it’s ripe- let me
know if my Grandmother was
right.
Always
(every)
days- how many has it in been?
171.
Remember that night in
a parking lot in love
fire’s burning flame
wetsand
and
strawberry
afternoons?

Believe:
blue routes
skymusic
a hawk flying
over a field-
a crow sitting on
a wire eating
a candy bar-
he gets it-
tiger roses
and my
love.

What does fall say
to the ground?

The stranger at your front
door is nature-
a man of constant sorrow
or
a madman on the boat
in a storm.

With you it is always a
a burning torch kind of light-
and there are rats on the
flood, vampires, and
always honest men
imagining morning.

 

Bracelets, Ducky Love, Rings, & Song

<a href=”https://mattspotentialpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/image-062212-from-okc-pictures.jpg”&gt;

 

I realize when I look at you
baby, that I love you so,
and I need to hold you close
and dance-
bodies,
mind,
&
soul.

We started this dance
so long ago now,
and your eyes are
telling me you are
getting tiredearly
in the morning. Those
amazing eyes I dreamed
the other night I was
seeing through my hands.
My brain
interpreting
my heart-
science saying-

that I love you, and I need
you to stay forever-
and it was winter
when we met- and next
spring we will be
married. And I just had
to ask you that night-
I proposed- I could not wait
To hear you say, “Yes.”
Had to tell you that day
I brought you to the ocean,
and you brought me the
ocean motion love reaction-
but it was cold, and
I abbreviated a prounoun-
Do ya think I was
Nervous?

And tonight I caught two fireflies
in our Santa Claus Jar- and we let
them go early in the evening. I could
let those flashing bugs go- as the sun
set cleaning mirrors- because you
are everything I need- those
amazing smiles that ride waves
to your eyes- more than one
color.

Scenery don’t really matter- it
ends up all the same- it is that
sweet kiss I always miss- but
old mythology persisted to
raise its head- just throw
a mirror in front of the medusa-
save us from that turning to
stone- the sweetest honeyed
lips I ever want to know-
they make the whole world
disappear when they form
words delicate yet true-
you always talk to me baby-
even when I leap from here
to there. You are with me always,
baby.

I am
ripping down our sun blanket, and
saying we need to go stargazing-
a state of grace with you
&
the Universe.

I am left juxtaposing different
levels
and
kinds
of consciousness- from
strawberry milkjello
onward to dreams-
and ever onward-
a proposal-

soon a ceremony.

On an island will we be-
I really didn’t think
things could ever be like
this- the two of us
together-
my very
own
sweetheart.

And it is tired,
And I am getting late-
and that Mockingbird
is singing from his nest-
songs of home
that always
fade
unless
you
lock up
the rain.

This poem
when cut up
would become
simple clay
red clay-
scraped from
the wheels
of our red
Monte Carlo
with one
flat tire.
Home is the result-
Peace,
Joy,
And
Love-
Of course.
And I remember falling into
Your eyes well before it was
a late spring concert finale-
before I even knew ya, truly.
My phone flashed your two
Coloreye
Display- it to me was like
Some fantasy planet captured
By an amateur astronomer with
Kids, dogs, cats, like Tim-
Remember the menagerie
And his nerd cabinet?
Left hand:
One white thread bracelet- one month old-
Amasing- one thread, and it is still hanging
On!
Right Hand:
Red & Gold- black string knot- three months old-
Cape Hatteras National Seashore-
camping at Oregon Inlet-
flying kites on empty beaches-
teaching you how to
loop
de
loop.
Pink & Red handmade
in India across the
ocean a Christmas
gift from Jo Jo-
it had- how many bells?
Four?
Five?
Now, six months later- all the bells
have fallen off- but we have caught
them together in our hands.

Orange & Yellow
stringknots
picked up at that
uber strange
gas
station
slash
motel.

If we had not been so tired after
our cross country trek- and a
tire going flat- and the ole
Monte Carlo was a kroovy
red in that strange parking
lot- the cashier flicking us off-
remember that? When we first
stopped in Virginia back in late
February.

And a rope bracelet-
possibly hemp
possibly not-
braided
with a centered
groovy green
oblong oval bead,
and with small black
bead tieoffs dangling-
from Chippokes-
our matching
camping
bracelets-
nigh three months
old.

Other bracelets have
broken or been retired
for preservation.

And of course the rings-
it all started with that
fifty cent machine-
two white and black
temporary
engagement rings.
Now replacing those
with one groovy
ring we stumbled
upon in that little
shop-
was that on sidewalk
chalk day?
And the island of
Chincoteague is
thehorizon-
An island without
Traintracks-
We’ll have to cross the
Chesapeake Bay via
Three bridges
And two
Tunnels- a movern
Marvel of technology-
A wonder of the world
On a list.

And tonight there were two lightning
Bugs in the Santa Claus jar. And on
The island there will be a great
Wave of family coming-
Jo Jo, Aunts, Uncles, and
Nieces.

Narcissus Remembers Dreaming

Hallucinations in Technicolor
spark movements in the mirror.
Electric witchcraft illumination
like the dizziness of a
transparent womb- hibernating
in confusion.

Delicate fantasies of
ivory strangers playing
swimming pianos.
Absolution flowers in
the tragic flesh smoke
of blinding renewal
that blocks all
intoxication. Left
with a thirst
and a hunger.

Leafs quiver under
the moons rushing
to the savage
temporal music
giving way to a
whirling
hysteria.

Two Dreamers Merging

She weeped as he
enclosed her wrists
in secret flower
shackles there was a
dizziness within him.
Her body was a
hallucination in
stainedglass a holy
labryinth of ecstasy
many regions to explore.

Her breath hibernated
in her throat then its
tempo increased. Her
delicate witchcraft
rushing rusty intoxication
full moons rising pure
unfathomable
alive!

Sparks and silent caresses
in the dark her mouth a
savage fantasy and
opiumden dark red supple
lips leading to a dangerous
hysteria of the flesh

then a whirling love soul
climax transparently
dissolving
wrapped
in quivers and trembling
music together one electric
wholeness- a discovery
of absolution on his
mirror tongue.

No Hand Can Write This

He plays a song of rain
and locks with a broken
valve in the night.

He who promised not to tell with
teeth fiercely pressed together
like the bricks of the old Mexican
church, forever in stone.

Forsaken
and doomed, a thousand fingers
point to an old man smashed
on a round table of failing stocks
and downward trends.

And he still plays on with
all the pathetic humor of
a performing
bear.

The Blue Danube Waltz As Torture

The generator
has been turned on,
and is sending out
vibration frequencies.
Harmony and cacophony
being studied in a laboratory.

All the pretty
and fundamental
frequencies
being mapped
by a man
in a white
lab coat
who slices open
an owl’s brain
and sends strains
of Strauss
directly into
its brain.

Neurons firing,
frequency firing,
the melody
remains the same
ba da da da da
deet deet
deet deet.

The missing
fundamentals
and pain
in the
inferior colliculus.