Frail and Almost Maybe…

This time of days of times ago and present time; the old man vision touched, those other ones and whispered, “Not this time—Not this time—our children will not go to war.” Others knew that this time of times would not be the time for dead children and metal touch-to-flesh-madness. And! For these moments warriors are unnecessary and ‘Honor’ is a simple way of Life.

     We do not summon gentle love. It whispers to our spirits and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance. Gentle love moves ‘cross routes of layers to find many lives inside walls;  too high to climb, or too low or too wide or just about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love; heart touches and reaches, into body frail and into those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen! Please listen. And! Love will reminds us of the equality of equals of women and of men and the spirits of all; trapped and living, sentient sentences of life inside the body and forever minding body.

     “In the current phase of intellectual corruption, it must be stressed that, like democracy and human rights, the economic doctrines preached by the rulers are instruments of power, intended for others, so that they can be more efficiently robbed and exploited. No wealthy society accepts these conditions for itself, unless they happen to confer temporary advantage; and their history reveals that sharp departure from these doctrines was a large factor in development.”—Noam Chomsky

     We are not a means to an end that others may wish to accomplish. We are not tools to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed or bandages for other wounds. We are not  sacrifices to gods come whimsy or rushing wings or gift bearing things; beads, baubles, glitter or flash. We androids do dance into Electric nights. Love does lead shifting-shapes through darkest  frights and into sweetest lights. Shadow-touches ‘cross secret ceilings of moon dust and hidden space. Time sans race are inside moments like these and Life is an Almost maybe.

     This dot-dash in time is not America’s ‘darkest hour.’ This is not darkness; just a candle no- spark, no-match-to-wick. Just quick—foolish words—entertainment—more criminal than ‘ever clean.’ A fox in a ‘house-of-hens’— is honorable…This dot-dash in time is just loss unity—without integrity. “A cloud of cicada on acid. A thrumming high-pitched squeal of acoustic irritation.”.

‘Deportation Forever Continues This Illegal and Wicked—Course of Global Separation and Global Apartheid’…We are all Children of this Universe and We all have the Right-to-be—Everywhere…

     Pay attention to Life—call it a modern Life—and all this modernity—simply wears a body. Wondering if this justice is rendered with and without sunlight? Still a visible universe is visible without sight-to-see? Why not? Love reminds us of the equality of equals—women and men and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside the body—minding body.

Touch me in Sing-Song poems. Forget the world and touch me with voice. We two; too need, those requiring words of hope and verse of love’s together forever.We are two; in dark dancing, with rhythm in our minds and drum beats in our hearts…And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

And! Beautiful you are…

The Orbit of Multitudes…

136_JLThe Orbital Multitudes—arrived above Calimesa City—lighting a sky—once dark—for one hundred years—often gray—often starless—often filled with falling dust—black soot—oil rain—and prime—with grime. The Galileo folk—talked of these things—long before ‘these things’—arrived. Priest-speak—praise reek—the beginning of ends—beginning again—along with those street whisperers—truth—less dares and single cares. Before a million days’ past—present days and moment ways—had once multitudes—filled sky—before changing way—circles found—round—older time—than now and here—to hear and see—another dot of light—fill—with winter sun—and less—night long…

And! There is night long rights—when moving creatures—tree merge—in pale moon—light scatter—along mist ridges—or bridges—‘cross valley tucked down—so far—not to be—to see—in silhouette’s’ shadows’ rhyme—without day count—or time. The water’s edge and skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spin sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky-lighted-canvas—sheets the blue-gray into darkness—and stars light —the sailor’s way along the caverns—of space and place and—the race of time. Still! We all cross spaces—along these places of—the races in time gathered—and night ships—crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

Collusion collides—confusions of aesthetics—incarnations of color blocks—geometry—cage glisten—staggers-of-rusted-steel—lemon peels—orange scents—tombstones—and waste—placed—in straight lines—stratified air—and musk…Village Insis is—one hundred and thirty seven miles—from—Calimesa City—reached by dry road—three forded rivers—or—one craft stretched—across the Wall—Hallenid and a—flash-splash-paced-space—of climb-drop—into Village-Center. Not far to run—unless walking—inside sun’s—noon-day heat—and—wanting to race—toward—streamed liquid—silver drops—and cooler rain. Aeolian Harps—line the wires—of sketch stretches—along creased ways—eastward and away—from town-side-to-City lights—along many sparkles—from river’s edges—to sea shadows—and piers.

The Walker—a silhouette tuck—tucked low—beneath Grand Moon rising—careful-to-carve—a cross-dark-sky—too close to be real—and—too real to be—proximity’s cost—close—to-shapes-to-shift-shapes—and closer—to buildings tossed—‘cross landfall—to sea-line-to-skyline. Tide shifts—in evening time—and—changes along season’s—mix-or-match—same as sunrises—as sunsets—and—shadows do play—twin moon seasons—with splashes—textured cloud colors—and—star twinkles—too-far-to-see—or—too close to be—and—not to catch eye—noticed-in- brain—with spirit touch—time same.

The Walker—glides ‘cross jumble-tumbles—stone dust purple—made by rain—visible—as digs—once moved dirt—above rock face—and dragged—these weighted ones—from place-to- special-place—buildings built—or—structures moved—restructured—replaced or destroyed. Needed things—as times required—when places—were homes—and buildings ruled—seaside—land-side…And! Little death—be only—notions of—Lizard Kingdoms—where the motions—of ‘we-be-pills’—available—or needed—from car trunk glory to—never matters—what gates—we fall through—matters not—what star burns us…Matters—that gates open—matters—that stars are hot…

Now—run well—with the wolves—of Reach River Park—and—face taste days—of oiled rain—with cougar’s heart. Watch pageant—brute human—crowds—of those both—burning rights and torching wrongs—fights—both frenzied—always short—with bursts-of-peace—too—long notice—sun-scarred and dusted—with forests’ green—summers’ too—then—fallen leaves. Bargain old—with new—the contentions of—earth-speak and necessary sadness—necessity weighted—heavy burdens—too fierce—too varied and multiplied—by conditions-of—humanities’—weights and survival’s—moments—and—the need-of-greed.

We do not summon—gentle love…Love whispers—to our spirits—and—touches us—beyond the flesh-of-resistance—and—through those—routes of layers—of life—inside walls—too-high- to-climb—or under—or around—or about the shout—of daily doubt—and flight. Love—heart touch—and reach—into body frail—and those—attempts-to-hide—among thrones-of-thorns and cost—already paid—and—already spent. Listen—just listen. And! Love—reminds us of—the equality-of-equals—woman and man and—spirits—all trapped and—living sentient—sentences- of—life—inside body—minding body.

‘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 soft wine—in starlight bright—and—setting moon—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…

‘God Bless The Child’—performed by Julie London