A time of early morning when sounds are soft against ear and movement does not play darts and goes and stop and start. A time to reflect or not to think but to happen as life happens in the sweet flow of quiet seashore in bright moon’s light. Waves even—gently lick the places of sand castles fading as eastern stars’ faint twinkle and the roars of today’s day touch the future and stops.
We—barefoot children of yesterday, leave the mere and slightest of indention in a sand semi-wet and cool from the absence of sunshine.
We—the children of another dawn, touch hand or swish jacketed shoulder once or twice or often without the counting of times or steps or memories. We are the happening of breath and silhouettes angled away from us by the western moon to fade or go by whimsy cloud or art.
Smiles not required and laughter not heard, not from or by our own design or folly. We are born of yesterday’s parents and tomorrow’s ruin. However—right on this moment and now on this side of second slide, we birth this moment or instance or day or past night’s hour.
We—live only of this stretch of sand and along with the catching up of tides flow believe the ice and water before and behind us are our ground and our chapter of seasons lived and written against the sands of shifting grain and the wind.
Care for life and alive and steeped in the reality of earth-beat and washed in the eternity of spirit and even alone—never lonely or forgotten with passing days or endless years of grooved space and the distance between here and there and everywhere.
And! Lion’s sandy paws follow our fading footsteps washed away by gentle surf and the settle of a constant settlement of earth and sky. We—you and I are instantly together and drawn by this moment and the notion of the simplicity of knowing we are beings beneath the fading light of moon and the coming of dawn-light and shadow. Those fading prints of sandy paws disappear and Lion call echoes somewhere across the bay. It is the music of this night and the rhythm of today.
What if we heard Mozart play? A phantom whistles and we know the sound and the song just before the melody begins and long after it ends. A piano strikes cord and rhythm flows from twin-brain to hands to fingers both grand and awkward. Remember practice. Recall recital. Remember applause. Recall joy as the music stops instantly after fingers rest. We are the classical singers of a distant voice, his melodies yesterday and today and tomorrow. Mozart still plays beside us well into the days of past’s future.
Pussy Riot and Putin’s Folly: Only power remains if all else fails either—through revolution or by insolvency. Power is government complete with economic and social inequality, corruption-malfeasance and the restrictions-destruction of the rights of the people. Three girls/women; freedom’s singers, creators of noise and bangs and chants and songs—silenced now by Putin’s Folly. Twin years of prison for ‘singing songs and carrying signs.’
The world of free people: We will spit on Putin’s Folly and the Liars of America’s failing government. It must be the days of ‘Gag and Puke.’ We’ve already heard that the Tea Party equals America’s Taliban. Tomorrow must wonder about today and shrug away yesterday…
‘Tell me – Tell me True…
Baby – Baby
Night child of blue.
But I do long to see
You, in sunshine and lollipops
And those rainbow colors
Not by my eyes.
And never teary unless
Streaked – smiley streaked and
Song-whispered in the night.
Baby – Baby
Night child of blue.’…from ‘New York Diamonds Ride’
Sunshine and morning kisses. A slow day and thoughts and quiet conversation and never saying anything of importance and sunsets over the sea and sand and blankets and a glass of wine and love and darkness and butterfly kisses and touch and…
And! Beautiful you are…
Coming Soon: PME Radio Network (pmeradionetwork.com)
I have watched you greet me, an automated figure, vunerable by your presence, valuable and selling a most precious part of you…Time! Your living time: ask me to place a consideration on your life. How? What measure of worth may I offer in exchange for your ability, voice, smile, laugh, strength, judgement, responsibility, continuity, devotion, dedication, honor and respect as we share some common and probably useless American Dream.
Even so, you perch on a chair and practice silent speech and the using of gestures instead of verbal response. Later, after those first encounters, we confine our spirits to the buying and selling of a day’s length, its worth checked against accomplishment and the ability to purchase and to sell. Did we ever play? Did I push your swing or did you push mine? Did we drink invisible tea from little teacups and sing-song together? Did we ever run naked through sprays of water during a hot afternoon in July? When did I become slave-master to your slave-master? How did those harmless water races become so one-sided and its running so hard to complete? We do not like wars that cannot be stopped for an evening meal and then continued only until bedtime.
Why do we now purchase these deadly weapons? (Jobs or folly or both since they can be the same or opposite). It matters to what temperature your eggs are boiled or your music is cooled. I can feel the nuclear winds along these steps now crumbled with time and ground to dust by the sleeping virgin as she passes (virgins can sleep). A hint of black and white smoke is clinging to the edge of Sorrel Hollow. You may remember Sorrel Hollow. It comes to mind just before you pass into a new and wonderous sleep.
Man plus Woman does not equal Man…Once taught to us since the beginning of us. Still incorrect!
We do join together to form a two-way union of Love, Strength and Power be it; man & woman, woman & woman or man & man…Love is Love is Love. From Love comes Strength and Power together.
Unions may last for a lifetime or quickly end because they were or she said or he said…Who cares?
Through all of our dreams and hopes and mischief and happiness and Love, we must be, the present living folk, equal from our birth-to-our-death…And beyond that who knows?