By: Cedric McClester

Daystar - shining bright
In the morning strong
Daystar- fought for right  
In a world that’s wrong
Daystar - wouldn’t go along
Just to get along
Daystar - Lived her life
Beyond the throng

Daystar - Tethered together
By love with Evergreen
Daystar - Fiery yes indeed
But still serene
Daystar - Not a bone in her body
That was mean
Daystar - Pioneer of the party
Known as Green

Daystar - In our hearts and minds
She will always be
Daystar - Followed her path in life
And her destiny
Daystar -  The progeny of black artists
Whose works we can see
Daystar - Like the  Indegenious Peoples
In her family tree

Daystar - A past master of
Literary arts
Daystar - Whose essays and books
Touched our hearts
Daystar - In a word was brilliant
Yes she had smarts
Daystar - Left us her legacy
As her transition starts




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020.  All rights reserved.

canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.

In the dunes, the dust raises a dirge
echoing in the nooks of Qardu:
prophet of the pasts, a ghoul
who led an arc on to the mountain
singed by the daystar where now,
men cut their hands to quench infant-thirsts.
And outraged women wail into the nights.
All for this? All for this? The anguished
song in the valley in an archaic tongue
that the Spirit stands surveying
that called out a fire off a bush, leading
a nation out of wilderness. Now, who
delight in murdering children.
The emperor of the world, is busy playing ball
offering the slaughtered heads to Quetzalcoatl,
and a beating heart plucked out
of a terrified infidel does not move him
as much as the stench of oil. Black
is the song of despair whispering in the smoke
blighting the reign of K'inich Ajaw,
all for this, Marya, all for this?
And the chief of Angles is dismayed, the
spoils of crusades blow back as young men
disappear from your homes, emerging
as butchers in black baying for slaughter,
journeying to the worlds end with
Gilgamesh along the Tigris.

the daystar pours herself into my lap
lights up a darkened path
chides all children to laugh.

That daystar etches skin
tattoos black ink,
her lovers name.

I read eulogies from time to time
to pass the time, I find in some rejected newspaper.
The language is foreign, for I am
alive and in two hundred or so words I am to know,
who this person was and that
they were loved or respected or validated in two
dimensions plus words and a
picture, when not so long ago they were three
dimensions that filled voids in
other peoples lives, striving to make the world
around them a better place,
battled hard in a war, and fell its only victim.

Swallow the bitter pill,
there ain't no better place,
than where you are right
now, with words written
as plain as the pain on
your face, so listen and
I will try to take you to
a better place maybe I
will transport you to
a euphoric utopia but
that will take opiates,
for my words will just
make you dizzy, Gillespie,
get off that computer and
go to bed, and then you
will dream dreams of us
meeting instead, where I
will be humble and you
will be dapper unless you
are a girl then you will
be "a beautiful rendition of the Mona Lisa"
pray what is behind that
smile and how do your
whites stay so pearly and
your hair, so light and curly,
like the clouds over head,
with a background of blue
sky that holds that daystar,
and reflects off the water in
the duck pond and blinds
my eyes and makes the tear
oft fall, salty on my sleeve,
as I hold one up to wipe
a tear, I feel your hanky
brush my eye lash and I blush with unabashed charm,
but if we were manly men
walking under the trees,
along a pathway of asphalt,
walking sticks pressed into palms
of hands, not those topical trees,
along side us grass, dotted with Canada geese,
oh do watch your step dear
boy, or you might grease your
soul, which would be a helluva
a way to let this perfect day
slip away and take us from
this better place.

It matters not who I am with, for when I am with you, whom ever you are,
I am away from here, therefore found in a better place.



©DWE122013

The Daystar waits patiently;
held at bay by the blinds,
'Will you come outside today
And bathe in my light?'

What is it that brings
Fear in the night?
Is it the goblins and ghosts, or,
The monsters ‘neath our beds?
Or, is it a desire to face the sun
At the moment of our death,
To die for the world to see?

Darkness, nowhere to hide.
It follows everywhere.  
A strong desire not to die
In dark, damp shadows,
Where not even the worms
Can find the body.
An all-consuming will to see
A sunrise, once more,
To lose the dread of having
To die alone…Flies
Will keep one company.
Yet, the terror begins to set
As the daystar gasps its last breath.
The light wanes once more, and
The chilly, wet breeze begins
To lap the nape:
Hairs on end, it comes again,
Loneliness and the reaching to feel.
Eyes squinting, desperate
To soak the day’s last rays.
Then uncaring, merciless nature replaces
Twilight with shadows of doubt.
The flicker of candlelight casts
Those same reflections and shapes
That plague your reality.
And you ask again:

Why you?  
Why is it you have to die?  
And, if this be your fate,
Can it please be by daylight?

He is cherry trees in the spring evening,
precious to behold as night slowly falls.
He speaks with a softness never-failing
to capture all the weary he enthrals.

With a grace like Heaven, he passes by
and snatches me up from the soiled floor.
He is the daystar in the morning sky,
glowing brightly from behind the closed door.

If only I could catch him when he sings,
place a mirror before his smiling face,
I could show him all of the beautiful things
that he hides in this poor, forgotten place.

We could talk like friends in free, easy speech
but, alas, he is just beyond my reach.

Part I - Words

Don’t play word games with a poet
a poem is but a skeleton waiting for mind
and imagination to fill the open spaces
fragile, fleeting thoughts arise
like Frost upon the windowpane
they write themselves
pieces bombard like pebbles
words with no more weight
than the fluff of a yellow chick [are]
magnified into the Pillars of Hercules
[resembling] a jumble of colors wild and bright,
juxtaposed and scattered  

her words are so airy
his thoughts are so keen
perhaps even [saying] the things
we wish we had
making it a page in [our] book
[but sometimes]
they don 't go down easy,
these words meant to soothe
I want to take them back,
embarrassed that I ever set them down
wishing I could forget playwright’s evil pen,
[and now]
my brain is uninhabited by rhyme.


Part II – Nature

[Evening]

it rains… I want to try to count the droplets  
[as] the breeze invites a crimson leaf
to dance one last dance
geese give a melancholy voice to leaving
their dark v-shape splitting a cloudless sky
breeze ruffling trees at evening as
stars appear to transport me home
the Daystar pulls up its night covers,
letting the darkness take hold.
…the moon pregnant with the sun’s light
round full lake of fervor
the moon holds up the sky
on silver serving tray

[Day]

the sun burns the horizon  
white foam, salt spray,
forlorn cry of gull, brown sands,
hot sands rhythmic roll of waves
[Earth]
traversing an endless “sea” holding us tight
yet leaving us free

[Home}

like me my garden is wild and free
like flitting butterflies [children] come
and pick the flowers they prize
they keep on being tulips
they keep on being red
the fragments are dandelion seeds
blown to the wind  


Part III - Melancholy

I slice the day up like a lime [because]
there’s an acutely thin line between
the total lunatic fringe and that which is acceptable

I see you falling through the purple air
like a blind hungry tiger
tiresome journey seems unending
then death
some too soon [give] up the ghost
if you die so early are you forever young?

sound and fury, sound of silence
when will the bleeding end?
I cry for the grandchildren I'll likely never have,
for the grandparents I never knew.  
if I cried as much as I need to
my 60-some percent water would dissipate,
evaporate into the abyss that’s forming,
I look at the abyss [but] it isn't mine anymore,
it’s yours
as you walk, your body tries to fold into itself.
who was your beast and where have you buried him?

what if…each person’s belief is what unfolds
if you believe in nothing that’s what you’d become

the ground is your bed, the stars your night light.
soon morning will break and melt the frost,
moving it along [your} frozen pain


Part IV – Love and Longing

if you don’t want the real truth perhaps you shouldn’t ask
[but still]
be gentle with one another the world is harsh enough
she didn’t seem really loved
didn’t seem cared for that much
clothes dropped like the delicate
gray feathers of fledglings

I've heard people say they can control
what they dream
but most are who they are and will remain

I could have loved you,
madman though you were,
sometimes the less said,
the better letting go of love
[yet your] soul goes with me always
running through me like a river...
put your hands in the earth and touch me.


Epilogue: how hard did you have to work to do it well? (a line not used)

[I worked hard but didn’t do it all that well. In spite of that, I enjoyed doing it!]

dance on the daybreak darling
let every morning, daystar wake you
be dazzled by its beauty
dap your heart in day-dreams
i dare say you will love the first dawning

Star-struck before conception
lightening bolts through ancestors hearts

a single cell sunbathing in warm oceanic waters

-the lull before the split and the storm
- of generated generational daystar lovers.

Unprovide my mind, please.
Lest I care about matters of the flesh.
Listen to my expostulation,
as I am prostrate bowed.
I do not want exoneration,
for lust stains will remain
but I can no longer stand
the tenacity of it.
For it no longer can command
in guaranteeing its veracity.
So I long for someone to fetch
this excellent wretch from me.
The inner dome of Heaven has fallen
and with it, this wicked thing's ethereal appearence.
Revealing the venereal act planned from the begining.
I run far and hide from Daystar.
No longer enamored with its lustful glamour.
I wish for its allure to be nullified
and so it may unprovide my mind.

At the reluctant transition of the daystar
Where lantern flies tote the account of murk admitting through Oak quarter
The colored palette of Dusk swallowed by the curve of the Earth
Umber tree line , audial aberrations , the fervor of burgeoning , multitudinous songs before ebony companion Venus
Dove coo , Katydid trill , Mosquito hum trios
Bobwhite Quail give thanks to the dying day , as
reverberating odes do carry from blackened palmettos* ...

An artist in quarantine.
Let us set the scene.

Teeny tiny
living space.

Move around
the mess
with grace,
no stress!

What to do,
what to do...

For a start,
I'll make some art.

I'll write
some poetry,
some fiction.

Suddenly
I am nocturnal,
and suddenly
the daystar's light,
infernal.

Days get hazy;
I go crazy.

This is fine.
Yeah.
This is fine.

A strange cruel eidolon often glides thru my silent room, then slinks away dry and smooth as that daystar punches through my window pane -like daggers of wakefulness to pierce my dreams once more; and layers of consciousness likened to pale dead skin,  to lay bare unwanted awareness of a world too embarrassed to open up that stained and hollow door.

Streaming images on my mind's eye are outstretched,  like the gossamer threads of a silver web, woven taut, near a hypnotic light, to draw the uncanny moth, feeding the ravening host tonight.

Nightly visions driven by restless fantasies most phantasmagorical, scream and shout in palm-muted half-tones  fluttering as the matrix of horrors, divined thru an oracle, haunt that same silver death-bed...  one that reaches out and frightens me like   a shape-shifting ghost, (alight and deplorable.)


Though it's all in my head, it's still     all    too     horrible!

My muse , the springtime earth
The smoke of chimney
fires just as the daystar expires ,
with burnt orange goodbyes ,
'tis a diddy begging lyrics , a melody
in the moment , a dash of fleeting sunlight
in the Shangri-La forest ,
Copper , lavender , technicolor salutations
Mourning dove recitations* ...

Constant starlight
our star
burns late into the night

Summer Sun
our Sun
warms us from winters sleep

The daystar
our star
early morn arrives, leaves late.

some wear stars on their flag
some stars in their eyes
as if a star could be plucked out the sky

the daystar here runs through our blood
not the Star itself
her being her is sufficient

like a lover who loves
because that's all that a lover can do
a law written in the heart of love itself.

The Daystar enters your eye
knows your name
runs warm in your blood
keeps an eye on you
by way of the Moon.

--Entry 0001--

At daystar distance, light-time 9.2
Reached orbit of a lonely little sphere
Inhabitants, galactic refugees
Lost beings fled for working atmosphere

From orbit I observe a solid wall
Bisecting the small planet into two
Is this the same as walls they made at home?
Before, their earth in ruin, they withdrew

Remote-scan sensors indicate two groups
One group in light brown garb, and one in beige
Communities uncoupled by the wall
No circumstantial need to co-engage

The beings take position near the wall
Their blasters in the air, as if to war
Will need a closer look to understand
Assembling ground crew for a recon tour

--End Entry--

--Entry 0010--

Away Team One have scouted both the camps
And both took great attention to explain
That cosmic contrasts sit between the two
So never to be reconciled again

The 'Northers', in their light brown town, *****
To Iris, God of Moon, a monument
The eye a symbol of this watching one
A stone displays his holy document

‘O God of cycles, ebb and flows of life,’  
The stone acclaims this lunar deity
The tablet smooth on left, and rough on right
Abiding token of fertility

The 'Southers', in their beige, build one as well
But this, a shrine to Os, the God of Bones
His sigil skull expresses loss and death
Indelibly recorded on his stone

‘O God of dying, born of earth and sky,
Hereafter and rebirth as well as death’
This stone that sits adorned with crook and flail
--is baby-smooth on right, and rough on left

Away Team One weaved worry through their tale,
A looming war was set to decimate
So, find a concrete plan to intervene
And hope and pray that we are not too late

--End Entry--

--Entry 0100 --

Away Team Two report the wild events
This sphere will be immortalised in verse
For these effects of war upon this day
So tracked that all our plans could not reverse

The first explosives wall-bound from great arms
Start slowly causing breech and then a fall
The northern and the southern lands revealed
Sameness no longer hidden by the wall

And for the first time see the glory stones
Sit, monument atop, aloft on shrine
An eery match in form and font and voice
A paired, reflected hail to the divine

An astral silence, weapons come to rest
Then reverent 'Northers' fetch their hallowed stone
While devout 'Southers' hold their tablet too
A meeting reuniting moon and bone

And suddenly as tablets are aligned
The warriors unblinded to the con
Of holy tablets two, and each with God
At origin the two were only one

The beings face-to-face now with their God
Examining the reassembled tome
Not Os and Iris, but Osiris there
A single God writ on a single stone

So smaller differences in brown and beige
And seeming larger gaps from death to birth
       Now seen complete, more holy as their whole
       Dualities reflected in one soul
Now possible a new united earth        

--End Entry--

Like a moonbeam
Brighter than the Daystar,
I am blinded by
Woman in a soft
Midnight garden;

When the day kisses
The night,
The light is weeping.

I walk alone.

The soul with no
Absolution
Is an infinite impossible.
My throat caught
In a tearful choke,

The missing song
Under the sun
Is the Moon's tender
Presences.

Love escapes
Into a masked misunderstanding,
Another misunderstanding
Hides the Father in me
Under this misguided wing

I quiver under a fools blade,

I love like a child
Lost in a forgotten story,

Missing.

Sweep of Galaxy
stars innumerable

watch over and weave
our dreaming.

Daystar our star
wakes her children

to daydream our dreams
until nightfall.

nights of star shine have disappeared
the daystar has too much say
the Sun's light hardly waning.

soon though we will tip away
spinning off into the black
slow but sure the night will return.

I was fifteen years old,
when I witnessed
that beautiful ocean
for the first time.
yeah, it was huge,
just like a carpet
even my eyes failed to see
that entire gross spread
of emerald blue water

But I was twenty years old
when healing shore washed away
all of my melancholy,
and the aural of the tide race
felt pure as the driven snow.
I got vibes of another universe
within my own self,
where daystar was shining
right at the top of my head
it captured the carbon copy of
happy valley.

and I am today year old
when I realized
it stays loyal
whether day or night
sun or moon
it holds the reflection
of changing sky
ocean breeze,
cold but warm
white horses,
salty but smooth,
comes and goes
but it stays
within boundless boundaries.

Stand beside the gulf waters facing the west as our daystar -
displays its twilight address
Bear witness to the first glimmer of sunshine as the maelstrom of -
March thunderstorms are fading , as rainbows begin their parade
Walk hill country terraces as the morning fog lifts ,
tis a woman's brushstroke indeed interpreting Heaven itself* ..

this Mother can fit into the daystar a million times
how small this Earth, how much smaller Man.
Hydrogen is a finite elixir, that boiling Sun
-our life and death in her hands.