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poetry
September 2009 
i can imagine i am loved
and feel that golden glow
expansive and mercurial
languid upon the waters
and i can imagine that i am unloved
and slip through this life
unseen, unknown
through all the tumult of affairs
and feel that cold contraction
in the belly of darkness
as i am lost, alone, forever
feeling my way through the catacombs
but i notice that neither story
changes at all
that which actually IS
so when i stop imagining
my body has no recipe for feelings
only confusion as fear arises nonetheless
boiling from interminable deeps
and clotting like blood upon the water
but soon, through boredom perhaps
the storm recedes, subsides
into a gentle simmer
an intoxicating brew
gently lapping the shores of eternity
and that is the seduction
the undertow of intoxication
becomes yet another story
another plot-line
to whorl about the maypole of self
ribbons all a-streaming
in celebration
of this hearty
soup of dreams
and feel that golden glow
expansive and mercurial
languid upon the waters
and i can imagine that i am unloved
and slip through this life
unseen, unknown
through all the tumult of affairs
and feel that cold contraction
in the belly of darkness
as i am lost, alone, forever
feeling my way through the catacombs
but i notice that neither story
changes at all
that which actually IS
so when i stop imagining
my body has no recipe for feelings
only confusion as fear arises nonetheless
boiling from interminable deeps
and clotting like blood upon the water
but soon, through boredom perhaps
the storm recedes, subsides
into a gentle simmer
an intoxicating brew
gently lapping the shores of eternity
and that is the seduction
the undertow of intoxication
becomes yet another story
another plot-line
to whorl about the maypole of self
ribbons all a-streaming
in celebration
of this hearty
soup of dreams
Access: Public
Love it! Love you! Back into the soup…. :-)
thanks Tely - hugs!
;-)
just popped into gaia for a rare lookabout… so delightful to see a poem of yours. Mucho coolo. Loved or unloved my feet are still flat.
nice to hear from you Donny! I've been scarce too - since the storm…
and yes, flat feet – precisely!
be well!
;-)
I'm working on a piece now of graphite on a clayboard panel, nervous pencil lines washed and smeared onto dark gray mass with turpentine, surrounding odd white forms with little square shapes like little single windows and I'm calling it “dwelling”. And the little “windows” are surrounded by the bigger window of the panel itself, contained within the even larger square of my studio, contained within a larger world circle. So this must be be squaring the circle or perhaps circling the square?
Perhaps that is what we all do, circle the square, if never actually being contained within it?
If nothing else at least its nice to know you are within the odd white form next to the white form I am within with our little windows looking out into the nervous dark space between. ;-)
sounds jagged, barren, stark, these spaces between, as if the darkness has teeth… yet there is only us, here, breathing, heart beating, hot blood flowing… and these semi-circular vowels ringed by sharp consonants, casting such large, jagged shadows upon the soul, obscuring our true selves, our true meanings…
be well, friend!