“Beware the Hands of The Wizard”: In Response to: Buji-nin – Photo Seeking Caption

Hands hold the vessel ancient, black

Set upon with dragons, bowl to stack.

Its wizard pours out wishes, non shall lack.

Beware his brew, you’ll not come back.

Severed Hope

 

 

Compliantly, urgently listening

with blind hope, ears wide open

as the sheep for the shepherd.  

 

Waiting, searching, seaking

without forethought or line

as a prophet for the Spirit.

 

Wandering, thirsting, hungering

finding dry bones and spoilt manna

such the Gomorrhan I must be.

 

Gazing, seeing, hearing

enlightenment explodes into being

drools from darkness and shadow.

 

Hark the composition of my Muse!

 

No shepherd but serpent.

If spirit, evil.

Carefully tendering my terrible pen.

Midas Two

Please return to me! I am transfixed and cold as stone.

Your breath upon my neck was molten honey,

Your horrible sweet strokes left me starving.

 

Return to me! Loose me from a Being of all eyes yet unseeing.

Your touch left me fair and golden. I am beautiful as a corpse,

As a subject for framing. I am gold as stone, a goddess in a painting.

Midust Tears

Creepy Crawl across my heart

Burning holes

Left gold tears of fire

Spring Bombs

Appearing like yuletide balls

Spring bombs

Sun against lunar pull exerting

 

***

Converging in the heavens

Collecting, growing

Storm, wind, hail, destruction, sure

***

Her beauty is the moon

Always moving

Best when Easter comes early

 

 

 

Coming on Christmas

I love Carley Simon’s song “River”. In that wistful ballad she soulfully croons in her pure, true soprano that “it’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees, putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.” She goes on, “wishing” she “had a river to skate away on.”  

As I gaze at this magical photograph of my tiny granddaughter enveloped in the shimmer of her Christmas tree, my thoughts turn to years and Christmases gone by-those of my childhood and those of my own children at her age. All over the world and in our own homes it is coming on Christmas. We are cutting down trees., putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Traditions we hold dear, love and cherish from generation to generation. 

However; instead of wishing for a river to skate away on, I wish to have a star as my plumb line to keep me focused on the truth of Coming on Christmas. The One who continues to bring joy and peace.

A Coming Change…

Today is still dark outside my window.

A promise of sweeping chill.

My mind and senses groan for the coming of it like the bee to the flower.

Come, Fall in all your glory!

Come with your cleansing wind!

Brush away the stickiness in my head.

The old stuffy clamminess, heat, and stuff of piled up

summer  dog-days weighing me down.

Brush through my hair, my brain and soul.

Let me sprout a pair of wings perhaps, that I could dance on your breeze!

Or set me free upon the air in a huge rising balloon so as to see the entire earth.

Let me sense, touch, taste, breathe, live into the crisp sharp newness of Fall.

The Taxidermist

Cold as stone, he found him.

Lifeless matted friend .

Sled a’home took him.

 

In lamplight dim began.

Thawing fire a’blazing,

Chipping, tearing, cleaning.

 

Warm as toast, he made him.  

Lifelike woolly king.

Stately, grand and grazing.

 

Through shining rays he witnessed,

Sprouting crown and smile.

His parsnip fell again. Amazing!