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Sean Winslow Jul 2014
Princess of the Tiny Snails
breaks bread with the Lotus and the Shrub.
It is said by some
that she entered the world as a Tigerlilly
and was, by force of will alone, made flesh;
others say she plucks diamonds from raindrops
and places them like dew to leaf at sunrise
such that the earth itself shimmers at her passing.

Princess of the Tigerlilly skin
breathes the thunder from nimbus
her whisper a rolling blur
and shouts are as nova
like the old Gods defied
Draft: to be edited
Copyright ©2010-2014 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved

This best characterized in the silencing of a crickets song
or the ripples of the despot cosmic

Princess of the Silenced Song
.....
  Jun 2014 Sean Winslow
Sjr1000
How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.

I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.

I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.

Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "

I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.

I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.

I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.

Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.

Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave

I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.
Sean Winslow Apr 2014
There must be respite in the ebon quake
lids like nightling moths,
fluttered above the littered fields
barren but for the ebb and tide of moonlight
thick as milk.
Feeble grip shakes loose
tossed down below a carbon root
took hold,
a heart in repose
as it would to the sounds
of thunder.
try not to panic
Copyright ©2010-2014 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
Sean Winslow Feb 2014
On some northern, coastal bay
there is fallen dock
it does not have a name
or appear on any map
save for one
sitting in a bygone gas station
collapsed along a stretch of route 6
This dock, without name,
is often seen
as bundled driftwood
favored neither by the 'gulls nor crane
It is even lazily avoided by fish,
swept by in their eternal procession
toward the sea
It seems as though dock's descent
was a gradual but certain thing
like the bathing of stiff, aged limbs,
perhaps drawn down
by calloused barnacles
grown too thick
But would that this nameless drift
could speak,
it may recount the weight of bearing
some life aloft to cast forth
with the knowledge that
it may not return to shore.
Providence found at the passing of parenthood.  
Copyright ©2010-2016 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
Sean Winslow Dec 2012
Forgotten are our pleas
to temper the dawn
So that even as the night lays silent
there are echoes,
a rhythmic thrum of time
Carried forth are the quiet souls of man
from the ebbing shores born of passing moments
toward the twilight of the flickering flame.
And land ye yet to those moors of shadow,
that evanescence of the living breath,
take heart!
For on its banks grow the roots of the Bodhi
whose branches bore the seeds for the Garden,
and its leaves are as shelter for the Spark.
Thus we bear the gaze of the boatman,
the cloak'd Moirai who guides the clocks,
as it is best to take the lilting petals
upon the tongue
and savor.
Constructive criticism encouraged.
Copyright ©2010-2016 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
Sean Winslow Aug 2012
I remember you my ageless,
unyielding friend...

You come in the night
all dead leaves and limbo
resting between my chest-plate
and spine.
You are the quiet messiah
who turns blood into sap
and frees humanity from reason
by preaching the solemn sermons from the Lowly Book
I know you precede the Rust
of the limbs and of the trunk
as certain as entropy

So, then, I should also know of your leaving,
where I imagine cupped and ***** hands
will part my teeth
pluck and plant them between my ribs
to sprout ivory tangles that capture the starlight,
etched with the names and faces of those that I have loved
rooting me to the earth
in a place without time
in a world without you
Copyright ©2010-2013 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
Sean Winslow May 2010
I am in wonder
of the softness in the rise and fall of your cry
growing melodic through fever
then firestorm symphony
Crescendo!
An unstoppable force
Taking everything
just as certainly as you are
Becoming everything.

In receding  rhythms
our echoing atoms do not so much fade
than shimmer, a resounding hum
until settled shapes in its aftermath
Are we.
Copyright ©2010-2013 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
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