Thru Thought—Visions Sweet…

Often have we—through visits and thoughts—immersed ourselves in others’— visions-of-many-cultures—so twin—blood same—the magic of knowing this—was discovery. To hold—To Touch—Too much—No! Forever not long enough. And! The sweetest Dance—indeed…Together we—for love without—there is no peace.

Earth twirls—swirls and changes occur—either warming or chilling—either simple or killing—and Humanities’ whimsy can assist—or resist—incline—or decline—to touch-the-hand-to-hand-to handle—hearts—in memory shifts—either horrific—or—embrace wonders—of new—of difference—of Simple Similarity—of Peace—of Teach—of Reach—and Embrace the Race—of Sweet Life—Sweet Love—and Humanities’ Purest—Practices! Difference—Same—Same Difference and always “Arms open—often are.

Taste now—liquids—of life and of death—while running from—bolts of steel poison—as darts—dart—or fly from bows—crossed or long… Pack—life and live—on nights—wolves’ runs—start-stops. Pack—hunters’ life—of streaking—runs-runes—‘cross full moon’s light-right—toward—kill-still—and sated—salty-taste-of-plenty-blood—spread—beyond the quick—and the dead… ‘Tis—good moment—to-live-and-to-die—in three quarter time’—and—it is hard to be— an——upright walker—and hard to be—an angel…at the same time? Would rather pack-run—and—drink—honest blood—at an honest pace. Rather to—forever moon-howl—than hide—inside truth—less self—of both—questions and fears. So! Follow now—wisps of vapor—the melody—of sing-song choir—below line where—sea meets sea—and—sky rises above—along forgotten shimmers—of water—stretching—beyond eye sight—and runners’ slight. Walk upon —salty waves—a dead sea—between melody’s notes—and—the mists—of another dawn.

‘From each according to Ability—to each according to Need’—Karl Marx…

Beware of any move—toward ‘Martial Law’ for those—will be moves toward—‘Trump-ism/Nixon-ism/Jackson-ism’—another—lean—mean—dictatorship in America—‘Home of the Wealthy—and—of the Afraid. Violent sputters—freedoms’ totters—Attacks-re-acts—recalls the falls of—heart-mists-tears-the-fears or the—‘WTF’—of thought sense—or are—the Nationalist ‘Whites’—another word for—‘Ignorant Hate’?

Just disappeared into a tidal pull of ‘no reason’— ‘To no doubt about It’

America’s women-folk—learning to defend—against—the violence—of America’s men-folk…And! When in ‘thoughts reasonable’—does mankind—have a single right—to rule-over—womankind? ‘WTF’—again—’ad infinitum.’ Domination—is—abomination! Be very aware—of ‘Executive Branches.’ The laws—of the land—must be our freedom-from-serfdom—donchathink?

Remember? We wish-list-aspire—to permanence—and–to the—permanent wish—of whispers. Spells cast—‘gainst unholy—Gods and priests’—scream away—the terror of life——be strength of truth—unknown-the-knowing—and—the eternal hunger of—sleep. Maybe—damned and maybe—never to walk—stooped shuffled—with age—doubled—with blood hunger—and the vampires’ wish—for—complete death. Legends—never die—alive with moon—howling—and—running with—the wolves—at night. Pine rooms—flower boxes—and—within sanctuary—the blood hungry—fear the light. So! Listen to the—Wolves—at night. Free? Why—Yes…

‘Brush to lids—of my own eyes—with sweet—your lips—touch deep—my heart—with spirit dance—your strength as—my own—often fails. We—you and I—do spin wheels—together—and—taste sweet wine—in starlight bright—and—setting moons—so large that—reflected eyes—lock these—mind spaces—in—forever memories—of life. Tis—good this dream…

Tis—sweet this Night…Shining candles—harbor flash—from sea-today-and-follow-tide…Come to harbor—sirens call…Shining candles—harbor flash… From sea-to-safety-side—tonight.’

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Nothing Else Matters’…Performed by Doro

 

‘All Along the Watchtower’…Composed and Performed by Bob Dylan

 

 

All Lined—In Time…

14687Creative Spirits do—gather—one-time-or-maybe-two—to watch sky—etch forms—dissolve—appear and disappear—while often dancing ‘cross—so many places—to many races—as often they appear—only to disappear—and reappear—again—once-in-a-while…

March-time and—swinging-arms—together move—together sing—chance the ring—the motion dance—shaking and taking–the gray dawn—of morn’—mourning war—before the score—another revolution—the sums–of sons. Love’s Dance—one chance—of revolution’s–other sons—of other sums. A length down—Charlotte Street—be— Cardington Park—marks the march—beginning-to-end—begin again—to end again…

We are an instant in Time—All lined in rows of minutes…We are The People—Eternal Spirits all—We are The People—We are not Religions—We are The People—We are not Governments—We are The People—We are not War—We are The People—We are not Aliens upon this Earth—We are The People—-Children of the Universe—We are The People—We have the Right-to-be-Everywhere—We are The People—And! Governments All—Hear us Call—We are The People—All-of-Us—Right Now! Tomorrow Time—‘tis still the Crime—We are The People—We are the—Choice of the—Spin-of-the-Twirl—and—Spirits-of-the-Universal Swirl…So! ‘Let us-be-written—So! Let-us-be Done…’

Freedom Cries….How may walls—separate hearts from hearts—family from families…Walls of fears—falling tears—stain—remains—trains move—up sun runs—‘cross—sailing winds—toward better sound—coming round—‘cross—better boarders—better moments—toward better days. Does objective truth—deny that government is—the provider of enjoyments—and new progress—accepts—enjoyments do become—’entitlements’ and ‘entitlements’—become—’the right of the people?’ Standards for human rights—disappear? And! Still elites determine what constitutes—without a real constitution—the rights of humanity? These Elites are—also the ‘Body Politic’—purchased—bought—traded—faded—commanded—demanded until—the ‘rights-of-the-people’ are not products of objective truth—embracing relativism—but are the results of coercion—and brutal power… Political power—is how much gun smoke—pours from barrels—pointed toward the—people? If true! Then how must—political power be—executed—or limits once—as smoke evaporates into precious air? And! The ‘universal continuation’—continues.

“All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. All machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough good to counter-balance the evil.  At any rate, it is a great evil to make a stir about it.  But when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer…” from ‘On the Duty of Civil Disobedience’…by Henry David Thoreau

Ages past—and often we become—sponges—gifted—gregarious—bent with insight—anchors—of both worlds—one frightful and one—enchanted—and—filled-to-edge—truthful with wisdom—both scary and fearful—as wisdom—sometimes becomes you—as age—bends body—yet frees—spirit twirl…From twins—of two—a power of life sparks—and alone-never—places begin—and fixes end. When again—‘surfs-up’—and high waves—reclaim shore-reaches—and land—would rather dwell in— the Villages of Fisher-folk—than in—the Hampton’s of—Middle-bots— without spirit machines—without reasons-to-produce—and—stand with us—as wave-crash claims us—all…Because—together—we have done—everything…

And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

Physics common reach—teach—uncommon words—boundless twist—of honest computation—manipulation—contrived—to derive common wisps-of-wisdom—exacted—reacted-contacted—rejected and projected—twists boundlessly—and melded into simple sense—and corrected logic…Paradigm shatters—whisper-matters—while sails—ships of storm’s tatters—up righted-ignited-provided-decided and once-fears now tears—along—with seed sowing—acknowledged knowing—either real or almost correctly—forgotten—and then remembered. Along Martian Ridge—one line—eye stretched far—once was—a stutter of thorn—then throne—then grain—then throne—then repeated—until distance—failed seeing and sight disappeared— when ridge—merged sky—and—matter dropped—from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones—Writers’ names etched’—crystal tags—attached—along the top-front—of every throne.’ A Spacer—thought these folk—may have belonged—to some—type of ‘Club’…

‘La Liberté éclairant le monde’

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

Are we—not all travelers—scattered across—someplace-somewhere? We are not timed—or blessed—or wonderful—or gifted—or fortunate—or meant-to-be a ‘something else’— without a price-tagged-branded-commodity—of enhanced—steroidal—surgically modified—blast of cartoon fashion—or lip-stick mouths—pouted and mounted—on another pictured—perfect and—replicated glossy—imitation of sport manned—model swished—dish of corruption—with a splash—dash of hopeless—and—fanatic—fantasy. And! Does protection always equal servitude? When—brain knows—humanities’ finest moments…Love—Peace—Touch—and—Trust…No charges or gains or losses—Flashes between the realities—of reality—and those sweet spaces—just an instant prior—then lips touch—co-mingled breath—warms the cold—evening air. A rational—response—to rational—insanity. A second—when no one stares into empty space—without—noticing starlight’s—star bright—and—starships passing between—light-speed and arrival—silently appear. When everyone—everywhere—and—in-all-places— between skies—ground—realize—what we do not have—does not mean—anything… Feeling color—through both eyes—and—with our fingers. Hearing—a lover’s voice—touch our heart— before—substance becomes words—of meaning-or-reason-or-another—notion. When silence—so—completely fills all senses—with thunder and noise—and—music and notes—chaotic—or symphonic—simplicity—as duality ceases—and singularity—melts into universal polarity—and— truth.

The gentle touch—of skin—brushed-wind—morning stars—and angel’s dust… And! These precious feet-touch—wings-speak—to start another path—leading little ones—to another—precious shore—sustained hope—and—just wishes for a moment—of ‘good day’…Uncertain in world-scream—uncertainties-wide—grief—bowed head—always—certain in—the certainty—of swift chaos—and—tears…And so–no doubt—be found—from ‘cross this sea—travelers see—candles bright—‘cross this night—a coming home-to-us—delight—light shine—‘Welcome’—from windows’ space—of ‘Safe Harbor’—not race—just place—to stop—and—stay awhile… Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships—and—places far away…This is here—and between—landings—another beach—reach—and—as quickly—discovered—thrown away…Dragging–lines of— surf’s fall—surf’s rise—as waves dash high—into moonless sky—and—crash—along miles—of sandy shoreline. Sea inhale—exhale and breathe again—and time marks—nothing—when endless and everlasting.

We measure—all things known—unknown—quantities—lengths—of short—of tall—tales—of —beings—both big—and small—‘cause—we are—Spirits of Creation—Creative Critters—one-and-all.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

’The Call Of The Mountains’…by Eluveitie

Leave The Lights On…

M_79Inside a storm—powered walks and ghost-faced—the apparitions of other forms and memories of other long walking times when you and I crossed those places of doubt or mystery of the one to another and more touched a love touched—love touch and not to end or to begin but to exist in a forever place of places and diamond strength.

We—you and I are the always of blood fleshed life and the songs across this universal mist and more between our hopes and fears and the together mists of we—have been here and are now among those stars beneath and below the skies. We are the power of magic life as words fail us and hand touches hand and hearts do thump together into those together places where we together begin and end and begin again…

We do not summon love…It whispers to our spirits—and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance and routes of layers and lives inside walls too high to be climbed or under or around or about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love heart touches and reaches—into body frail and those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen—just listen. And! Love reminds us of the equality of equals—woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and living sentient sentences of life inside body—minding body.

In Calimesa City—seasons sometimes never alter the changes of day-to-day or week-be-week…In oiled air and heat/cold times—slick sea surfaces of spilled fog vapor and left over atmosphere exist…There be here… no peace in the world physical; space of place—we so require peace and survival love—surviving touches of harmony and balance and notions of understanding flash when notions between bullet touch and thunder waits just after lighting streaks across the sky of storms and cool winds stir after the noises of sky-rockets and after smoke fades from visions and sight.

In Calimesa City of Hearts—dwell the united of twin-twined spirits twirling the whirling of life and by passing this way to that place—continue they or stop or begin or begin the other dances of other places and races and the rhythm of spin story and formations of other forms…Abbreviations or truncations or annunciations and oh? The variations of Life Force and Form spin circles of universal swirl and twirl and whirl.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Go Your Own Way’ —by Lissie

When Butterfly Kisses Life…

Bridges_317We did swim—those same waves in oceans of our own. Chasing us
And catching our time together where Sand-talk took us to other stars and seas
And love charged us with train engine strength…
We were those warriors of the quick.

Once watching you walk across our sand spot To toe-touch water and flesh—I knew
Life would not continue without You…Gods—we ran life-like it never ends—we

Flesh touched—however; spirits twined and together power-life ringed around universes of time Into daylight—night-light and sunlight’s moon-lighted reflections.

Now! Across a trillion miles of space and whirling worlds somewhere beyond vision’s stretch—I Know the strength of your smile and the lights of your being. You and I are the Gods of creation’s Own creators—poet write and sketches of pen’s friction against paper and baby—dance as tiny Flashes of sunshine kiss her little smiles.

From these cliffs high above sands and sea salt below—one beautiful leap and skyward reaching The joining of now and in falling toward again love—heart always returns and sand-talk begins Beach-walks and toe-touches along watered edges and life. It is a long way down—just a short Drop to paradise…

Is love an exception to what we usually see? Watch the umbrella—two to share.
Arms around first shoulder and then to waist. A lean each toward other. A cheek, a brush of
Mouth to skin. Walking…hair-to-hair and hip-to-hip.
So! Love is an accepted exception…

He loves her and She loves him. She loves her and she loves HerHe loves him and he loves Him…Love is correct—Love is life—Love is the only power that matters
The matter of Spirit Flesh and Body Spirit—Time and the distance
Between heaven spaced and drops of rain…

And! Beautiful you are…

Kiss From A Rose’ by Northern Kings

//

Lion Echo and Light…

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

Hearing Mozart Play…

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’

By Philip M. Edwards

And! Beautiful you are…

Kiss of the Sky

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)

 

Angel Growl and Trains Away…

Faces away
And Angel’s growl-
Two now
Then another
Then we and them.

Growls both low
And throat deep
Sounds just above
Noise-thought and
beyond Speak-Dream.

Then the whistle
Of distant Train.
A long distance
Away-again a call
And the Reminder that…

And! Beautiful you are.

Coming Soon: PME Radio Network (pmeradionetwork.com)