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MJL Apr 2
Tibetan Brimstone butterflies wave wings madly at their paradise valley
In the beginning, before the beginning, and in the beginning
Their shaken snow globe makes them flutter in wild exuberance
As they reveal a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Peace, followed by chaos, and then by peace
Mother Luna's kaleidoscope of enlightenment
Protected by the hooded one
Holds all worlds and shakes the four seasons
Nothingness, creation, abiding, destruction
The wheel of time
Moves the wind as it’s blown by vast circles of water
Aqua marine is washed again by golden earth
And in the center, the great opal mountain song of La
Nature's peace
Beyond white leopard snows, icy winds, and empty husks of death
Butterflies are born again
Shambhala’s mindful beat opens passage for light through darkness
Poets squint and ride on wings toward the hidden sunset kingdom
Watching another world's Avalon alive beneath a blue moon
Insulated chrysalis of love for all seasons
A fisherman, a carpenter, a shepherd, a merchant, a caterpillar
Discover a lush, isolated, peach grove
Nosing thickly scented nectar and purple primrose honey
In the jade valley of the kings, queens, and beggars
They meditate under the Bodhi Tree
Deep brown ****** lines are carved into their soft olive skin
Smooth hands are made rough, and then smooth again
Young, then old, and then young once more
Wisdom setting beside Queen Spirit Mother of the West
Sharing a bowl of her rice milk in harmony
Being in the realm between man and nature as Kalachakra turns
For six years the caterpillar eats of fig
And then the wheel breaks for flight one last time
Radiating light as she sheds her glorious wings
Here, the snow globe explodes flying petals of wild exuberance
Revealing a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Transcending all, turning tears into the suns joyful rays
As they rise, then set, and then rise again
Nirvana
Beyond our Lost Horizon


© 2019 MJL
I loved the 1939 movie, Lost Horizon, and it's story of Shangri-La. It drove some interest in reading about Buddhism... Could we be butterflies reborn? How wonderful that would be... Young then old, then young again. All at once nature and man, one with our universe. Those who seek wisdom find salvation... The caterpillar here is a beggar who finds ascension. Cycles represent the wings flapping. There are also references to universal religious themes.
MJL Apr 1
Each generation’s majority makes choices that usher change
Lost pined for simple peace
Depression lived for human survival
Silence spoke for equality in a civil voice
Hippies fought war with flowers
Boomers drove for mad knowledge of self
Grunge nodded honesty from suburban garages
Y baptized Science as god
Mobs then anointed Orange Man as king
Down at the crossroads as means to their ends
For taxes, for borders, for babies, for guns, for Right
Trading truth, communal values and united dreams for their causes
How will we be remembered
As we watch this Heyday bloom
What will be this generation’s rallying cry
Will there be one
A culmination of past generation's trusted change
Lost, depressed, silent, free, self-aware, honest, doubting
Here now
Strong
Watching the flames
Will we quietly turn away
As our world burns
Or will we tap a new strength
To face the fire
Together
And bask in the wonder of our Heyday


© 2019 MJL
Generational strength. Come together. Unity. Love. Trump crossroads
MJL Apr 1
It is confirmed
You have a highly aggressive form of ***


© 2019 MJL
MJL Mar 29
Nick was a lost boy
With a whispering heart
He held proper Victorian sadness
Until his public strength bowed
As it does with the artistic type
His soul beating modal
And his mask of gilded paper mache
With glue dripping and drying to fragile dreams
He needed to get back to the pastures of Tanworth
Yet London had other ideas
And his stiff upper lip cracked
He was a poet, you see
Who danced with trees...
And everyone knows
Butterflies don't ride bikes
Though that would be beautiful
To see one on a banana seat
Sailing down a country lane...
Alas, butterflies can simply fly away if a bike objects
And feel no pain
But Nick was hurt as he fell to the ground
His sickly hunched posture told of a great weight
Shoulders struggled to shepherd the world
With only Flower his power
And Pen his staff
Sadness met the River Man
And the River Man broke down
Poor, the fame of falling poets
Rich, the earth’s garden of toiled words
Caked under soiled writers nails
A headstone,
"Now we rise
And we are everywhere"
His tailwind to us
Go and look at what our fellow poets eyes do see
And bid hello to another artist’s soul on parade
For, as with you, they too are simply lost
And desperate for a garden to share and grow


© 2019 MJL
For Nick Drake, and to poets everywhere. Thanks for sharing. Thanks for your rich souls. London here represents what the world wants us to be. Butterflies, the crack from reality.... May we all meet the River Man on our own terms, with a smile, on route to our own pastures of Tanworth.
MJL Mar 26
Dawn casts her long line for spring
Days linger to catch the angel irises bloom
Enveloped by early chirping chitter-chatter
Lightly crusted sleep argues for lids to remain closed
Black perking wake-me oil makes a strong cups case for compromise
A nudge to join the living
- On negotiated terms -
Somewhere between another dream and lavender bubbles
The contract will begin
Foggy feet shuffle onto the wheel
Spying steps creak tattle-tale floorboards alerting all on your way
Pleading thoughtfulness
You beg for silence as the Ra room comes into view
Brightly checkered yellow-brown mustard window patterns
Cut diagonal boxes across maple hardwood
Stained glass dots of emerald, violet, and red raspberry
Dance on lemon washed walls as they turn and wink for a smile
Your morning chair sets at the edge of the warming sun pond inviting you
Join them
You listen to the ripples of space
Your cushioned dock perfectly positioned for a loving embrace
You sit
And slowly dip legs into the glowing pool
Drenched limbs cocoon in the heavy webbing of golden rays
Bathing
The chickadees celebration is known
Immersed
Lids succumb to the orange haze
The Girl from Ipanema sings
Young and lovely
You feel wonderful
No risk of drowning here...
Only in happiness
One radiating breath
Before the Samba plays again


© 2019 MJL
Sunrise. Before the day begins. Time in the window. Like a cat.
MJL Mar 24
You survived and learned how it ends
Death's breathy review still warms your nose
Your first draft in ashes
“Twice upon a time”
The short story begins
Enter The Gift
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
No blustering drama here at all
Simply still, on stage
Alive
In every scene
Playhouse to Broadway
Overnight
A hit
My Fair Life
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