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 Feb 2016 orchards
SB Stokes
Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise

Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion

the delicate
bead
of your kiss

A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be

makes
it all

So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night

but not
Good
bye

to us
maybe
but
You and I

still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly

have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs

for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth

We cannot
be
Con
Tained

within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion

Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold

of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams

Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!

You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea

And we
are working
to let

our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile

in the warm
embrace of
the other's

Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another

universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity

To hell
with Duality!

The past
is Simplicity!

**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right

and live to see
the probability
of Tonight
Written in 1990, when I was 20 years old.
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
 Nov 2015 orchards
SE Reimer
~

dusk brings a chill
o’er the ocean,
this secret stage
where twilight fades
in regent haze;
transformed, replaced
with slow drift,
swirling, mist
softly rolling in.
above, the sand,
a salt-washed beach.
a brimming tide
awaits release
of curtain rising
far above, and there,
like bio-luminescence,
she shimmers in the ether;
ancient existence,
always with us,
seldom seen,
her light serene.
a fresh emergence
each moonless night,
a shimmering of colors,
like a nightly bow
an arch of
color-filled delight.
though this night rests,
not drawn and taut,
exuding peacefulness;
her horse in all its glory,
feeding in her pastured stars.
drawing, telling
children wonder-eyed
of her richness,
of her treasures,
loving, storied skies,
light years in the making.
her curtain lifted,
these moments served,
to but a few.
a sacred showing
to our breath-taking,
memory-making eyes.
hovering in her milky skin,
she dazzles, beckoning;
her adieu at sun’s return,
at our rising disappears.
awaits another
night's re-appearing,
her celestial flow
like a river of
imagination, rippling,
much to our surprise,
a gifting
to awakened eyes,
never captured,
only living on...
in memories,
in moments raptured.

~

*post script.

inspired by Mathew Newman,
of Mathew Newman Photography
who captures the night sky so skillfully,
of the milky way rising above the pacific ocean
along southern oregon's secret beach.
his name for the photo that inspired this,
"Celestial Flow", of course.

sorry, i am not permitted to include links
but simply add www. to both these below and you will find what inspired me:

facebook.com/MatthewNewmanPhotography/
or
matthewnewmanphotography.com/wp-content/gallery/gallery-1/CelestialFlowWeb.jpg

 May 2015 orchards
Rob Rutledge
Atlas wept for the world above
And for the burden that he bears.
A weight waylaid by mortal love,
A weight made heavy by despair.

Shoulders burning on aether shores
Orchestral spheres fall into view.
Conducted celestial tears,
Run glacial currents of blue...

And Red.

Always Red,

This knight of that crimson hue
Forgot the purpose of his charge,
Cast off all the burdens that he knew.

Sadly,

That includes me and you.
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