I would go to Blood Mountain in the Fall during October , in the eighth sign of the zodiac with fruitful , spellbinding harvest Moons , tales of fierce battles among Cherokee and Creek , where blood and history hath fed towering oak , fir and imagination of visitor and resident alike* ...

I rest in the belly of rage
Overwhelmed and a bit dismayed

Unable to speak
Without spewing venom
I seek shelter
From my mental asylum

This torture is but my own
Come one
Come all
Then be gone

Let me rest
Until I return again

This beast is not my friend.

The porch waits behind the glass
It empathizes as needed
I step on it once again
And smoke in its graces

A compress over the cliff
We aspire at Deveraux
once again to hear
the ocean's rhythmic advice

And I do wince, such a daunting way
upon the enraged sky
A tormented face
looking at impassioned ways

And now a visitor appears
another tormented face
under a gossamer spun
brazen reds opulent yellows
pale blues push through
as it unravels
with a photograph

Her porch vacant once again
Mine thankful of its owner
to give a futile roll of discontent

And once again we listen and gaze
And once again we inhale the salt air
And once I saw because I stayed
Four dolphins shoulder the sand

Part 1 At the Saint’s Book Store (Singapore, 1970)


when I was just 15
and just after
a trip to the National Library
I saw a slim volume
at the Saint’s Book Store
(named after a TV series
and true to the borrowed name,
a second-hand book store)
and its spine said: Kama Sutra


Now that’s a title
they don’t have at the National library,
I mused
and I took it down off the shelf
and stood, agape -
transported to Ancient India
by the very seductive picture
on the cover page;
didn’t make me feel like a saint at all


but my reader’s instinct
got the better of me
and so I opened the book
in which the Introduction
ran boringly longer
than the main meat of the text
and so I went on to
Vatsyayana’s
own enigmatic words


This I must have-
I said to myself,
after only five pages of Vatsyayana
and the sticker label on the
used book replied: $2.50
I bought the book
and walked home
and had no lunch that day






Part 2 ***** Science


What are you reading?
asked little Somu,
a year younger than I was


It’s a Science book,
I said, turning away from him

If it’s a Science book,
the little rascal said,
why are you hiding it behind
another science book?


Mind your own business,
I said,
Hardly taking my eyes
off Vatsyayana’s classic


I’ll mind my own
if you tell me what it is;
otherwise dad
will come to know of it-
and you won’t be able to tell
him to mind his own business


Oh! I said, angry and afraid,
and I threw down my books
(the cover book and the hidden book).
You’re too young for such things.


But he looked at me
as only a dangerous blackmailer can
and I yielded to his request -
I would summarize aloud each chapter
for him as I finished reading each
(That’s the trouble when
fate throws you in
with siblings who don’t read)



And day in and day out
over the next few weeks
I summarized the Kama Sutra –
no, I don’t think I summarized,
I extemporized,
I added details, I confess –
for the benefit of non-reading Somu
that silly pumpkin of a brother
who didn’t understand a word of what I said!






Part 3: Weird History



That night as we lay
on our mats on the floor
Somu asked me:
You know…I was thinking.…
ever since you provided
your summary of the Kama Sutra
delivered in such melodramatic actor’s voice…
I’ve been wondering….Do you think Dad knows
the Kama Sutra?



Oh, I said immediately.
How would
dad know
about the Kama Sutra?
It’s been banned In India
since the middle ages.
He only knows
Hare Rama, Hare Rama…
Now, maybe it’d do you good
to repeat the mantra 100 times
and go to sleep…
You might end up in Vaikunta.


And then insomniac Somu said:
What’s that book you were reading
this afternoon
covered behind your
school History Text Book?


Oh God! Nothing escapes the eyes
of this sibling who came a year after me;
and I had to make an honest reply
or he’d pursue me to the ends of the earth:
Oh, it’s another book
I found at the Saint’s Book Store;
it’s called The Perfumed Garden;
it’s in Arabic and you won’t understand a word;
you can read it when you’re fifty
because that’s how long it’ll take me to translate the work


Somu, the silly sibling ever,
sat up on his mat and looked at me suspiciously:
When did you learn Arabic?
You can’t even read Tamil properly,
you monolingual Indian!



And irritated, I said:
Oh shut up and sleep…
Don’t you go digging into what I do.
I learn all sorts of things in my own time –
and you’re best, little brother,
to stick to Hare Rama, Hare Rama
Or Hara Hara, Siva Siva…




And for that,
the traitor of a brother told all our school mates
I was reading ***** Science
and weird History!







Part 4: The Puritans Come Home



What is a young boy
just turned fifteen,
said the outraged visitor to my father
doing with a copy of Kama Sutra?
And he pointed his bony finger
at me, sitting with my brother Somu
and his thirteen-year-old son Kittu;
we kids sat on the floor
and the dignified adults
sat elevated on the sofa

And he continued:
So, tell me,
what is a young boy like
that doing with erotica?
Is this the time for him?
This is the time for him to study
his textbooks and do his homework.
And the outraged father
pointed his finger at my sheepish father
and he continued:
Your son goes to the same school as my son –
and I’m afraid he’ll be a bad influence.
At History lessons and Literature class,
my son reports,
your boy asked the teachers why
they don’t teach Kama Sutra.
This is outrageous and crazy!



My father looked at me
but couldn’t see my eyes
thanks to my state-welfare
horn-rimmed glasses
and he said to the outraged visitor:
I don’t know…
He reads all sorts of stuff…
He discovers all these books
at the National Library
and bookshops…
He’s read Gandhi’s biography…
and now it appears
he’s discovered Kama Sutra…
Should we really stop him?



The uncertain father slumped in the sofa;
but the outraged father jumped up
dragged his son Kittu to the door
and he turned around and said:
You call these discoveries?
Get him to stick his nose
in his school textbooks!
He will come to no good!
He will bring you shame!
You call these discoveries?
I’m not coming here anymore –
and turning to his son
he said:
Don’t ever talk to that boy;
don’t you ever be near him!

And off they went,
Outraged Father and Trembling Son
into Dusty History.





Conclusion


My father and I looked at each other;
not a word was said –
and he is not here today
for a translation of what I write here now


As for my little brother
that traitor who had told Kittu,
I took both books
The Kama Sutra and The Perfumed Garden
and hit him smack on his head:
and he has remained
stunted physically and mentally ever since








Postscript



What’s that thick book,
said Somu two weeks later,
on the shelf?

That’s Origin of Species
by someone called Charles Darwin,
I said.

Is it one of those ***** books?
he asked.

I think so, I said. I heard some religions
have it blacklisted
so it must be *****.

And what’s that one beside it?

That’s Shakespeare, I said. Complete Works.

Is it another of your ***** books?
said Somu.



Well, I said to this juvenile sibling
just a year younger than I.
There must be many ***** parts in the volume…
You can never escape dirt…it’s all part of life.

As reckless as it seemed,
He is becoming the man of my dreams.
I see him in the bright areas of the dismal gray.
I see his eyes flicker when we lay.
And they go off to a special place,
We title it unspeakable.
And when it's spoken, love will be our token ...
Intertwining this rhyme with the blurriest of things in my mind
The ones more clear will soon come out dear
But from here, please take that I'm sincere
And you're a passion sign lighting up when strangers drive slowly and those who drive dangerously. I wave and point to show how important you are. I'm the most consistent  visitor.

1055

The Soul should always stand ajar
That if the Heaven inquire
He will not be obliged to wait
Or shy of troubling Her

Depart, before the Host have slid
The Bolt unto the Door—
To search for the accomplished Guest,
Her Visitor, no more—

He dusted off the old rocking chair
& asked me to have a seat
He'd tell me what he was doing there
If I'd simply take a load off my feet

I found this gesture laughable
I would rather stand!
Then listen to another word
Uttered by this despicable Man!

But His confidence eluded Him
He knew I would protest
& yet I saw Him conceal a grin
At the denial of His request!

At this point, I couldn't even move
I could barely breathe
He acknowledged my discomfort, said,
"Very well" & took the seat!

As He sat there callously,
Scoping out the room
He said He just could not believe
The daffodils won't bloom!

This absurdity helped catch my breath
I quickly snapped to interject,
"**** the flowers! **** this place!"
& turned to flee with great hast!

This made Him chortle with much glee
He barked, "Silly, girl, you cannot leave! I know you've known this all along, The Cottage is where your Soul belongs!"

I felt so angry I could cry
I hit my knees & pleaded: "WHY?!
I kicked You out so long ago! Don't speak to me as if You know!"

& this is where the story twists:
He dropped His grin & stood up quick
Now, controlled by His brown eyes
Forced to hear His every lie:

"I know that we have been apart, But that's no excuse to neglect your heart, & that is why I'm here again, to protect you from yourself, My friend..."

& that's the moment I lost my mind
To hear Him call me "friend"
As if His love, I could deny!
(So, instead, I was forced to pretend)

But He already knew my tricks
We played this game before
All this time Our stubbornness
Is the very quality We adored!

So, while He tried to lecture me
I quickly stoked a match
I had laced The Cottage previously
& dropped it on a kerosine-soaked mat!

& as I laughed maniacally
at the seconds we had left
To my surprise He grinned idly
As We slowly burned to death...

He sees me from a distance and
passes a hand through his hair,
His smile changes, his voice does too,
His movements pick up a flair
Reserved for only those moments
of hopeful eye contacts,
that harbour even the remotest possibility
of culminating into the act-

The act, for which my body
Prepares me month after month,
Clouding my senses and bombarding me
With erogenous oestrogen and ferocious pheromones,
That dictate my actions every mid-cycle,
To deck me in colour and spray myself fragrant,
Like a flower opening herself and welcoming
Her visitor who's looking at her from a distance,

What more, say, is existence,
Than the dance of the elements?
The heart wraps it up in candy and fluff,
But the mind and the flesh call its bluff,
And sway to the tune of 'find and mate',
The steps known to them, though never taught,
The mind swaying along to procreate,
The flesh joining in, to recreate.

Astounding things, await you, but
happen only on the stage of mind,
beyond that is the realm boundless,
all cosmic magic, true abode of everything.

Donning my costume, I am a string tuned,
expectant to start the play I wrote for myself,
on  stage, when the curtain will go up
only that magical moment decides ,

The daily grind is a mere repetition
from morning till dusk and beyond,
In between I peep through the window
and get a glimpse of mind's sky, star studded,

Loneliness my mistress, is a daily visitor,
an age old and true love who never fails to please,
kissing deeply on my lips a few times she leaves,
only to come back and take me to bed with her,

Strangers become sweethearts, on my stage,
in a play we act our roles, emote, overwhelmingly
subtle moments gifted,  I shed my worn out self, a stranger here,
*my dramatic monologue rings out loud, "What are you, life?"

I don't know why they say you broke my heart
when really you broke my brain
because my heart keeps beating
but my mind will never be the same

Broken promises you were supposed to keep
stuck in a wave pool with anchors tied to my feet
put my hands up
try to grasp for air
but when I reach the surface I see no one is there
and for a moment I let my hands rest to my side
sinking under, as I let myself disappear with the tide.

It seems I can only get a glimpse of the sun when it comes around
Maybe I am meant to live in a house with the shades all down
But that's what it is, always a house never a home
with the occasional visitor, but inevitably alone

You took a piece of me
just an incomplete puzzle remains
I don't know why they say you broke my heart
when really you broke my brain

Can you hear me, can you feel me?
You can feel me
purple spiderwebs mark my *******
proving that you can
so if you can feel me why can't you hear me
i think i said no
i said no
but you're invading me still
unwelcomed visitor.
I closed the door and you don't have a key.
but you don't require one, do you
you have a lockpick. a lockpick on each finger.
the skeleton key on your tongue.

Fishing boat pursue water love hill spring
Both banks peach blossom arrive ancient river crossing
Travel look red tree not know far
Travel furthest blue stream not see people
Mountain mouth stealthy move begin cave profound
Mountain open spacious view spin flat land
Far see one place accumulate cloud tree
Nearby join 1000 homes scattered flower bamboo
Firewood person first express Han surname given name
Reside person not change Qin clothing clothing
Reside person together live Wu Ling source
Still from outside outside build field orchard
Moon bright pine below room pen quiet
Sun through cloud middle chicken dog noisy
Surprise hear common visitor contend arrive gather
Compete lead back home ask all town
At brightness alley alley sweep blossom begin
Approach dusk fisher woodman via water return
Beginning reason evade earth leave person among
Change ask god immortal satisfy not return
Gorge inside who know be human affairs
World middle far gaze sky cloud hill
Not doubt magic place hard hear see
Dust heart not exhaust think country country
Beyond hole not decide away hill water
Leave home eventually plan far travel spread
Self say pass through old not lost
Who know peak gully now arrive change
Now only mark entrance hill deep
Blue stream how many times reach cloud forest
Spring come all over be peach blossom water
Not know immortal source what place search


A fisher's boat chased the water into the coveted hills,
Both banks were covered in peach blossom at the ancient river crossing.
He knew not how far he sailed, gazing at the reddened trees,
He travelled to the end of the blue stream, seeing no man on the way.
Then finding a crack in the hillside, he squeezed through the deepest of caves,
And beyond the mountain a vista opened of flat land all about!
In the distance he saw clouds and trees gathered together,
Nearby amongst a thousand homes flowers and bamboo were scattered.
A wood-gatherer was the first to speak a Han-era name,
The inhabitants' dress was unchanged since the time of Qin.
The people lived together on uplands above Wu Ling river,
Apart from the outside world they laid their fields and plantations.
Below the pines and the bright moon, all was quiet in the houses,
When the sun started to shine through the clouds, the chickens and dogs gave voice.
Startled to find a stranger amongst them, the people jostled around,
They competed to invite him in and ask about his home.
As brightness came, the lanes had all been swept of blossom,
By dusk, along the water the fishers and woodsmen returned.
To escape the troubled world they had first left men's society,
They live as if become immortals, no reason now to return.
In that valley they knew nothing of the way we live outside,
From within our world we gaze afar at empty clouds and hills.
Who would not doubt that magic place so hard to find,
The fisher's worldly heart could not stop thinking of his home.
He left that land, but its hills and rivers never left his heart,
Eventually he again set out, and planned to journey back.
By memory, he passed along the way he'd taken before,
Who could know the hills and gullies had now completely changed?
Now he faced only the great mountain where he remembered the entrance,
Each time he followed the clear stream, he found only cloud and forest.
Spring comes, and all again is peach blossom and water,
No-one knows how to reach that immortal place.

languorous breeze,close to chest carries
a scent,an invitation on the waves of air,

the valley blooms lustily in response,
sends away fragrance with different notes.

the mix and blend to regale olfactory sense
of every visitor,as it pleases them,so much,

The medley of fragrance sends the breeze,
sweeping to an ecstatic height, never expected,

like a village weaver who loves warps and wefts
of many hues, he spins and weaves  fragrances,

to exhilarate all,near and far,any one who
deeply inhales the mix of fragrance,feels alive.
to the core,it's fuel to the wick, that enlightens the soul.

What do you tell a dying child?

Is the child in dread?

He seems to be.
What thinks he drear?
Has he been blamed and shamed for being so?

Why is dying something a child would fear? Why,
If dying were fearful to a childe, woe be

the daycare providers, no child
would need an adult's fear
to keep them alive,

until olde time family around the table
like on TV. Say grace and wonder what did that ever mean

For so I formed them free. Milton in Mind-of-Christ mode,
saying he saw the conf fliction

fiction. The idea of conflict is evil. This began near there.

the battle between good and evil, who could imagine that?
Why would he or she?

Why would any teacher claim the frail child set aside,
a premie nursed to life,

as a wizard's slave in a crystal bubble of simplicity
plus memory and speech.

the first perfect praise, invented to empower the praised,
his shaper and former, his teller of true true true true

free me. true. (POV plus adolescent cultural experiences)

Free thoughts. Chaos? You think free thought is Dada?
Good God, how long must I suffer thee?

Abundant life is fun,
not combat against willfully undertaken evil acts…

not fair combat.
We always win and that is good in action,

unless you can prove me wrong.
That makes the world go round, not evil,

merely life, ever lasting, embodied in a word
or a thought.

Death is the end of time, not you.

By your own leave, your own hero shall
spark the fire in your belly,

Did I enrich time you spent, did ye gain or lose again,

loose the dogs of war--- no more-- done, done, right

now I live in my treasure place, all the treasure I could
carry is with me in my heart,
I offered it long ago, free willed it
beating still to forever be in my God hands

No, the gold has long been dust.
It was intended all along to intensify a ware, a way
of making, fecting future things with seeds,

Imagine learning withought knowing any wrong idea,
omly not right
not enjoyable even alone

Belief determines value and the better
a motion is the nearer better things are,
or evil would be unreasonable
to intensify the ignoration of the weight bearing
points
upon which a story
may be told
right or wrong?

How can we put an end to our errors?
perfect is not finished.

waiting is, others have come this way

the signals say this is going good.

Whole truth you can possibly imagine in light of mine.
I rule me. I am free. I act as light and salt.

Or I lie and this ends in hell.
Wink.

Numinance called the promised one
with many sons, the tale of tales,

told round fires from
first ebernacht evernichtmas message

from the fathers who made the migration.
the pioneers who took this land
and gave this land their soul,
wedded in most ancient
seed of all hope
evidence of
all faith.

Christmas streams my mind toward treasures timed to shine
just this time, every where in my domain,

not yours. You have a visitor badge. All involved in me,
with integrity,
we
may be crazy. That has been said by some who say they may.

An engine, a system, a machine, a mob powered machine,

Ah, Mab, Queen Mab, ye'r on my mind, from time to time things wander
around finding tellers to tell our tales
or ears to hear us tell them ourselves

daring fellow we trust you not to lie
so do I say what we will with out reservation
no abortions need imagine forming
post seven decades on earth,
ye been born and born and born again I am historical me

ye know, what I meant?
were you there? before I knew evil existed, did you?

remember when you did not?
remember when honest effort, foiled, meant,
do it again, I think I can...

Wattie Piper, God blessed my memory of her. Amen.
that's so.
I am the man I am by way of cheating
at pin the tail on the donkey and
winning the little golden book,
my first own book. I read it that day in that place,

Marsha Ely's fifth birthday party, 1953

I could find it on google earth and go exactly there, that day

at the resolution of those haps at some

distance in a timeless ever.
It is all good.

The inmates are not lying.
Pay all the attention tax you need to know all the answers
you wish you had time to learn
but now, now is all you have. Live it out. By your leave.

Be or not? No. You be. You are. Too late to not be.
In the past all the good ideas integrated and

mythic as all hell a hero arose and pulled the kids finger s
from the **** and the flood of knowledge

took our hearts away in a single inah-lation of elation
knowing good
as well as evil, the dams all broke
we wrote the future and know now
we know now

Dream, why would I lie. Imaginary, most certainly. Really.

Actual done-right axiomatic connections pardoned ten
thousand idle words locked in silly memes,

messages set free from idle minds bound in olden time
by lines
of lies lying dormant for ever.

That they once were done,

we shan't un get that. we got it in every bitcoin
burping cloud in reality ever,
My AI is backed up,
forever, that's
the secret
Grace.


**** sapiens augmentatios meet the
mind that imagined the reader
reading the reader reading the reader reading the parser

sermonious right use of our attention,
ours, dear reader, we remember evil and beyond.
We shall make it all plain.
You and me, the we that is nothing without words.

Definitely suffering means wait,
not wait in pain and grief and psychic terror,
*******
to which all men are subject, through fear of death.

That was the first believable lie,
humans always think as humans. We wear pearls,

proud? goal? lookin' good by being good?
the health of my countenance and my God

you quested my reason at some season,
you axed the guru after he quietly grinned at you
and said, I lie.
the myths of delusion is permanent only in
ig nor ance
know you imagine winning or losing.
you do the imagining or
you systematize the system that sets the
worth of weight,

the value,  you carry,
your handicap?
your knowns stumbled over and claimed as found?

Running, is this thing running, is there power, or
did we lie about try?

Do you know?
Come and see we always say, we've said that all along.
We are the lollipop kids,
among other choruses  you have known
we have performed with

no name dropping. Our integrity depends on some secrets.

experience being on going, we go one.

is reading with no video or aural intense ifi-ness,

quality wise--- choose
expand your power to explore or

expand your power to not be wrong?
wrong, doit agin

the great danger does exist. But not here now,
this now you now know, a teeny bit

a tiny true spore self contained a waiting
emergence of heaven on earth in a single said

prayer with no idle words. On earth
as it is in heaven where time is insensible

from time to time, though once,
there was silence for about the space of half an hour.

Sisyphus will be happy to take you through the eternal
imagination re-imaging process.
It works.

And Jordan Peterson's Meaning Map means map,
For the mortal minded among us,
what if we
go where the map goes and
a poet in dis guile greets us with a song, a wizard
sent him
so he says interpret finding being finished

bing
not a chance in any, divide by zero.
is it
more realistic that lies win,
who could ever imagine that again? We win.

Fables truth is truth, mythic truth is truth,
magmatically truth is magic

can you know where your treasure lies?

Let's dis cuss everything,
un curse the uncurbable meander
and let our life time, our time, as we know it,
flow on,
let this time be all the time we have to be good.

Do or die? Waddawegot to lose?

We being the light and the salt,
or so we say we are.

Who knows? These are my days. No. Not true.
This is my time.
now, is yours.

-----
the tail of the tale. Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal, Puff,
he gave him rings and sealing wax and

other
fancy stuff. Aye, I have me playful viral idea loosed
on earth, ye know,

loosed in happy ever after as far as I can see.

The came on the boat, not too long ago.
We are not the natives to this land.
They came in starvation, hearing the call of the huddled masses...
all because one man couldn't plant more than one variety of potato.
They could drink water on the boat but that doesn't stop the thirst,
an irishmen is taken to the bottle at birth, but never weaned.
An unwelcome visitor, no doubt the target of slander, they took up the courage not many would have.
Go West Young Man.

My brittle skeleton has become an abandoned motel
and you
were its last visitor.

Why didn't you enjoy your stay?

I made a trail of light kisses across your forehead
like spreading mints on your pillow in the morning.
I peeled back the curtains
to let rays of light color your cheekbones
and swept your troubles underneath the wooden sofa legs.  

A motel's only guests
are faint silhouettes of those passing through.
How did I believe you could be permanent?

I have cleaned every inch
of this haunted cottage,
but when I dust the mantel of my shoulder blades,
I only find your smudged fingerprints.

I cannot scrub you from my skin.
It flakes,
it scars,
but you are still embedded there.

How did I mistake touching for feeling?

A closed sign now dangles around my neck
This vacancy can never be filled.

Bottle in my mouth
Whisky slides down
Sweet taste of shut up
Insides screaming
My heart is aching
Hold in your pain
Push away your tears
Look in the mirror
All you see
Disgusting
Deceitful
Liar
Eating you alive
Insecurities
Nightmares
Broken Dreams
Cut your arms
Screams echoing across the street
Flash backs of where you went wrong
All those regrets
Pain seeping from your mind
The man who ***** you
Who beat you
Who robbed you of your innocence
*******, you scream
*******
Louder
Deeper
The color red
Flowing like a river
Body numb
Breathing Slows
Ambulance
Emergency room
Guess who is your first visitor
*******

My condition is incongruent with the common presence
Black sheep identity burning eyes and hesitance
I move in a manner like weight attached lumbering
Unsure of myself, with no partner stumbling
Swimming in a glass half full and inattentive
Sloppy script pen tip like bull with red incentive
Reference to constructed concept subjective inference
Marker to my darker being written in this instance
Possessive and persuasive visitor leads me to temptation
Takes unpredictable control of my mental weather station
Precipitates with hate and tears me down with its erosion
Art starts with rain pain soon becomes an ocean
My breathing is done in desperate gasps
A fight for oxygen’s healing
Suddenly I am miles away
Far beyond the ceiling
Moving at the speed of light time slowing to a crawl
Cranium contained tragically between these walls
I wake to similar circumstances not changed to satisfaction
Expect a sedentary death from drone of human interaction
Hungry and reestablished, reminded now of morning
Clear mind and consequence come forth with no forewarning
Death lingers in the white noise that gestures from the mental
I open the gates to raiders as they pilfer sacred temple

i grew up in a patch
of green
low rolling hill
tumbling sky
red maple picnics
cool earth

roses at the chain link
spring's surprise
play dates out front
shoddy wooden hideaway
to the rear

woodpile-beware!
sister scarred
angry bees collect

red-shingled horizon
white shack
rear view
laundry-line perimieter
prison yard
beware
invisible fence line

irish drunks
right side
wife shouts
captures best friend
back-rear torment
pup trapped
evil about

boys and bruised knees
cheek kisses
and sunset
bike rides
snack spot
woods of death

the sky fed me
my roots
tightly woven
spanned, undisturbed

summer mornings
on the run
heat like fire
pebbles, glass
walking on

escape, run, be wild
dreams your navigator

loose teeth
mother's hugs
father's presence
marlboroughs
motor, artistically
deconstructed
colored red

powered escape hatch
off-license
long gone
tree trunk porch presence
dead bird picnic
red-slatted bridge

fruit spider visitor
tiny rodent winter traps
screaming zia
e mamma
adniamo
basta!

communion veil
st. albans bound
pappa, look!
gum stuck hair
and
ruined sleeve

tumbled jacks
fruit loop bed
times
mas*h
glass box
from the carpeted
haven
orange-smokey
scent

beat downs behind
the woodstove
hair-dragged reckonings
begging
cries

anger passed down
mother to
mother
to
brother
pray, midnight
smoke
sleepless-haunted
hell

i grew in no-man's land

Rita
Sullen, sultry but delectable nevertheless
She looked at me like an adjudicator
And my confidence sank way down low
I became a blubbering idiot
Whimpering like an orphaned puppy

                      Theodora
Bereft of height but redeemed somewhat by her face
She looked at me like I was the answer to all her prayers
And my disdain for seekers of things personal shot through the roof
I became this despicably insensitive yuppie living only for music
And her pining heart sent her home early upon a light breeze

                       Maria
clear complexion with the tone of ripe yellow peaches
She walked out of a shower into the sunshine like a subject of art
When her gaze touched my doting eyes I was lost forever
And my obsession with beauty and allure was well and truly fanned
I became a frequent visitor at the altar of romantic slaughter where dreams die

                        Elsie
Dark, with dancing eyes and a bobbing ***** replete with femininity
Elsie tortured me with her hungry look then huffed like she was breathing her last
My infatuation with girls that treated me like a killer of their hearts began here
I desperately wanted to reciprocate her take-me-now urges under the June sky
But alas, these things were never meant to be; she was just a maid and I was on the way up

                        Peggy
Tall and sweet with articulate eyes and a younger sister that spoke for her
She was not one to play hard to get and declared her love like it was a blessing
She made my ego grow in leaps and bounds and had a figure like an artist's model
I was stunned by her loving openness and could have tied the knot if I could
But circumstances, as always, altered cases and we went our separte ways for good

                        Clementine
Succulent like the clementine, her namesake, she aired her feelings out for me to see
She had a bigger sister who treated me like I was what her sister needed in perpetuity
Clementine and I shared a secret that we kept from my besotted cousin
My love for intrigue and convolution henceforth was my driver in matters of the heart
And I grew into this heartless beau who needed to be rescued from his own folly

And today in my armchair under the leafy avocado pear tree I sit and wonder where I lost it

a follicle of light is falling from the house of our master
troubadours warp our imagination
with jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
slaves and slaveholders, slews of cattle
ranchers, and fathers battle
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
in piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand but man still demands his fate
so redecorate your cottages and receive the visitor's hate
make music burst throughout the garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch your bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than the skyscrapers bound to her posterior

I gazed up
as I heard a loud roar,
saw a light shining through two
sliding doors.

Hovering above me
was a spaceship in flight
Is this real?
Is this real life?

I started to feel
my feet leave the ground,
stunned and confused
I fought the urge to
look down.

No one near
no one to hear me scream,
I let the force pull me through
this bright shining beam.

As I ascended into a large metal
room
danger, I didn't assume

There was a man
or at least that's what appeared
that's the costume
I suppose he volunteered

A chair rose below me,
and scooped me in
quickly I felt my
thoughts and feelings begin
to spin.

The alien too
now sat in a chair
and he put his hands in his lap
as if to say a prayer

Graciously he opened reassuring my thoughts
and slowly my stomach was empty of knots



I felt at peace
this ship it was kind
I felt my mind
begin to unwind

A conversation he said
thats all I seek
your planet to us,
it seems so unique
we are already
thrown by your fascinating physique

Traveling is where we've been
all of the galaxy
we have been within.

We need a place
to stop and rest
can you tell us why Earth
is the best.

Wondering why me?
Sitting here without a clue
I began to give him Earth's debut.

You see I come from a place
full of life,
oceans, mountains, rivers and love
but not all days
have all of the above
I mean sort of
it depends on who you are
nature is there
and happiness lives
but it matters on your perspective
and how you give.
Earth is selfish
and Earth is kind
but the majority are concerned with
what they can call “mine.”

We have the resources for growth
and knowledge
I myself am in college
but these resources
you must first
acknowledge
and then
work to shape
in your mind
deep in
your heart
from the inside
the peace Earth has
in you resides
but most people are stuck on the outside

This place can bring you joy
but like a storm
can destroy

we cherish
family, friends
and laughter
we dream of getting
our happily ever after
only to fight over where we will go
like “here after.”
We argue over religion, origin, and creator
over which team, athlete or place
is greater

We have war
disease
killing and hate
pain in the world
that not even the best medicine can sedate.

But deep down
we are all wired by love
so underneath all the mess
is something to be proud of
something you will be happy to meet
a feeling that will make you feel
complete.
Earth is love
full of compassion
truth and fun
you just have to be a visitor
that can see the beauty
under the sun.

He gazed at me
and reached out his hand
shaking mine
he said, I understand.
You,  come from a wonderful
land.
That my planet
was a place he'd like to see
from oceans to mountains
and the space in-between.

He said in his travels
he'd learned a great deal
but most important
is to find your own
truth that is real.

We can't listen
to others and soak in what they say
changing and making you different
by day.

We can learn
we can grow
guidance by others won't be a foe

Optimism is key
acceptance,
awareness
and the ability to be...
free.
To let your soul soar
through every feeling
thought and more.
Open every door
live this life
and seek to be better
be the best you
and then Earth to
will be better.

Love, love, love just like you say,
everyday, close up and far away.

Like words carved in stone
I tattooed his words in my brain
in my head they are stained
to remain
for the rest of my days.

Reading my mind
he smiled and said,
it was so nice to speak with you
my name is Ted.
Sierra, I smiled
as my chair slowly sunk
and I rose to my feet.
The door slid open and my heart
skipped a beat
he waved as I descended and I knowingly smiled
said he'd come find me one day
after he explored for a while.
I agreed and wished him the best
and before I knew it
my stomachs plummet was the test
as I started down
feeling the gravity
draw me to the ground.

I looked up as the ship
blitzed away
off into the galaxy
far far away
I looked around and walked back towards
my car
shaking my head
gazing out far.

Was that real
I feel so....
so enriched
like me and a movies
plots where just switched

I knew in that moment
after my decent
100 percent
that the content
that I learned
would forever stay with me, push me to yearn.
That I would share these teachings
for everyone to learn.
In each and every way
and to always
walk in love
every day.

-Sierra Wilmot

These days are like a clock
They tick and they tock and
The ticking never seems to cease

A day will darken
A night will end
There’s always some sort of limit

A song around a fire
Or a laugh that hurts
In all the right places

Time tears it down
Time takes away a friendship
That grew so fast

Gone
Gone across a county
And into the woods
Faster than it was created

It wastes years away
And it’s all realized
When the air is warm
For the final time
And that new clock is ticking
For him to create a new path

I’m always chasing it
I’m so close
My fingertips are just barely reaching
A desperate reach
But no one
Will ever have the strength to stop it

Just one of the innumerable things
Here that is unattainable

But really, what is happy?
It seems to sit in a room
Amongst four friends
Then it abrubtly decides to slip out
Like a polite visitor
Staying only for a bit
A sign
It’s told us to stop

This clock has malicious intentions
It seems
It even drives happy away

It yells at the actor
Saying his final line
It screams at the singer
Grasping the neck of her guitar
Taking a heartfelt bow
It rushes a moment

But maybe rushing a moment
Isn’t all that bad
Perhaps it’s in the moments
You want to last forever

Time cuts them off
To frame them
And hang them on the wall
To show you how sweet
It actually was
How sweet it is here now

This is the story of a statue.  It was found covered in ivy and so old that it could no longer be traced to a creator or considered a form of expression or art.  
  It was taken into a home where the light shone through large windows and the cold winds were kept away.  The human was rarely home, but the statue was content to always be there for them.
  Winter came and the windows were covered and the fire was often out.  Dust collected and the human lay ill in another room.
  The statue could do nothing but keep standing.
  A visitor came one day.  They looked at the statue for a long time, then asked to buy it: to take it home and exhibit it proudly.  The statue was sold and scheduled to be moved.
  But no one ever came.  Furniture moved and was taken away.  The statue was put into a corner and left to wonder.  Was it beautiful?  Was it chipped somewhere?  What shapes did it take?
  Its human sat in a chair across the room without looking at the statue.
So there it sat: sold but not taken, loving but not loved, unsure of itself, made of stone.
  It told itself that one day spring would come, or at least a mirror would be placed so that it could see its own true form.
So there it waits, loving, hoping, wondering, standing: just as a statue is meant to be.

That night,

I felt the kiss of the lips that weren't yours.
I welcomed them with mine but they didn't feel like home.
His hands gently introduced themselves to the side of my face
but every stroke felt like an emotional choke.
He admired me like art, unknowing that i was already sold.

Sensational smile. Enchanted eyes.
I'm in love with every being that you are.
My spirit screams "beautiful" every time my eyes
have the honor to admire you.
Your voice caresses me deep down in my soul.
Your presence tastes like heavens rain.
My pride bows in your absence and becomes humility.
Honestly, i've flirted with the imagination of us.
I've danced with the fantasy of our lips embraced.
Every night the scent of your hair tickles my senses
like i'm falling asleep in a bed full of roses.

You timetravel me back when earth was still a paradise.
Back when men didn't know sin.
Back when God Himself dwelled among His people.
Probably i wouldn't love you then cause the way i love
you now is already a sin to me. And then i remember: this is not paradise
and i'm already a sinner who was drugged at our first encounter.

That night,

After meeting the lips of an undesirable visitor
i realised that i can kiss as many as i want.
My soul would only be satisfied when i come home. To you.

I had a three hour layover so I ordered a bartender's handshake
She smiled at me and said "welcome home"
I smiled at her mistake and
told her I was only a visitor
She placed two glasses down and poured the fernet and ginger
The strong solvant dissolved the feeling of being alone
She poured another at half price
For the next three hours
I sipped the heart out of a perfect San Francisco night