Music Liberation*

Staring out the window,
listening to morning colors
mingling among the last of night's hold,
I wander through this song of
stardust memories.

I hear it calling in notes that
ride tight G clef
of 6/8 time, then
syncopate into a be-bop dip,
laughing through the pulsing lips
and swaying hips
of a jazz playing quasar.

Meandering through this beating
blue noise haze
I hear you softly say:
"In the spirit of pulsar improvisation
let our wild, unfettered imagination
create a world littered with
musical reverberation.

In an earth cleansing,
blues chasing human beat,
let us hasten each step,
until our world has been won."

Aztec Warrior
(written several years ago
https://soundcloud.com/user-520857625/audio-recording-music

A JOURNEY**

The night-stone, carefully placed
in the small bear skin pouch,
discusses drum beats with
amulets, charms, powders and
even a small wren’s yellow puff feather.
All creating within the power
of his ancestral soul.
This small obsidian,
chipped and flaked smooth stone
held along its edges the
blood of the animals
sacrificed to keep him alive;
giving him their spirits,
their views on how the Mother evolved
as well as their precious
shapes as he passed
from one world to the next.
His bag was rich medicine
and served him well.
~~~
He stood looking over
a vast valley plain
and could hear the stream
wrinkle smooth the rocks
as its mountain waters
continuously flowed.
He could see the honey bee
making love to the poppies
and clovers as well as
the sweet daffodils.
He could taste the pine needles
dance on the musky,
early morning soil after they
were awakened by squirrels
looking for a game of tag.
And he could feel lightly
the sway of Oak trees
moving slightly by the notes two hawks sung
circling, whispering, hypnotizing
their wary prey.
~~~
Looking out over this
green smelling plain
he could feel the vision swell,
as guided by this trance
he searched his pouch for
the blood star he had captured
one spring day while
riding the back of old Turtle.
Looking out over this
amber hazed horizon
he felt himself walking
talking with Grandfather
asking the meaning of rain,
wind and snow that carried him
gently to Big Mountain.
“Grand Father,
where is the beauty?
Where is the peace
above and below us?
Grand Father,
why are we still blind
to the wolf’s howl
and the cawing of the crow”
~~~
Standing atop Big Mountain,
holding in his left hand
the red star cloth
he begins his journey.
“Grand Father, let the wind beat
this drum of resistance
that is our human essence;
let the rain soak our hearts
cleansing us worthy to find
the path of snow and its soothing
warmth to make the Earth whole.
Grand Father, I only know
Babylon must fall.And this crimson star,
dripping with the people’s tears
can lead us back to the heights
of Big Mountain;
to the beauty and peace
above and below;
to our long lost whale songs
sung by the night sky
and seen in our children’s eyes.”
Carefully placing the medicine bag
around his neck,
holding it and smiling,
he takes the first steps..

Aztec Warrior

THE TASTE OF SYNONYM*


The odor of stale beer danced
with the steel blue smoke,
while Ska beats filled the air
with electricity.

As the room filled,
a thousand words spoke
all at once, loudly,
making it seem like a small riot.
Amidst the noise of confusion
and polemical anticipation,
I saw you stare.

You came at me with tight jeans,
a feminine sway,
and a slightly ruby smile.

You came at me
like an afternoon thunder storm
with lips tasting of cinnamon- synonyms
and dark brown eyes.

But it was in the symmetry of nuance
and the way you nestled easily
within the folds of my arms;
the way faded jeans and
oft washed flannel shirt
felt like home.

It was in the symmetry of morning delights,
of your creamy antonyms
melting on my tongue, that inspired
as I  explored your perfumed valleys,
roamed your mountain tips.

And I went to you in simile,
with a smile that said:
I walk no longer in shadow,
but in the moonlight of your eyes.

I went to you
with Neruda on my lips
and Enigma as my guide,
singing the Blues in Haiku tones,
painted as inquisitive whys.

I came at you
with poetry in my heart
and your synonymous taste on my lips.

I came at you
like gentle summer sips
of sonnet-flavored rain.

You came at me in synonyms;
and I replied  with cinnamon and rhyme:
come, speak to me of time,
art,
and the rhythm of the night sky.
                                                            ­          
Aztec Warrior
https://soundcloud.com/user-520857625/the-taste-of-synonym