Whirlwind for Heavenly Bazaar

MississippianInk2-by-irlaAs the whirlwind wraps me in her arms and whispers in my ear so near,

I hear the voices of seven thousand souls from heaven to leaven the air,

And my hair blows back gently as she stares in my eyes, spies my heart:

‘Where did you go wrong, my dear? What song do you sing that brings

Such pain with no gain? Take my hand and feel the grand spirits of old;

Be bold and let them take hold of your spirit but for one swift moment

To sift you and make you whole again.’ My arms stretched to blue sky

Above to try to embrace the whole celestial realm, but she only laughed

In love: ‘No; open up within and they will begin to hold you, woo you

And fill you with true song ~ long on love ~ guide you where you belong,

And you will rest in numinous nest as in the days of old so cold now

In your memory.’ I’d fallen far and could no longer see my guiding star,

My soul reservoir nearly empty where once there’d been plenty: ‘Come.

Come above, my love, and I’ll show you an heavenly bazaar from which 

You may fill yourself to overflowing.’ And my world started growing,

My mistress lord glowing in the fresh wind blowing: ‘Child so mild,

Yet heart untamed and wild, like me all of treasure of all of the Cosmos

Have been here, not there; all around you, but you’ve been so long bound.’

And tis true . . . but now the world opened up wide, and there I’ll abide.

Here I’ll abide!



Note: Originally published in February 2016, being republished now due to some renewed interest as well as to simply share with new followers/readers. Enjoy!

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Peace in Perpetuity: Welcome Eden

Α

Good folks shooting good folks,
Recruiting more folks to shoot
As they pour out venom in store
From many years of repression
With no cessation, but does it
Make any sense? Is it pretense?
It’s not an easy walk, for sure,
But talk of peace is not enough;
It means taking a risk, a chance
In advance at the dangerous end
Of the gun, son; yeah, putting
Your life on the line as a sign
Of your conviction without any
Restriction that light drives
Out the darkness, that the fight
Is really for life, rather than
Mere existence rife with pain
And agony with naught to gain.
It’s all so insane, is it not?
Good folks shooting good folks,
Recruiting more folks to shoot…
Time to stop all of the insanity
Of gross vanity of war mongers,
Who sit sunny with their money
Counted with bloody hands and
Smiles on their crooked faces!
Time for light to shine bright
In the night of a new humanity
Under the radiance of dear Luna
In anticipation and expectation
Of the coming Dawn of Eden Land.
Say hello to serenity in plenty
In rebirth of old but new earth!
Welcome …!

Ω

Note: Having written one poem for Poets for Peace,  I guess it just piqued my interest in finding out how many other pieces I’d already written specifically on the subject of peace. This poem was originally published in March of this year (2016).

Silly Sally and the Boob

Silly Sally simply abrogated all rights in her own home
To an emasculated boob, who only berates and masticates
Her like cheap food to satiate his appetite for authority
And self-satisfaction in his fraction of life, in which he
Vitiates everything and everyone with which he has any
Prolonged contact; he has no good bait to hook any real
Mate; his half-brain and train of heart are filled with
Rebellion and hate; but silly Sally placates this boob,
Who arrogates to himself whatever he wants, whenever
And however with no pause to consider what trouble it
Will cause; but silly Sally refuses to adjudicate in her
Very own home and enunciate what will be acceptable
And respectable in her domain because she has been so
Tamed by the fear of being alone, so she keeps the boob
Near and pays the high price for pretended peace and
Illusion of love; and what great freight she carries
In and out of the gate of her soul as she continually
Manipulates reality to suit her really twisted fantasy
With the boob she’s enlisted to complete her insanely
Puzzled life so rife with inner pain and never any gain
Of genuine joy… Poor silly Sally! I wonder if God just
Might adjudicate and eradicate the boob … but, then,
Silly Sally would only find another; twill always be
Silly Sally and her Boob!

Fear

A wind swept down the hall, along the walls,
Around the corner, where I lay bound in bed
My nightly prayers being said after eating
My last parcel of bread, and the spirit came
Once again to claim my mind and bind me
In chains of fear under cover of dark
In stark reality of being alone
With no phone to call for help;
Only the yelp of a dog nearby
Broke the silence before the voice spoke,
‘You are alone again and prone to fear, my dear,
So in sheer terror you lie as in a coffin
Prepared to die, and so perhaps you shall…’
Strange illumination filled my room with gloom
As tumescent tissue tendrils extended round
My room with effervescent smoke floating
In iridescent glow for shadowy show while
Willows danced outside my window, and I buried
My face in tear-stained pillow for some shallow
Comfort without sweet slumber…
‘Ah, no, this night you might be mine, so fine
And delicate,’ she softly whispered in my ear;
‘Fear’
‘Fear’

Note to Self: Get the Hell Up!

Spinning, whining, crying, and pining like some brat!
What? You didn’t get your way? Hit the damn highway
And don’t bother with your ‘goodbye’ and no ugly sigh!
Please, did you really think life was all about your ease?
Freeze! Think. Blink. You’ve got some kink in your brain.
Oh, do you not hear, my dear? Life is something to fear;
It’s not an easy career. You’ve gotta be fierce and strong;
No, not always wrong. You’ve gotta conquer the throng!
Frat brat crying on your cushioned mat, get the hell up!
Stop being such a pup, and find the wolf inside of you;
It’s not really an impossible world in which you’ve been
Hurled when you learn how to live now, not later, and
Stop believing all the lies about pies in the skies! Idiot!
Say “hello” from below with your feet planted firmly
On the earth, place of your birth, and see your worth.
And faith? Real faith comes with striving, driving and
Sweat with plenty of bets; you fail but you don’t bail,
And that’s when real faith begins to kick in and begin!
So stop spinning, whining, crying and pining. Get up!
LIVE!

The Lord of Lyricism Answers the Fool

The lord of lyricism did lurch from his literary perch,
And bid the king of fools to leave; “but why?” came the
Reply; “do you not believe what I conceive to be true?”
But the lord turned and burned with indignation; “if you
Knew what is true you would not be the king of fools, so
Stop using your folly tools to misconceive and deceive!”
“Sing your song, my lord, and pray tell me how I am wrong;”
So the lord answered, “I am bored by your talk and would
Walk away, but I will say, the duke of metaphor and duchess
Of stanza already live together as finely entwined feathers
In the ethereal realm of aesthetics, where there love does
Overwhelm space and time; indeed they rhyme and chime now
As one and their romance has only just begun! Now be gone;
Be gone, O king of fools, with your spools of ignorance
And folly!” But the daft king only laughed, then poked the
Lord and spoke, “Love cannot last forever above the world;
There must be the pace to meet face to face!” To which the
Lord did turn in his burn, but queried, “Oh fool of fools,
You hideously drool idiocy! What, pray tell, do you know
Of life and love, especially what comes from above, you
Who have never known what is grown in the courts of heaven?
Behold! There is no doubt about love first cultivated and
Made stout in the mystical realms, for claim is first made
Upon the soul, and it is not lame nor is it some pretty game,
But aflame and then ready to proclaim to the world! What,
Then, is your insistence on distance?” With this the king
Of fools had to cool his temper, for he had no reply and
So no way to further ply his trade made of real stupidity;
So he balked and walked away, taking shame with his name.

What the Lord of Lyricism Sees (Part II)

“Oh how love is so cruel!” laughed the king of fools
To the lord of lyricism, still perched as he searched.
“It seems true: One was born to be torn but not by
Any scorn of the other; ha! I wonder, does he realize
What prize is his as he mixes metaphor to score yet
Another tune? Does the duke see or is this a fluke?”
And the king of fools drooled his answer: “My lord,
Love is as tender as the dove, who flies high above
But falls quickly to hard earthen call to crawl among
Beasts of burden; love is delicate.” But the lord said,
“Surely love is also elegant and not desolate; so much
Is evident, which is why love is thus eminent… No,
He simply can’t see the free gift given by the duchess
Of stanza, who sadly stammered ‘fare thee well’ before
She fell from the sky, and ne’er did he utter ‘goodbye,’
But did he ever fly closely by? Truly I do not know
But I note that he still floats in the ethereal mists
Of senryu and such, which is not much in the manner
Of courtship.” But the king of fools quipped, “Ah! my
Lord, perhaps this was not meant to be, for there is no
Rhyme to bind them across space and time, lips to lips,
Hips to hips!” To this the lord of lyricism merely nodded,
Not in cynicism, saying, “We shall yet see what will be.
We shall yet see what will be.”