Random Ramblings

reply to post by whaaa



so - now I'm talking to shadows....

it's still a better conversation than most :-)

come back as soon as you can my friend

have I done
what karma
demands?
If I am a fool
I may never
know.

whaaa - how much do I love that?

well - was waiting to answer this one - I guess I waited too long

_______________________

mud's art
wears thinking clay

god's voice in the rain
all the same

birds follow the fence-line of heaven

not here, not there

singing

reply to post by The Motorcycle Boy


bowl of candles
for my crown
burn all of heaven
to the ground
ashes to ashes
light to light
give us back
to Starry Night

_____________

hey MB - nice to see you

would love to say the gang's all here - but it's not

reply to post by Spiramirabilis


HI Spira. Nice to see you as well!

I too was born
of the muse, the iconoclast
I followed
The old road.
I climbed and stumbled
regardless of contour,
I have begun
my freedom...
and it hurts.

reply to post by olaru12


are we supposed to stop?
wait for the sounds of maybe
and maybe sounds will come
wandering like dogs
old strays and recent joiners
from homes just gone
the day before

are we supposed to wait
to see what happens?

the dogs are hungry now

sounds like low blue thunder
just over the hill

how does our sky hold
such a strange noise?

no maybes

reply to post by Spiramirabilis


Why don't they stop
throwing symbols?
The air is cluttered
with echos,
of the small boy that
I was,
of the smell of the highway
when I was 17,
of the nights without sleep,
of the red hair of Judy,
of the rain this November.

Suggest a title...

I went off in the desert
alone and heard a voice.
of erosion and vile
resuscitations
unsinging between us
torrential slavery
of the limbs
And the Dreaming

metaphors
the old priest
reached for my hand
we touched, powerful
as we floated to
the horizon and
saw the letters of silence.

a reply to: olaru12

Jesus Meets The Songwriter For Reals

*

Nuns on a ridge
Habits form anew
Son rises Son sets
Sister soldiers guarding sin
Foreign children not let in

a reply to: Spiramirabilis

A fresh Resurrection of madness
How I love the poetess
like the stars over
The Sangre de Cristos
that they may look
on Earth
and not be ashamed.

a reply to: olaru12

La poeta o una llorona...
Blood of Christ is a ruby sky
Wrapped soft around that short sweet spine
Hills will call the dance for light
Those billion things will wash us clean

another summer... what
They said we wanted to much
with the ruby noodle and
the quasi trance.
With the psychomalo
two poets are better
than one.
We fill the space,
We hear the music
and write it down,
all things considered
it's gentle
and undemanding.

summer swam away
little fishes in the rain
write it down for a fourth day straight
summer swam then winter came

poet of my past says run boys run!

fire on the mountain - day is done

gentle is as gentle does
everything considered
words are colors in the sun
two of us delivered