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 May 2014
Brycical
THE OTHER DAY IN THE PARK I SPIED A WHITE SQUIRREL!

LATER:
We remember a past life,
later she opens her heart completely;
gratitude beats out!

I Cry.

She Cries.

THIS SCENE PLAYS OUT IN THE KITCHEN
OF THE TOUR GUIDE THROUGH THE
MATRIX, WHERE SHIPIBO PATTERNS
ALIGN THE INSIDE OF HIS LOFTY DEN.


The Tour Guide introduced us
to the timeless Oracle Pixie Swan
who paints 10 years into the future.

FOR DINNER:
we weave golden sunset light
in good convo's about the human
experience unplugging  the people.

IN THE MORNING:
we watch the gray clouds burn away
as they slowly unzip the sun unto a quiet Toronto cityscape.

We run into old friends
serendipitously pin-balling from all over the world
yet conversations continue,
with some new jokes & banter
about mistaking white squirrels & seagulls
but overall, talking the same magical words
as we are with our old soul timer families.

-----
THROUGHOUT THE DAY:
How grateful we are
to be blessed with a life of travel
& living creatively
while a few live vicariously through our
mostly unplannet planned adventures
spanning warm shores of Bali
to cold pole warm toes in Toronto.

How grateful our beings
made whole holy feel.

-----
Hooray for living, special dedication to another poet on HP, Seymour.
http://hellopoetry.com/seymour/
 May 2014
mûre
If I begin to tremble,
I know you're just right.

Aware both of the autumn at my throat
and of your impossibly bright teeth
I turn owlishly as you pass
and am thrown off my orbit
by the gravity of your curls.

Knowing I will never see you again,
I watch you like a red balloon
stealing swift into the blue
far beyond the limit of eyesight

and I am overcome with the terrible desire
to weep and to laugh
and to know your middle name.
 May 2014
mûre
Yin
If Love is the better half
then I am gilded frame
lonely for stolen masterpiece.

I sought Home in wrong places.
It hides under covers
but these sheets are porcelain
and I am cold to the touch.

My roots are my rocks and suddenly
your name is carved in the bark
of my family tree

If Love is the better half
I am nothing without Yang.
 May 2014
Jack
Dark


I can feel the empty loneliness, the dire sadness in your words
Black on white letters arranged in sorrow’s indelible font
Tear drop tense in flowing cradles of desperation
sad eyes of whys, question mark patterns
on stark gray silk, neatly pressed
offered no one in particular,
a butterfly necklace
weeping on skin
fading slowly
into the
dark
~
“I fell and my eyes could not see,
you were gone and my heart shattered”
~
dark
gloomy
skies drip
memories from
charcoal rain clouds
flooding emotions on the brink
blinding the sight of anything good
dancing on the broken stoop of splintered
dreams and broken hearts clinging barely to breath
screaming to invisible heavens and gagged reasons lost
somewhere beyond the here and there, where she does wait
 May 2014
purple orchid
Slow we paddle through the starlit highway,
To a place where we must go.


Though your hope is
tattered, and plundered
Love will be the mitigating factor,

When all your embers die out,and you can't resurrect
Love will be spark that you need to enflame your heart

Though the raging storms
invade and
destroy your world
Love will be the echo in your ears,

When you are sinking and
can't breathe
Love will be siren that
calls upon you out of your
deepest
darkest waters

To a place where we
must go.

My love will be there still
 May 2014
Third Eye Candy
and so... There ! Amid all allurement and soft machines;
the spoiled brat of Venus, knicking the doors and kicking the canned laughter
to the foot of a mountain of existential speculation. Amid the cherry bombs and the Persian rugs; so many menageries of tinfoil origami swans.
so very little Time.

so little rosemary wine in the pickle jars. So few wolves
in the porcupine dens  - and only a swarm of hornets
in your nightclothes, this
morning.
and nothing but nettles
in your tea.

well, nettles and golems and orange hope.
 May 2014
Third Eye Candy
how many butterflies would it take to hide your smile ?
my love is boundless and yet
i cannot say. it's genius, effete and ill suited
to the task. all the while, my doves pigeon home
with valentines tethered
to sky thin shins
and talons.

more smoke and words
than
spoken atoms.

and nothing else
matters.
 Apr 2014
Third Eye Candy
As i tip-toe through the violence of our steamed peaches
i'm at least speechless. a weak link-ness
in your valley. a thorn ! -
of unreasonable size. you vie for the deep regions
of our shallow demise,..
for thine is the kingdom of no Mercy !
yours is the thing that screws -
where the knot is trixy.
we forgot how our terrors nursed the oblivion of our kisses.
we forgot how to lie.

as i tip-toe through the two lips, like low hanging fruit to wax eloquent by...
i delight in speeches. in the thunderous hush of fairy wings in a hurricane
as i blend margaritas on the back porch of our squalor....
with a terrible blender. i'll toss in
the splinters of our tyranny.... how we waged war on innocent fallacies !
how we gathered our storms in the basement.
tripping over land mines
in the shape of human hearts.
YOU had your nerve.
and I had us both
blind.

as i tip-toe through the violence of our steamed peaches
i'm at least speechless, but yes !  i'm most ******.
for mine is the kingdom that has no sun
but on Thursdays we have these banquets that starve you to death -
Right in front of Everybody !
you might get to talk about sport
but you're more game to wander off
from the insipid herd
to gather moss from dark pavilions.
you might nurse the ****
of **** all !!!!

but you'll  be ****** if she's not there
to see it !

we have gardens that have no center. wild things in us.  

believe.
 Apr 2014
Third Eye Candy
the radiator croaks
like bourbon and Barnaby Jones huffing ******
in a lead Zeppelin; and heat clinks  like a spider's tooth
on a moist towelette. and the stars hold a bounty of something deeper.
a dread helpless, in mean peace with a vital vital Truth
with no choice, as yet; but a marred County, of Big Thinker.
and you can hear the wrinkles on an Angel's ***, and prove
the useless rude. and politely
unseat the morning sun
through the levolor
minds

during eclipse.

during a near
miss
from the dark-side
of a rogue
moon.  

the hard way.
 Apr 2014
Third Eye Candy
with no maths for happy
i divided my ' why? '
by Zero
and fell in Love again
like a sceptic
with a wild falsehood
masquerading as
a plausible
X = " WHY ? "

but  we know not.

better i should makes waves
in the cavernous
and strike wood
with earnest flint, and cheapskates
on golden ponds of ice
unfathomed, mostly
dark good
with sternest glimpse, for pete's sake  
and i could go on, twice
as unaccounted, ghostly
numb soot
in the worm's mint sutures; an armour plate
of Unreal numbers.... kites
in the unfounded, frozen
in the floating point
of a Reason.

or I could call You.... hmmmmm..... ?
 Apr 2014
Nandini
Do you ever remember,
to miss me ?
Like I don't miss ever,
to remember you ....
It aches when you can't make someone love you back ...
 Apr 2014
Third Eye Candy
no one knows How to ride a bike.
we learn and discard. what once,
came hard -
now a faculty, disconnected
from the [  method.  ]
embedded in
the act.  beyond the rhombus of our reckoning !
and the calculus of initial conditions,
indeed;  waaaay back
when skill lacked
and the knack was absent.
with - only pure Will
Unpacked.

mastery forgets.

and we forget
That.
 Apr 2014
Third Eye Candy
clean in the filth where the spectre yelps and bleeds
my wrists; bound to betray my hand -
i gather gods, too weak to be
unloved completely -
without vanishing
into blue
what?

spotless in the hell of my blot
in the chambers of my open wound...
i glue glaciers to the sun's heel
and mark time
with shadows -
i cast into other moons  
for lack of a reason
to do otherwise.

in a world
so otherworldly

to love me less
than snails
in clarified
butter

is to play god.

but

you have to be
God's Fool
or the Devil's
yes-man

saying no.

you remark and i flinch in the breeze fantastic.
i blast past it, and return; not unscathed
but ungathered
in the Harvest of our
Misadventures.

I'm an indentured surgeon
cleaving the cancer
from the polyp
of our necessary
illusion.

in this Ocean
I'm not waving...
only drowning
in the wishful.

i barricade tsunamis
to tide-pool
the fathoms of our
fumes.
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