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 Jun 2018 Tanzdreamer
MsAmendable
We dance in the ashes like
Literary scavengers.
In the ruins and after rages
We draw the shreds of words and pages
Around our naked bodies like Blankets,
A quilt of the quintessential struggle
Which all people suffer
I'm not sure if I posted this before,  but it's have been a while. I wrote this not too long after reading "the Book Theif" which was wonderful
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.

I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the *****! Oh your voice, slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.
 May 2018 Tanzdreamer
Kim
Ignorance is bliss they say
There are many who might agree
But I have a secret to share today
That once was shared with me

If you should ever chance to gaze into the eyes of the young and bold
You might discern a glowing light that neither flickers nor grows cold

What sustains this constant spark-
Night or day, light or dark?

Whence flows the river of joy and peace
That gushes forth through gentle souls?
What is the secret of peaceful sleep
Enjoyed by minds of simpler mould?

Tempting though it may be to attribute to lacking wit
The exuberance and ecstasy discarded with the training bit,
Wisdom urges a second glance
beyond the proverbial looking glass
In the hope one might contrive
to visit with the other side
A world of simple charms and grace,
far from this one’s treacherous maze

And so this deeper, delving look
Might relight that failing spark
While in the pages of a thousand books
One may languish in the dark!
IM NEBEL VERSCHWINDEN

My ghost sat
comfortably ensconced

in an armchair
opposite me.

A fire roared
between us.

The whiskey glinted
in the glass

like a thought
held in amber.

Outside a fog had
wrapped the world

in cotton wool
like a memento

in a badly scuffed
lacquer box.

As  host I
offered my ghost

a little something
"...a G&T; perhaps?"

My ghost slyly smiled:
"I, never....touch spirits!"

"Ok...!" snapped my ghost
looking very pale

"...let's leave reality
out of this!"

"No tree knows
its neighbour

. . .each alone. . .
. . .each alone. . ."

I muttered
in my mind.

But I must have spoke
my mind out loud.

"What's that?"
hissed my ghost

"That's Hesse...I believe."
I addressed my ghostly alter ego.

"...all about being alone in a mist..."
I mused as if it hadn't been there.

Just an idle
thought like

a dandelion seed
getting  caught in a sleeve.

"And what has that...got to do with this?"
my ghost looked miffed

"Oh, nothing..." I smiled
"...just a feeling."

"Can we skip
the literary stuff!"
my ghost acidly suggested.

"Of course...of course!"
I assured it.

"Im Nebel verschwinden..."
I thought aloud for the last time.

"And do you mind if we use
...English."

"Yes, yes...!" I said
"What ever you say..."

"I'm here because from where I am
I'm not pleased with how you're leading

. . .my life!"

"Hold on a sec!" I said.
"I'm not dead yet!"

"Are you allowed to haunt
your own self?"

"Do you have to get a haunting permit?
Is it the haunting season...am I game"

And so the conversation
dragged on until

yawwwwnnnnnn...dawn

when my ghostly self
felt it had to depart.

Reality had snuk
back in the back door.

I sat in the chair
dead to the world

become my ghostly self
as it happened

and strolled serenely into
the next world.

The fog had lifted.
Hermann Hesse's beautiful poem IM NEBEL( IN THE FOG )...is what is running through my mind.

IM NEBEL VERSCHWINDEN means to vanish into the fog. I thought if I am about to vanish then I might as well go out dressed in Hesse's words.

IM NEBEL

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Einsam ist jeder Busch und Stein,
Kein Baum sieht den anderen,
Jeder ist allein.

Voll von Freunden war mir die Welt,
Als noch mein Leben Licht war,
Nun, da der Nebel fällt,
Ist keiner mehr sichtbar.

Wahrlich, keiner ist weise,
Der nicht das Dunkle kennt,
Das unentrinnbar und leise
Von allen ihn trennt.

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Leben ist einsam sein.
Kein Mensch kennt den anderen,
Jeder ist allein.

IN THE FOG

Strange, to wander in the fog.
Each bush and stone stands alone,
No tree sees the next one,
Each is alone.

My world was full of friends
When my life was filled with light,
Now as the fog descends
None is still to be seen.

Truly there is no wise man
Who does not know the dark
Which quietly and inescapably
Separates him from everything else.

Strange, to wander in the fog,
To live is to be alone.
No man knows the next man,
Each is alone.

–Hermann Hesse, Im Nebel from Unterwegs (1911) in: Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5, p.
 May 2018 Tanzdreamer
JM
Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.

I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.

Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.

These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.

Where are you, dearest?

I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.

Later, you will sing for me

Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.


Time stops at her beauty

The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.

*When I come home,
you will sing for me
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle



The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:

Was it better wherever you went?

Were the:

Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?

Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?

Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?

Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?

The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!

Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.

Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?

The answers all, self evident.

Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.


Silver Beach

July 22, 2012
Vanished are the veils of light and shade,

Lifted the vapors of sorrow,

Sailed away the dawn of fleeting joy,

Gone the mirage of the senses.

Love, hate, health, disease, life and death

Departed, these false shadows on the screen
    of duality.

Waves of laughter, scyllas of sarcasm, whirlpools
    of melancholy,

Melting in the vast sea of bliss.

Bestilled is the storm of maya

By the magic wand of intuition deep.

The universe, a forgotten dream, lurks
   subconsciously,

Ready to invade my newly wakened memory divine.

I exist without the cosmic shadow,

But it could not live bereft of me;

As the sea exists without the waves,

But they breathe not without the sea.

Dreams, wakings, states of deep turiya sleep,

Present, past, future, no more for me,

But the ever-present, all-flowing, I, I everywhere.

Consciously enjoyable,

Beyond the imagination of all expectancy,

Is this, my samadhi state.

Planets, stars, stardust, earth,

Volcanic bursts of doomsday cataclysms,

Creation’s moulding furnace,

Glaciers of silent X-rays,

Burning floods of electrons,

Thoughts of all men, past, present, future,

Every blade of grass, myself and all,

Each particle of creation’s dust,

Anger, greed, good, bad, salvation, lust,

I swallowed up – transmuted them

Into one vast ocean of blood of my own one Being!

Smoldering joy, oft-puffed by unceasing meditation,

Which blinded my tearful eyes,

Burst into eternal flames of bliss,

And consumed my tears, my peace, my frame,
  my all.

Thou art I, I am Thou,

Knowing, Knower, Known, as One!

One tranquilled, unbroken thrill of eternal, living, ever-new peace!



Not an unconscious state
Or mental chloroform without wilful return,

Samadhi but extends my realm of consciousness

Beyond the limits of my mortal frame

To the boundaries of eternity,

Where I, the Cosmic Sea,

Watch the little ego floating in Me.

Not a sparrow, nor a grain of sand, falls

    without my sight

All space floats like an iceberg in my mental sea.

I am the Colossal Container of all things made!

By deeper, longer, continuous, thirsty,
  guru – given meditation,

This celestial samadhi is attained.

All the mobile murmurs of atoms are heard;

The dark earth, mountains, seas are molten liquid!

This flowing sea changes into vapors of nebulae!

Aum blows o’er the vapors; they open their veils,

Revealing a sea of shining electrons,

Till, at the last sound of the cosmic drum,

Grosser light vanishes into eternal rays

Of all-pervading Cosmic Joy.

From Joy we come,

For Joy we live,

In the sacred Joy we melt.

I, the ocean of mind, drink all creation’s waves.

The four veils of solid, liquid, vapor, light,

Lift aright.

Myself, in everything,

Enters the Great Myself.

Gone forever,

The fitful, flickering shadows of a mortal memory.

Spotless is my mental sky,

Below, ahead, and high above.

Eternity and I, one united ray.

I, a tiny bubble of laughter,

Have become the Sea of Mirth Itself.
^
Be
Bliss
Beseech
Sensual healing
Remote vibrations
Contemporary beliefs
Dissolve within a great force
Of electro magnetic Sun's charge
Fantasy ride over the ridge on the horizon's
Flickering tales and there aware beauty satiates long lost
Trust in human kindness which is unmasked is a true longing
Immense need borne into a trembling moment revealing thy
Love energy is dancing as one giant leap in the realms of
Levitation on my shy sound wings as they soar magnificent
Wondering why thy tiny serene particles open
Everlasting desire to be as one luminous
Mandelbrot's rainbow reflection on
Edges of a pure cosmic droplet
Effervescent dark magic is
This darkest intelligent
Deep pertinet gaze
Absolutly free
Yearnin'
For
I
°
E
A
 R
   T
         H
               Di
                        vine
                                 To
                                           Bl
                                               os
                                                 s
                                              om
                                    A
                       ***
           N
ˇ
ˇImagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Loveˇ
ˇ
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