De’bauch

Traveling debaucheries surface in the inopportune.
Telling stories of the unseen corners of mind,
Where shadows hold truth about nature.
Enslaved and chained there, a voice cries out for release.

On the surface, a different story beheld life.
Deep ocean tides spoke of other pathways.
Like a buried body entering a new format,
Consciousness traveled to secret caves and saw.

The surface face squinted in distaste.
Realizations of self displeasing the looker.
Cravings to deny the wholeness rose,
While parts whispered they were still there.

Placing a fingertip on the mirror’s image,
A sensitive surge emerged and asked for love.
"Do not run my friend.
My name is polarity and I know you."

Saints blow breaths to erase the saga,
That wants to tell the tale of all you’s.
Braced for the impact,
Debauchery surfaced and spoke.


All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Night Fade

Brighter shades of black are painting on the mind mural.
Attempting to aide a crippled heart with crutches
As it limps along the byways of trajectories.

Feet do not have the power of wings.
Gravitational pull clutches onto skin,
while feathers are free to fly.

Levitational magick carpets sold at the caravansary,
Look for new types of energy,
Bubbles for dreamscapes, maybe.

Eclipsed by a mellifluous umbra,
Stepping barefoot in fields of reflections,
The scene paints feelings that take flight.

The weaver stays behind, grasping a thin thread,
Erasing fears of the battle of sole and soul,
Weaving potentialities.

(c) 2006

She's Full

Mesmerized

They say the night is for sleeping.
That the world is more quiet and settled in.
Those who stay awake know of Her beauty, the intensity.
Like the night shadows, thoughts, desires and imagination hide in regions of the unseen, comprehended by perceptions laid bare.
Dreams build their panoramas here, in this place of secrets more exciting then mechanical chores.
So difficult is it to escape its beauty and ecstasy,
I often wonder if I will live my life here.
Can I escape the exquisite style of synchronicities and flow?
It is as if the moon doesn't know it gets its light from the sun.

Wisdom and understanding beckons.
The self-inquisitive judgments and mercies demand attention.
The heart longs to retake its throne.
But the moonlight mesmerizes.
Feelings move seductively in the currents.
Imagination creates lives better then life.
Thoughts write fiction novels that pretend to be real.
The belly speaks like a pregnant womb carrying a fetus called muse.
The gods and goddesses make love in willing beings.
Where is there a place better?




All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Husbands in Disguise

My husband came to visit last night.
Well, not in the flesh, so to speak.
Thousands of miles lay between us,
But touching has not ceased.
Making no mistake,
This is not a gutter song.
Divine wine being served, and all.
As I sat upon the lotus chair.
The hanging mobile swayed in the night breezes.
The diamond shaped squares swirled within themselves.
It was a delightful moment in time.
The engulfings were his way.
Whether standing between two luminous mountains,
Or floating across the oceanic tides.
I knew exactly what the moment entailed,
Knowing him as well as I do.
I vowed that this journey rise.
And so it did,
And the darkness swallowed me.
For a moment I felt defeated, in a way.
Until the vapors rose through a deep slit in the appetite.
There I stood, now flying in breathing light,
Dressed in marriage apparel.
Transfiguring into symbols of beauty.
Then, I drifted off to sleep.



All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Grayscale Gratitude

Night’s velvety touch surrounds me.
The cool warmth of presence comes.
Yet, I remain unaware,
peering into shadows rather then
the silvery reflections of exposures,
complaining of dew drenched feet,
rather then drinking in the washings,
allowing its beauty to remain a metaphor of depressions,
never realizing that impressions carve images
on the canvas of my mind.
I shake my brain hoping for erasures of the muddy paints I
have chosen, when satin black and the multi-glimmerings of
grayscale’s vast panorama speak so highly of Night’s grace,
finding interest in the fact that it didn’t choose the limited
palette of ebony and ivory, but mixed white into black and
created a vast middle ground of silver grayscale.
I was oblivious to the silk silver swaddling cloth it placed upon me
Corralling the uncontrollability of my raging arms and kicking legs
which demanded polar scenes, but only stirred up muddy waters.
It wished to teach me to be an artist of the gray silver world.
It promised me that when I accomplished that, it would let
me once again play with colors.



All Rights Reserved (c) 2006