A quick succession of sips
Answered by a volley of volts
- Sounds thrown, lines sewn.
This three letter word
I swirl softly,
Ever so patiently
In my mouth..
My luscious tongue
Rolling, lapping,
Hardly daring to taste.
All I can do is breathe
And surrender,
Try hold it together,
Good wine
Smooth, deep, mature,
Wise.
It knows who it is,
And is prepared to be eaten and swallowed,
Eager believer,
Necessary sacrifice for ignition of poetry, art,
Song and dance inside,
Ancient fire in the belly
Of the artist,
Eager receiver.
Blessed, good wine.
II.
The invitation
Nay! The admonition
To drink
Because I tried my utmost
Not to think of or linger too long
On the possibility of a strange, wild,
Otherworldly way of being truly alone,
To sleep and hear freely
The nature of this longing,
To overcome the dread of being somehow
Wrong.
I take another swig,
And hearken:
I am getting better
At feeling into what may come next, for
What do I really want for me?
Only You know, hold this for me
Tenderly,
Preciously,
Graciously,
You, Divine, please.
III.
Is it abuse
Or sudden, instant blast of learning?
I can not comprehend.
The Giant Wheel of Time
- that great linear distortion -
Is all I can grasp
And even that is a stretch.
So, what of it, then?
Is to live to make constant effort?
Yes, Methinx.
Well, I’ve assistance, at least,
In holding aloft these glorious themes
In daydreams of you,
husky-voiced, blossoming,
Skinny minx.
Do I truly wish to understand
That which may lie in darkness
And what is the destination,
Does forgiveness sleep there?
Is that what I crave?
IV.
Incapacitated,
Loss of field for vision,
Acid in the heart, head and hymen,
Sick of grief piled up,
Sick of guilt and sadness
Leading me by the hand:
Where’s my joy?
Where were you in the 1980s?
We’re doing well:
Look how far we’ve come.
This is an attempt at distraction.
Everything is a distraction.
Maddening.
Thank Gods for circles
Turning mad-making into
Running to seeking,
Longing for connection,
Oneness.
Your agreeing or disagreeing with me is immaterial
For I’ll either love you or hate you,
Depending on my mood.
Poor you.
V.
Anyway, what kind of poet would I be
If I didn’t read other people’s poetry?
Observe: the circular thoughts
Rolling out of the silence of
These empty pockets,
Trying to get back into the Mother.
Hey! Where were you in the 1980s?
And how is it that lust and pain
Can feel almost the same?
Once one has forgiven one’s self
For all the sins of the world
And starts moving again,
It’s quite an apprehensive thing.
Made of Word and fierce Holding says:
You are come to this Plane
Having been everything and yet
Free from having, now, to experience all again
To live and die well, or not at all.
So, there. Take that.
Aye.
And again, be ever ready to say
Adieu, Farewell and good Night
To your Muses of Sound and Sight.
Be blessed as you walk in the Light.
You are giants there on Earth
And yet there exist greater giants beyond and before you.
You are never alone,
Though recognise:
In your longing you may find a sweet desire
To truly be so.
So, send out, little Brothers and Sisters,
Little Mothers and little Fathers,
Silent Love and Greeting to each other
Across the space that is yours;
Share your hearts with abandon.
For you are in good Company
Bound in and to the Mystery
of good,
Clean,
Kind,
Cruel Love.
Let it be possible that
You have on your hands and in your hearts now
Impeccable restraint,
Hard learned and hard earned, yes!
Through a difficult, dark time of
Repression and suppression.
Oh! This space given you is wondrous,
Marvellous, magical,
Your Mother Earth, Your Father Sky,
And you walking, sleeping, eating,
Lying, dying, dreaming
In between.
