“The night is raven as you  peer that analytical stare,
It is in this way you are blinded by your own eyes,
Sanguine of the gods that exist for all their acumen,  
As that of an labyrinth mechanism turning day to night,

Beside the bonfire I think of all that I have descried,
Now no usual noises only the unusual or unexpected,
In autumns that we were with morn dew and argent sun,
That is now left of yellow not gold burnt fibrous leaves,

Of how the world will be for still there are so many things,
That I have never seen in all the forests in every season,
If I should live in a coppice and sleep underneath a sapling,
By a bonfire in different lands thoughts of my incongruous life,

No coppice of saplings that I could not make a glorious home,
I go where the old odeon gather decorous worthy and robust,
The world’s society has long foundered people throughout time,
And they would not sigh and tremble and vex me with a song,

Struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes fatigued,
Gusts upon my hair as I sit beside a crackling fire,
The times from having seen the unchanging earth afore,
So you may take of that elegant rose leave me with a thistle,
For they know not life without the dendrite to wither”

By Andrew Guzaldo  01/05/2019 ©

Reaching Inside
to Center Mind
and further still
past Grey Matter
past axon and dendrite
through the synapse
Once more unto the breach
and further still
into cell
into nucleus
into gene
into acid amino
and further still
into particle carbon
past electron
past proton
into neutron
and further still
to Reach
The Void
and reside within
and wait, still
Being within Nothing
as the World Serpent
tail-in-mouth
consumes itself

Wait
and Hold
Still


Wait

and

Hold

Still


Now gently Returning
Up and Out
tugging softly at The Void
with wish whisper touch
softer than Light
pulling
bringing Nothing
Up and Out
into Everything
into Center Mind
Up and Out
leaving neutron
past proton and electron
leaving carbon
Up and Out
pulling No-thing
Up and Out
leaving gene, leaving nucleus, leaving cell
Up and Out
bringing The Void
Up and Out
through synapse
past dendrite and axon
through Matters Grey
Up and Out and Into

Center of Mind
the Hole in
Your Self
the Whole within
the Holy
You

Now Wait

and Hold

Still

You are the systole to the diastole
Of my four-chambered cavity
You are the pulmonary rhythmic control
That fills air to my capillary.

You are the Pituitary Gland
That drowns my bloodstream in dopamine
You take my brain to a wonderland
Drunk and overdosed in Seratonin.

You are the only Mitochondrion
That powers all cellular activity
My Cytoplasms are in motion
For the sexiest Golgi Body.

You are the ultimate synapse
In my every granule of neuron
That gives an involuntary prolapse
To both my dendrite and axon.

Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head

My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the brain
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.

The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.

Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the  light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.

Wandering under
woodland leaves,
my mind confined
to winding suture lines.
Paths of pink nerve tissue
cherry blossom trees,
dendrite branches wave
in a heavy breeze.
Myline bark, an axon stump,
rooted contents of my skull
continuously growing,
a tangled plexus of
neural connections.
Twisting, turning,
a knotted blockage.
Pathways, rippled in roots,
a crossing synaptic stoppage.
A suffocating strangle,
choking corpus callosum
decaying mangle.
Branches atrophy,
shrivel and scar.
Root terminals suffer
hormonal harm.
Forest trails quick fainting
when lost in overthinking.

I
The stars are double-weighted tonight.
bulging, beating, they sink
from their proper lurches.
One by one across the murky
evening they sputter out.
What natural light remains
seeps from that subtly gaudy
bauble of a moon.

II
Peeled eucalyptus, ice-plant, new-mown summer grass,
dandelion, sloping hill, carved stone bench,
the view, the reflected city-light off the bay water,
white-washed near-tenements.

I am firmly locked up, chained in a bone cage
of chemically manipulated cranial plates;
serotonin, synapses, dopamine, dendrite
create a web like seaweed constricting the sea;
this computer of a head calculates, oscillates,
and processes the sensory.

III
My body is a tattered jib sail
flowing in the light sprinkling rain:
the simmer of the gale:
a hollow cathedral abandoned
by the believers:
a vessel for my marrow:
an imaginary catalyst for profundity:
an incarceration: a hull of particles
arrested: some part of an experience.

I dedicate this poem to all my Friends here, as I narrate the interesting facts about Snowflakes,which is seen in abundance during this time of the year, as I wish them all A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR 2021. A Snowflake is a single ice crystal hardly visible to our naked eyes. During 1805, an American Wilson Bentley for the first time captured in his camera by magnifying them several time for us to see!  Best Wishes from – Raj, New Delhi, on the New Year’s Eve of 31st December2020.

VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR 2021 TO MY FRIENDS
    WITH MY TRIBUTE TO SNOWFLAKES
                    Composed By Raj Nandy

Deep within the snow covered landscape,
Lies a Symphony of Nature’s microscopic
beauty unseen!
Lying crystallized in a multitude of Snowflakes,
Like a vast hidden world of dreams!
Till young Wilson Bentley became the first,
To photograph the Snowflake’s hidden work
of Art!
These flakes are minute crystals of hexagonal
shapes,
Where no two flakes ever look the same!
Some are shaped like needles and dendrites,
While others like star crystals look bright.

Perhaps those Heavenly Stars from eons past,
Watching mankind that turns to dust,
With their petty quarrels and strife,
And with all their arrogance and pride,
Vainly trying to challenge God’s might;
So they shed their starry tears all through the
night!
Their tears float down as they waltz through
space,
Falling gently like some gossamer lace,
To get congealed into Snowflakes white,
Presenting in the morning a dazzling sight,
Like a drapery over Nature of dazzling white!
While all our impurities they cover and hide,
Those little Snowflakes of little pearly ice, -
Makes the Earth appear like Paradise!
Snowflakes are God’s unique work of art my
friends,
We humans cannot achieve His artistic level of
excellence!
                                                      - Raj Nandy, New Delhi,
NOTES :-
It was young Wilson Bentley , who in 1805 , fitted a microscope
to his camera to take the first photographs of Snowflakes ! He
thereby exposed this hidden world of Art to our World ! Hexagonal in shape each snow crystal is made up of about 200 separate crystals with the bonding of hydrogen & oxygen atoms, – forming an infinite variety of patterns, where no two snowflakes look the same! Snow crystals grow faster near 5 degrees Fahrenheit , - falling on ground with temperature below freezing ! The 6 basic shapes of Snowflakes are; - Plate or Flat,  Stars , Needles , Dendrite, and Capped column shape.
**ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY RAJ NANDY

Friday last,
I found the nerve,
A dubious dendrite
Dangling in my grief
Like a  stubborn kite
In a midsummer's storm,
Flashing razor on her tail
Slicing through the wind
And every norm of propriety;

As the cryptic  cord
Wrestled my right hand
And my ambivalence
About letting go;

A battle of wills ensued:

The stubborn kite, glory-bound,
Vs
the grieving son...

And the kite won...

Last Friday...

~ Pablo (#lastfriday)
11/17/2013

for a moment
it feels as though the urgent heaviness
of my breath were pushing
pulling at the boughs of bright dead
leaves
and then I realize

that it is only the wind
I begin to shake with dry
laughter at the absurdity
of my thoughts
catch my reflection in a puddle
at my feet
my eyes are terrifying

i mean terrified

trees break through the ground
all around me, reaching climbing
endlessly upward as
towering neuronal bodies
erected as extensions of the earth’s wild head and the earth
becomes an extension
of my being

i cannot seem to control this
but that is all I wish to do

i am crushed by my impermanence
yet I flee to its consequence
planning my ascension
to ascend as a tree
my bones a relic of everything
i was

trees break through the ground
i think the ground is shaking
but it is only my limbs

half-barren treetops mock me
dendritic and unpredictable
phrenic and phrenetic
reflecting body and mind
at every level:

nerves and neurons branch out
to relay messages
of pain agony suffering

phalangeal forms diverge
From a hand

limb and head from abdomen

dendrite from soma cell body
a symmetry to which
there is no end.

for a moment
it feels as though the urgent heaviness
of my breath were pushing
pulling at the boughs of bright dead
leaves
and then I realize

that it is only the wind.

One contemplates
A dash between two dates
A little slip of a life where nothing waits
Is that all there is?
An epitaph engraved in stone if you’re rich
A few words to be said if you have a little bit more
A one word description if you poor
A dash beginning and ending of a life
Ending to be memories in someone else’s life
A dash between two dates
A sunrise a sunset
Everyone anticipates
And a dash in between
Is that all my life is to mean?
Please spare me the why for
That is what my Christ is for
In hopes that dash might mean something more  
Joy and Pain and Life in between
Happiness and Sorrow the Hope unseen
Maybe a Sunset to Sunrise
Life is a dash for a Grand Prize
Dashing is the blood flow that sustains,
Every axon to dendrite and every synapse fires
so that the thought still remains
With the dashing the fleeting
The flowing and the beating
The baiting of the every breath
Until we have but one breath left
Well what is left?
But to enjoy the little bit we have until the last
And to take a look at ourselves and just laugh
Only because it all happened so fast  
All in a dash.

a sharp blow
swung out by
you,
who was thought a friend

produced a small hole
at the base of my skull
behind my left ear
ringing echoes inside
and shining sparks down
the splits of the mystical dendrite forest
thicker than thieves,
illuminating
the deep and dark of me

and out of the hole
comes some stuff of wisps,
lavender colored dust
with quiet rays of glimmer flickering all through it
floating and curling in the air thick as smoke

is that stuff me?

then it settled in a fine layer on my lashes
and my alveoli
and my eyes were filled with a vision
time slowed as we moved faster
slowly closing my eyes and then

I was in the porch of my infant home
on a late afternoon when there was the first breath of relief from the heat.
but in the familiar air there was a deep stillness
unsettling as I had never known it
and I looked out into the back yard, and over the tree line there
in the distance was a towering wall of dark clouds
and wind whipped through the line of trees

I closed my eyes and when I opened
I was with my little brothers sitting on the cold tile
of the patio of our home in Costa Rica
and rain was pouring down in lines from the sky,
thick sheets running off the slats on all three sides
I got up and stepped into the rain
Mayala reached out for me and said "¡ joelle, NO !"

this time when I closed my eyes,
I opened them but there was no longer anything
and in fact there was no longer vision at all
I tried very hard to remember what vision was.

I suddenly realized
there was not much left of me.
I felt the purple mists of me going out with the wind
to become the nothing
time moved forward with grace
one step, and two
then
it was all done.

The sound of urban sprawl, the music
of a soul’s vocally verbose interruption.
Caged thoughts, poetic justice, frequencies
of lethargy laced between headphones,
a reverberating ocular clarity.

Invasive odors spoil the mood, as pavement
digests this single protein of synthesized
might. Provoked to quit, but it’s the
intensity of the fight tantalizing, and
intriguing this winged warrior of
thought. To soar, no glide, no slide,
no, to enter his incoherent sound with
those of the other thousands striking
paved aspirations with each nonchalant
gate.

A boy on a bike,
A cops whining siren,
the noise of societal music,
a muffled shuffling, caged
for clarity the tinker thinks.
They hustle to their next destination.
Asking for no names,
and forgetting without hesitation.
A contagious infection;
due process, or natural selection?
A side of life soiled by repetition,
a constant selfish sense of volition.

Cancerous tentacles engulfing
every dendrite, synapses, memory,
idea, and thought; engaged in a
battle for recognition. A collective
competitive selective process, the
individual lost.  Where arbitrary
idealisms shape reality with another
drive by fatality. A place where calls
for leaders echo from alley ways, and
side street short cuts, are answered
with the pounding stampede of feet
trying to finish their own race.
Landscapes stained by the blood
of our advancement. Large sores
**** forth, every sign points to a purging
of us, but we continue to swear the
canvas unfurls further.

Our social institutions are accented with
the angst of our young. Taught to keep
the motion monotonous, take no time
to examine the subjects, while the lesson
forgets them. Modern man’s call for
mercy, but it’s advancement; of product,
proper conduct, that keeps the conduit
subservient. Just another burnt out fuse,
standing along with millions of others, the
working  control center of a self defeatist
organism I call urban sprawl.

My dream frames a time
when my mind settled
in to be what I had not quite
the discipline to become.

This month of tears
is eroding old monuments.
In a thousand ways.
I am in *******
to another bandit day.

How can I not forgive them?
An X chromosome
and a shorted dendrite;
Both of them churning their way
through a darkness thick as buttermilk.

But there is one thing
I can’t help wondering,
where were you,
when the bridge began to burn?

Gnoshit, reco-gnosis,
makes one imagine I am, no, know I am
one, in the largest ever population of nobodies.

I am as anonymous as privacy needs to be, open source,
casting pearls to pearl eating entities, noticing

taking notice, marking time for recollection,
whiling away on missed perceptions correction duty.
We, the public entity,
did we ever have a republic
without slaves, as a we, did we become
the people who constituted the distribution of power,
to the people,
under authorized sanctified known terms?

On the border between all languages,
the gift of translation, we have
t'reason,
to trusted reasons why we keep war alive,
in season,
the bulls all wanna breed,
the biggest boasters become kings,
let Lyndon tell it, ladies. History records
the incident as sometime after 20 Aug 1968.

While we replay the audio from the show at Khai Vinh,

put the mark anywhere? think wonder the verb, if
ever once it all seemed much like now
the experience, live
at the *******
across the highway.

Not many had the exact same experience,
but the music is all still played in that order,
chance opening a vein unexplored limnal spaces.

Playlists with metadata dendrite meandering mods.

Did you say you once wrote a book a day, by golly,
did you think that you wrote with extreme
prejudice, or did you slide each phrase,
along the edge, to the hilt, each phaze,

phinally spinning luck elucifity, apologize
for lies I left believed, as certainly as turbulence
mastery leaves lads and lassie's breathless,
globally on TV, the most imagined sin,

connecting, carnal knowing with dis connected
what kind of master would forbid knowledge,

start there o man of god, make me believe you know,
while you know I got you at the grand jesuture,
for all to hear, as all believed the lie about us,
let all believe the truth,

Job was right, no immortal knows a mortal's ignorance
of patience's perfecting function, waiting seems sufferage.

Endure until the end, pretend you are attending a judgement.
And notice, the remembering use by the accused to account
for idle words, with penitent acknowledgment, I was beguiled.

That's it, we know, the side the enlightener entertains
contains all the luminaries of our culture's global echo intent
chabad chata hamartia, principle idea, wisdom's dominion,

at the point of first precept, no noise, a twist, to on.

Our signal through tomorrow, prepaid.

passive perception points out a small
visitor
just below the ***** window sill
as
dishes on the edge of biology are slogged through
the
[wet]
cerebrospinal tendrils  cling to the thin line of wall behind the pockmarked metal faucet
like
far-flung dendrite fingers cling to passing notions : such as a soft-focused background sensation of the clouds moving by you in the sky beyond the confines of this room.

dark opaque eyes
first two, at the end of each antennae like the body-plan of a Cambrian killer
then four more present from the amorphous body
bulging out like dive bladders filling up with ambience
tracking you like leaves do to the sun much slower
thin
not-bug appendages get too long to be normal
then even longer
it is reaching for you in the camp kitchen as
  y o u
back up to the light honeycomb
  door

Holistic
Oxygen
Leucine
Lumbar Vertebrae
Yes
Water cycle
Osmotic Pressure
***** System
Dendrite

© 2023 Carol Natasha Diviney

Sitting tykes burned foliage dendrite dikes
Little must devil and dust fastidious proclivity
Burgeoning each gamma and beta flee with light eddies arid not temper
Summers fink dropped sweat waxen goliaths bracken bracts flummoxed of ashen desert
Trial of carbon of smothers sisters and brothers graphite delusions of water fed gnats blasting the torrid fires
Leviathan confessions wields fuming digression from the truth of need a fleet of mighty 747s water drops!!!
...and Phos-Cheks too! Said Smokey the Boo!
Channel the gas tax to what need be done
20 Water tanker 747s at Edwards Air Force base
now maybe the real war is on!
Even if you take the face value for what it is(a good way to fight fires that's been needed for decades our paths must have strayed) there's no arguing the facts of the mission people lose houses their lives ****** disarray it's only a tax shift and refurbished fleet of jets away