Haiku - Song for dune and forest

Please: What is it

To be Warden, to be Wyrd,

A stewardship to steer?

Haiku - Astonishment

Taking a moment

To sit and feel

Just how ancient everything is

People of the mind

People of the Mind:

The rivers of the Gut

and the givers of the hurt

Say:

Free yourself from 

Karmic bind!

A reel of His story

What you got in your DNA, Jaguar?

I got the blood of poets,

Magicians and musicians!

There’s been a film sliding between me

And the stone of reality

Since I was young,

The film of culture 

And a whole family line 

Of ingrained self-destructive thought programming

That seem to be married into a rather unhealthy

Long term arrrangement.

Now it seems the reel is at its end,

Tugging off the spool and about to snap,

Tearing off its attachment clips,

Even as the spool is connected to 

A wheel that wants to keep spinning:

Half the problem was getting to the end of the script,

Emerging here, at the end of His Story.

But a new challenge arises:

What story do I write next?

What? In place of

Nothing I ever do is right or good enough.

What? In the aftermath of

No one sees me or cares about my existence.

What? To fill the space in the derangement of

I don’t know what love feels like, so

I can’t give or receive it.

End

Haiku - Arcane

The creature

The placement of stones

The concept of truth in history

Made of memory

Made of memory

We are being and

Becoming

and not what language tells us

hardly literate or articulate

We are not language

We are long term learning

And yet

We leave the camera on

To record history

And hold the moment

As though we prefer the suffering

The short term antidote of identification

With pain

For centuries we’ve been afraid

Of questioning

Seeking inner truths

And so, teaching has gone silent

Trees are waking up now

Holding us in their long ancient branches

Comforting us as we shed the last tears of trauma

That we self inflicted

And counselling us as we recount the stories

Of where we come from and how

We were made to be slaves

Helping us to be free if we should choose to be

Bitter salty sweet

Photograph:

A captured live moment made of light

Caught forever,

Tumbling, bumbling along in an imagined continuum -

A simulation or experiment, a video game

Of some thing other’s creation mind

And the word ‘consciousness’ births itself

First through thought,

Earthbloodlegskneeshipsstomach

Heartlungsthroatmouthsound,

Then through human.

An idea presents itself for ejection or injection

Out of or into flimsy fluid of melt plasma space

And quickens

Metaphysical

But poetry is an aeons-aged substance

And has always been there as journalist,

Anthropologist, therapist, artist,

In service to the documentation of all awkward grasps

At a certainty of knowing,

Holding, owning, understanding

No thing:

Itself,

Succeeding in cosmic nano gaps of particle,

For which a human second is a lifetime,

To be the being caught in between:

The Moment before the movement,

Everything else,

Eternal

God's spell

The sound of gospel singing out live

Down through the valley:

That we have voices to sing

That the person who gets to look 

Through my backpack when I die,

Sorting through my things to make sense of 

A Me for a moment,

Before sharing those pieces of That Me

Amongst friends,

Has the best smiles, laughs and confused,

Surprised, bewildered eye askews.

That we have this thing named Time

Into which we can sort those Things:

Objects

And our unpracticed sense of The Whole

Agonisingly anchored and weighed in 

Only through a deftly positioned, tightly adjusted Lens

Aiming at linearity reality,

Misdirected, perhaps.

That, among those Things,

We have alliteration and assonance,

Rhyming things, beer inspired poetry

With beckoning idea entities seeking physical form

Whispering into our ears

To escort them into our Imagination - 

An imagination of a One, apparently.

That we have voices. That we sensate

Sound and image,

Immerse nightly in dreams 

Dictated by our own DMT release in sleep, 

Willingly - most of us, without fear.

That we dream.

That we find reason for celebration 

And a stretching up into the light,

And look for cause to wallow sordidly

In darkness and morbidity

And always catch ourselves either

Breathing or not breathing.

That we sometimes need to remember to breathe

In between.

That we remember

And feel grateful.

That we know what it feels like,

That grateful feeling.

Being full of greatness,

That we can gather in these Group Things,

Salute and praise and raise each other,

Embrace and put heart to heart,

Go crazy with a latest craze.

That we can share a prayer

Or be still

And alone.

That we can share.

That we can sing out loud into the night.

That we are never ever alone

In that

We can share this Planet Place

With beings not ourselves: wolves, birds and serpents,

Ancient cats and tamed burden beasts,

Fern forests, aching mountains, moody rivers,

Incessant seas, mellow meadows and perpetual bone-dry,

Day-hollowed, indifferent deserts, 

Gentle giant clouds,

And cruelly unfair high-voltage electrical sub-celestial storm churnings;

Epic and tumultuous stories, myths and legends of gods and alien visitors,

Their space wars and their decisive acceptance or denial of us,

Desperate and yearning for meaning, searching, unwittingly,

To be better, more, apply learning,

To grow, awaken, re-call, 

To actualise, energize, amplify

That we are always, essentially, wild and with it.

And that sleep

- That at the end of a Day

Or the End of our days

- is really so sweet,

That.

Majestic

That which is most marvellous,

Magical, mysterious, miraculous -

This is worth living for

and placing absolute faith in

Refusal of The Call

Living in the spectre of 

“There’s something wrong with her!” whispers

Lift spirit:

Check posture, breathing, face muscles…

Who am I surrounded by

What place am I in?

Refusal of The Call

The Wound, the Pain, holy

Sacred spaces fill me

Multisensory, always switched on

Learning the languages to interpret

Nature

You are so patient, so gentle with me

Ancestral anger

It is we who are angry now

It is we who wake up into an agony of now

For it is a nightmare we awake into

A system of derision that has been

Programmed by you.

You who have burned the stories

Lost the knowledge

You lost the maps, the keys

Where is our treasure? Where is our gold?

You did not teach us the ways

You did not leave the tools for living

You ate everything and left nothing for us

We, the descendants of your future.

We are here now, angry and hungry

We will go inside

Forgive

Give thanks

Seek our own permission

For we are you and you are us

We are here now

We will plant again and restore with what we have.

You destroyed nearly everything.

But we are here now to stop

We are here now to begin anew.

We will speak free

We will seek fun

We will no longer be silent for fear of

Your disapproval, or for fear of 

Your cutting the supply lines.

You are dying stubbornly

You don’t want to let go

You still want everything

You are deranged and psychotic

With a lust for the wrong kind of power

A power that kills and will not share

A power that excludes and expects

Lauding and praising from itself

And all outside itself

You will soon be extinct

Will you learn grace?

Will you slow down and rethink?

Yes, you will

We are here now to help you

We will right the wrong

Dream of Me

I am me

Exactly where I want to be

I woke up into a dream

I woke up Me

Exactly where I wanted to be

I woke up into a dream

Best

What if

The worst that ever happened

To trigger all subsequent life

Pains, angers, happinesses, excitements and fears

Was that, at some point 

When I was very, very young

I was left behind

Or

Did I find a way to escape

And this was the best that ever happened