Dirty tea, moon tugs & non-milk

Day 1
Happy October
Let's celebrate its in-with-a-bang arrival with a little (mostly accidental) rhyme
sweet, sweet October...you never fail to disappoint
you have truly outdone yourself this time

Yes, God is a woman,
with smoky turquoise eyes, reflecting liquid satin when she smiles
Once upon a time
She whispered to me in hushed melodies
that rose and fell like the dance of the tide
She smelled like deep sea saltwater,
magnolias at sunup,
freshly turned damp earth, cold mint,
mossy rocks sandwiched between the infinite
(tangy breezes filling crystal crevices)

Dusty knees & dirty cerulean cloth clad feet
September has dwindled, stale in the face of October's iridescent embrace
but this laugh is fresh-faced,
pop-rock bubbles up from the core-
an innate instinct once asleep
spilling over, becoming me
cracks spiderweb their way into the ice of hibernation

A child looking at ruins grows younger,
but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
Walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer,
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
The long grass lies pointing uphill-
even in death, for a reason
that none of us knows
And the wren smiles in the early shade now
come again, shining glance, in your good time
naked air late morning
My love is for lightness..
of touch foot feather
The day is yet one more yellow leaf,
and without turning I kiss the light
by an new-old well on the last of the month
(gathering wild rose hips
in the sun)

(Time to)
F.A.L.L.
Find All Life Loves

You jump from rock to rock,
stone slabs barely keeping you moving forward as you sway-balance above your fears,
take the chances time and again, hoping to get it down this time
You make it across, sometimes by the skin of your gritted teeth
Safety on the other side leaves you dreaming of something better, yet..
and as for the surface hesitance?
A longing for a certain beautiful disaster is familiar underneath
(Sweet vertigo: desire to fall)
Some day you will run across the stepping stones with ease,
then unexpectedly leap off
as you succumb to gravity you suddenly take flight
finding yourself, surprise! face to face
with something just right






Swings fly higher and heartbeats flutter
Creaks that utter gentle secrecies into the dark still canyons of the month's first night
New affections reflect formulas of patterns that grow within the grass,
Budding from ancient familiarity that breathes a flawless ease to life
It is nearly surreal
The feel of your hair between my fingers, rich & smoky, glossy with folded bits of light
(dreamcatcher for the shiny flickers of barely-there stars and streetlamp whispers)
I could lose myself in the bittersweet metallic scents,
(they stream through the wild kinked locks of my hair, each strand finds a head in the clouds)
The woodchips caught beneath my heels,
The tie-dye thought/word bubbles that echo my sentiments effortlessly,
stealing my thunder and the last of my breath from me
His deep-reaching gaze and sincerity make feet shuffle gravel and skin melty,
they could be my undoing, surely
I'll burn alongside the figurative schoolchildren as the leaves flutter then...
fall.
Foreign-welcome: this unbeatable combination (like synchronized double sliding, side by side)-
A natural, a free flowing intimacy born into being from first (again) glance
And a smoldering mystery that finds me speechless, enticed
Alternation of giddy smiles and contemplations of quiet reverence
I'm rolling sleeves on the shadow-crested rooftop
Tugboat echoes across far distances
Those soft, supple lips jump-spark a childlike joy in me that refuses to stop
This is the kind of static electricity I don't hip-bump-avoid by any means
And when his eyes catch the beat of mine while he sings,
Fingers strumming a balcony melody
I lose awareness of all else (faded Zen background of steaming tea)
Finesse that vibrates not merely talent, but a knee-weakening knack


They say cats rub their face against you to leave physical traces of their scent
A leaf-strewn path so you can find your way back


Doted-on Seeds, planted in rows
Two apples grew into their skin on opposite ends of the result-
An explosion of flowering life that stretches arms wide as it grows
The green and red bookends on an ever changing, swaying tree
Unaware of the other's presence until, circadian rhythms crash,
The 10th month sets them free
Released from the once-safe shelter of branches, they fall
The grass-reality of ground rolls them to a meeting point
Recognition doesn't drown out the realization
That they had never fully appreciated or known their home at all
Time elapsed somehow leaves no gaps
In these spaces, his voice appears
Smooth like oven baked honey...organic, inherent, raw

What goes up must come down
Murphy's Law
















And our laughter rains down from the top-of-teepee heights
Showering the quiet crunch of earth with webs of nostalgia and pure comfort's release
Wrapping the cool, musty grounds with gold circles akin to bits of shining hope,
Strewn across and around the sloping midnight fields like rope,
(climbclimbclimb UP, higher...you ring my bell)
They seem arranged as if each one had found its place; together they appeal
To some glimpsed order in my mind
Preceding my chance pausing here --
A randomness that also seems designed.
Gold circles strewn across a roller-less playground draped in a pretty, young simplicity
(Quiet save for the rusty squeals and caress of lips meeting)
Evoke a silence deep as my deep fear
Of emptiness; I feel the scene requires
A listener who can respond with words, yet who
Prolongs the silence that I still desire
Clacking crows come flashing through,
Whose blackness shows chance radiance of fire.
Yet stillness in the field remains, for everyone
And as for me?
Drifting towards sleep's crayon & parachute lands,
His hand cradling the lines of my face,
Is plenty.

Life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea.












Our pale reason hides the infinite from us.

climacteric

in the face of the timeless void of death, how do you choose to search for the vitality of life?
as for me, i think i like the endless quest, the best

how do you measure time?
in plucked guitar strings, disjointed happenings, brisk dips in the sea of memories?
in coffee spoons, empty teacups, developed negatives, film strips?
leaves piling, marked out calendar days, number of phone calls you made?



different senses activate various reactions
as for me, i think i'm on to something, it's stirring

when you feel something, however minute, click into place
it resonates inside of you like the echo of blinds being raised in an empty, quiet room
you feel as though it was meant to happen this way
you're in the right place, at the right time
and i couldn't help smiling the whole way home tonight

each moment is a ripple. let each one ingrain, entrench itself within you,
every subtle movement in the waters combines with others, forming
the free flowing ocean of dichotomies that becomes you,
moves you











Who can mediate
between the body and its undoing?
At night in each of my limbs
I feel the skeletal tree ache,
and I dream of leaves
in their feverish colors, floating
through the small streams
and tributaries of the blood.

Once more, the sun rises as it rose in summer;
bounty, balm after violence.
Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields
have been harvested and turned.

September starwinds

The fleshly flowers whispered avidly:
This being's face is soft, he shall not pass;
And all the little jeweled blades of grass
Made mutterings that sounded like low glee.
I looked across the great plain warily.
These glittering swords that shone like splintered glass,
Though singly impotent, might be in mass
A savage, indestructible enemy.
So, hesitantly, I put forth my foot
To seek, beneath the flower-heads, a path.
I found my leg become a hellish root,
I saw the hungry flowers toward me crawl
With bright-eyed ecstacy, exultant wrath,
And on my flesh their mouths, devouring, fall.





It is a certain hour of twilight glooms,
Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours
Down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,
But shewing early lamplight from snug rooms.
The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,
And chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace,
Heeding geometries of outer space,
While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.
This is the hour when moonstruck poets know
What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents
And tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents,
Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.
Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,
A dozen more of ours they sweep away.

Venezia

i suppose when one is trying to procrastinate on paper-writing
and is lacking romance in their life
the best thing to do is rummage through photos
and relive the world's most romantic city

some of these will eventually become parts of series, which I will post later on
but for now, here are some of the favorites I took