Sky High When Children Sing…

We do not summon gentle 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.

On swings! Would push you higher than sky and into the blue of day. Before the partitions about and around us touch sky high and we grow layers wide as our legs lengthen and our tears change size and realize additional occasions to tumble from eyelids blocked, to ground. Would hear our laughter and see our happy smiles with no notions of future days. Again! Reminding us of the meadows of spring grass and silly-speak and those wishes for mint candy and ice cones of summer’s sweetness. And! As the Piper grooves; children-we dance, into this ragged-sorted night. And! As we prance; the Goddess flashes, along tips of dark where thunder loud dares not disturb, the claps of little hands and ring fused songs and laughter; as only children laugh, or angels’ sing.

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. For these moments in time, warriors were not necessary.

The water’s edge and the skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spins 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. ‘Shining candles and shelter flash from shifting seas to current dash. Come to harbor Sirens call. Shining candles and harbor flash from shifting seas to safety side.’ Come to harbor Sirens call.

These are the salty ways of salted seas and flecks of foam scatter along shore-side shifts of sand from wet-to-dry as dunes rise above and beyond watered edges. Long before ruined boardwalks prompted something from nothing and was treasured and minded and known by the neglected ones; those once upright writers of the times and the sounds of countless ‘days of a future’s past.’ Still! We all cross spaces along these places with races in-time-gathered and night ships’ crossing heaven’s ragged ridges. Slaves of momentum, devices inside corners of house scatter and caves overwhelmed by many needs requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath. Those saturated with sweat and rain then dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams laced just inside the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter and later, silent mist lifting from a million places outside caves and houses and homes almost forgotten and definitely gone.

And ‘coke-blow’ away the white lined winds. Never end and painless; needles spin’ unreal into reality and still busy-body walks among shimmers of bright light, edged storms, inky-blinky eyes, weed scratched throats and scrapes, escapes to rooftop stars and window shines. There are no sounds of screams—in silence. Music, in mind sized levels, is only music inside mind sized ears to once be seen in scales of notes added to working words to form verses of sound mix and chorus touch. An often dream or is this a poem of poet-speak? And! Not to know sometimes creates choirs in four-part harmony.

We are all travelers. We are scattered ‘cross all places of 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 or mounted on another pictured perfect replicated glossy imitation of sport manned model swished—dish of corruption with a splash-dash of hopeless and fanatic fantasy.

Issues external! Internally detected or obtained from ‘reliable sources’ or sorta sourced and sorted through truth search or lurched internally structured to reach and teach or bleach amid throngs of wrongs as ‘sure truth’ is torn from snow-white right to a lily white lie. Lies detected or accepted or rejected or corrected from inside-out applicability or not workable until altered internally-externally prior to exposed or imposed upon the confusion of mass-squeak-speak. What a righteous cycle; when whispers, smiles and sighs and quiet nods could or would be better-eh? And! Does protection equal servitude?

When everyone realizes —humanities’ finest moments. All is Love and Peace and Touch and Trust…No charges or gains or losses. Just flashes connecting the realities of reality and sensing those sweet spaces just an instant before lips touch with co-mingled breath as the cold evening air warms. A rational response to a rational insanity. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star-ships’ passing between light-speed and arrival just silently appear. When everyone everywhere and in-all-places realizes 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 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.

Remember! Magical hands fill quickly with currency and the tongues of many fear-spew lies against people creatively mingle along a thousand creative gods called many names and both; feared and soon, forgotten. The love-of-man and the love-of-woman and of freedoms must not be divided by the capital of greed nor the power of stalled legislation nor by an impotent executive branch or a purchased judicial robe and incomplete with sugar and strange sounding noises. Consider! All are fashioned by the equal blending of both; women and men, rich or poor and beyond the borders of a-wherever-boarder for non-reasons and steeped in-the-fallacy of color, big guns, atomics’ and the perpetual diatribe of isolation, individuality and fear We! Have the Right to be Everywhere.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Pocketful of Sunshine…Natasha Bedingfield

Life moves—Life modifies—And!

To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

 Ruled by the will of little people and the middling people, and by the demagogues they elected…And! Hobbled by moral laziness and fear…” Jonathan Fenby

Dream Motion before the start of another day-stay if remaining same is good and arms are opened instead of fists clenched. Rough technology is a prior to release ‘kinda’ notion. A fact to use spinning into a comfortable ‘maybe’ before the new method is regarded-discarded-forgotten-remembered-dismembered-compiled-and compiled again to use-refuse and learned—‘have-to’ —no choice but to learn and use again. Computers are shovels and there are always so many holes to dig and fill and dig and fill—ad infinitum.

We are not means to an end—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—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

  • To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

“Inequality, even among the educated—often leads to demagogues…Demagogues rejects Openness and blames ‘others’—immigrants, foreign manufacturers, news media, racial or ethnic or religious minorities. “Demagogues rejects openness and blames ‘others’—immigrants, foreign manufacturers, news media, racial or ethnic or religious minorities” …Robert Reich

And! Across the darkest dividing distances between world twirl and star lights’ twinkle—wrinkles space-form and  benders of light join—to twisting dances started once and ending twice only to start the stopping of eternal jolt and bolts of flashes across many skies of many places seen and known and started and stopped—only to again-begin and again to sweeten life together and  dance—with drum beats and racing hearts and together strength and the ‘I’ is welcomed into ‘we’ powers to be-a-sea of them and the gentle ends of ‘me.’  It is not death-freeing to Dance across spaces-of-time and races of distances among packed stars so close and so different and so scattered to fill heavens with clusters and trail dust and a tick-tick-a-tock rocking rhythm of together power and another hour of strength joined by need and want and love and care and the knowledge of knowing that together we can do…

With care— we manufacture robots tiny—bundled rows of life about Earth-rise—underneath Moon-sparkle—still altered-still same and always twirl-spaced across Time bridged and rhyme. We inspire desire and require sweet diversity. Until shaped—we shift created life—a fabricated slip and tanked in agile spark from womb-song-to-light-then-back-again-to-two—again. Would have this—no other way-eh!

  • To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

Lofty Gods’ of notions as—something novel crawls our way—those must haves—have—half twirling tales or songs or knowing—knowledge that—those higher Gods of swirl—must not contain life and the wag-of-wiggle of shaping-sifters and Robots are We…And! Oh…those ghosted machines—Us. Tiny speck-to-magic-witch…we survive—to dance life—across those many spaces of—races and kiss storm-stars known—or stars—to remember or forget.

Some—days we destroy both the wonder-of-wonder and sometimes—we die—in the—fearing-of-fear. Sometimes—eternity and realms-of-nonsense—physically—confuse or bewilder the magic-of-life and the mystery-of-death.

Gods—images created—as mirrors—we drift from mortal moments-to-motions. More-fun-to believe-in—when-images-are kind-then-rewind-the-twine. Not difficult—to-believe-in—Peace and Love and Gentle understanding.

  • To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

Then—let us watch those winged and those with fur and feet of four or those of sea or sand or smaller against the ground. Womb songs we sing and as we—they be—eternity—All…

‘Do you wanna be an angel
Do you wanna be a star
Do you wanna play some magic
On my guitar
Do you wanna be a poet
Do you wanna be my string
You could be anything

Do you wanna be the lover of another undercover
You could even be the
Man on the moon

Do you wanna be the player
Do you wanna be the string
Let me tell you something
It just don’t mean a thing’…by Greg Lake

Dare we—touch or dare to reach the inside spaces of Code-genetics and count the current streams—to spin—to craft—to be or—leave the untouched alone—Why not touch to feel?

  • To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

Like beach moves—a shoe full of sand—one time—one shoe-then again—then again—winds discounted-then recounted and forever—change—one shoe at-a-time—takes long days—to change beach places—in the wig-waggle of time and space. On worldwide—other place—where race-to-stop—to never goes—away spaces—never—far enough—to silence—bam-bam-pop-pops—sight—right from clutching ground—to standing away— a corner—of concrete floors and—rusted doors—gate high and wasted…

Dare we—touch or dare to reach the inside spaces of Code-genetics and count the current streams—to spin—to craft—to be or—leave the untouched alone—Why not touch to feel?

House scatter—overwhelmed by many needs— required covers to crawl into—away from street dash and gun flash—life—clean—in sweet rain and dried with winds—of howling sounds—lighted by flash—bang-bang crash—as traced along—the edge of cloud swirl and twirl—as reflected by one million—eye shine bright—into those nights—of bam-bam-pop-pops where—smoked—nasty places—tucked just outside—of caves and spaces and safe—homes—where little hands select—roses—no thorns—and little ones laugh—between flower reach and bullet teach.

  • To separate Mother and Child is a—Crime against Humanity…Oh! This is not America.

Beneath these heavens—our sea swirl-twirls—and—we hear the whale sing-song—our mother— into her necessary sleep. The whale sing-songs the heating of—our blood-self until—warming is not—a non-fear. She rises—from emerald seas and from black sands—where tide pulls against current—and—the alignment of moon-light is perfect—and is orderly in its dispersal—upon the dustless night. And! We—exist…Not distraction—by what we are not—for we are not—not by displacement or alteration—because we always exist—in timeless harmony and within those trails of stardust—spews—quickly from alternative engines and speed—and—power…Life motions—Life moves—Life modifies…

And! Beautiful you are…

 

“Stardust” —Delain

“Closer to the Heart” —Rush

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

 

 

Buildings and Lines…

1631“It glittered and it gleamed
For the arriving beauty queen
A ring and a car
Now you’re the prettiest by far

No party she’d not attend
No invitation she wouldn’t send
Transfixed by the inner sound
Of your promise to be found

“Nothing or no-one will ever
Make me let you down”

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, if I am delayed

It’s divoon, oh it’s serene
In the fountains pink champagne
Someone carving their devotion
In the heart shaped pool of fame

“Nothing or no one will ever
Make me let you down”

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed

On the road to New Orleans
A spray of stars hit the screen
As the 10th impact shimmered
The forbidden candles beamed

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed

Kiss them for me, kiss them for me
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed…”

“Kiss Them for Me” written by—Susan Ballion and Peter Clarke

Buildings without prestige? Are structures rich or without form—do they appear—a wealth of shape and of rhythm and rhyme? Often—the eyes of Spirits—active are tiny orbs of specks—flecks of—gold and silver coats many—or layered but still seen—by both beholder and by the blind.  Lines hard and simple—revealing and hidden by few turns and curves. Harmony of sound—clear of body wraps—substance of the—perfection of bone and of muscle. Ice streams descending—long straight lines—from roof angle to—concrete sidewalks. Planes and plain models—streaks of many colors—colored glass—long pass nightfall—and—long out of sight–right?

Civil Layers never completely die…As traditions slip away—layers are forgotten—in time—as are—dances and songs. Touch your lips—finger kiss—yours to mine—time space—moments’ race…And! Silence—careful sight—tonight—as sail catches—spark and runs—to sea—see? What word means—“perfect competition”—and—“optimal allocation of resources”—and— “efficiency”? Perfect competition—is perfect for—a winner—Optimal allocation of Resources—are never fairly distributed…Efficiency costs—somewhere in time—some reason gone—some ration—divine…

Do neoliberals believe-in-truth? While promoting—demoted forms of deregulated—regulations—speculation-in-ruin—penetrating permissive—and pervasive—invasions—of individual greed so powerful—as to completely—dismiss all values—and—the strength of—Collective efforts…Real wages—gone—the influences of Societies’ Unions gone—and a Right—Wrong shift—in Economics—in Politics—in Labor’s market—and in—the Anglo-American—progressive Culture—‘All gone.’ ‘Trickle down’—a damned—everlasting lie! And! Remember—‘there are no Blue Color Billionaires…’ Hey Now! Celebrate Capitalism—when it has become ‘Greed—Sorrow—Inequality—Persecution—Quicksand Power—and—the ‘Real Enemy of—The People.’

The circle safely closed—the web building starts—the markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guide—folded into original shape— until it is—again required and opened to read and follow—‘cross sky-bridge….Bang-Bang-Bang and let the game begin—again…‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine—Re-wind. And! While I breathe—I Hope…”

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Kiss Them For Me’…performed by Siouxsie and the Banshees

‘Highwayman’…performed by The Highwaymen

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

Chasing Eternal Spirits…

25City ended when life known though not completely understood stopped and the wars began. Great floods of political or religious doctrine mixed with gun-powder, drones and bombs—ba-boom-ba-boomed despite of; right or wrong, weak or strong and as all beliefs—no regard for precious life. Territory divided along the secular lives of too many bleeding folks and still the ba-boom of gun-powder and drones and bombs along with the religion of death found no one innocent enough to live.

City stopped and the social constructions of neighborhood and village and town died without a whimper. These constructions simply died, when the bullets ran out and all the weapons jammed. Riding those lines of timeless speed and the dark-light dance—carried Sparking Sparkle toward mass of center without color.

Then began the poisons of time. Another body politic found a better way to worship and to control those left to control. Call climates-a-changing or winter’s wrath or drought or flood an Earth-ender. Call death by storm or maelstrom or super storm Cindy or Clyde or Mary or…Mind-storm of those to control the unwilling to be controlled and always war to stop-start-win-lose-contain-spread-prevent-continue…Confusing of words sometimes win?

And! Always those living or dying in-out times either today, tomorrow, in present condition or another future real or imagined. Watch the sky for ‘It’ will come and destroy us! This never happens because we destroy ourselves. Are war and the fighting of battles as genetic as the creation of our own children?

If we let them do…then this is what will happen…they are not able to govern…and let’s call those freedom fighters—Terrorist…they are not people…they must be contained…this is our war against Terrorism…yet; is their war a hope for Freedom and Determination? Those winning wars rewrite history and are remembered as Patriots-Noble-Courageous-Founding Fathers and…really Thomas Jefferson, are all men equally created; yet, slaves are owned?

After several weeks of warnings the ultimate destruction of our Solar system, commenced and in a little under one hour the sun and planets were gone…All men are created equally! Living changes everything and another adventure begins. Skipping into start-stop and without this motion all ends…Skippity-Hoppity-Peace-be-Peace.

At this bridge we jumped to safety just before our vehicle splashed into water below us. He leaps to safety, and then plunge-jumped into the swirling-twirl and chased the auto as it went to-bottom. We waited for him to surface…He re-appeared as a boy. However; why a small child? Anyway, we never saw the man again.

And! Beautiful you are…

//

Change Body Change…

71In the beginning there was the violence of creation—and as womankind and mankind spread about the earth violence was their survival…Born in blood and dead in blood. Such is the way of physical life and being physical in the rhythm of here-today-and-gone-tomorrow. Within the cycle called life—we are born to be wasted.

Let us not fall in war but simply fall in love! A pleasant change—don-cha-think?

 

“Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today…

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one”…’Image’ by John Lennon

And! Beautiful you are…

//

We! Born to Be…

Whitnal Lake_1The great bird—without wing flap glides three inches above water surface for ten seconds then moves wings, strengthens and glides again…Sea calms on motion’s day and the watchers silently visiting shoreline, wait the happening and the night.

This is the day of Lions and caught between the water deep and surface wait the Griefshane and their moments in sunlight along forest’s edge and sand’s start. They are a few of many…Liquid born and water borne in ceaseless mixtures of salt and waves and sky and shoreline; trees, rocks, hills, valleys and mountains.

They are the mysteries of society and culture. They are…Legends of mighty warriors and caring givers-of-life. Their women are strong and their men powerful. They build worlds and are from other places and galaxies and wars and peace and forever.

We are their beginning and our end. Sounds as Godspeak—told by men and by women in times of peril and of need and of superstition and…We spin tales that become truth and power and magic. We craft the moneyed ways of future’s lost and tomorrow’s end.

People-governed through fear and the fabrication of religious lies and wealth, turn to burden. The revolution of death’s start-stop dance and the futility of power continues in any name except Truth.

We are born-to-be-wasted. ‘I want to unite with you Eternal Spirit…Help me awaken to that great goal’—unknown author.

And! Beautiful you are…

Songs of Away…

Touch your breath with mine on this night. Lips warmed with kisses
On this silent and this windless night—
I come for you

Brief shore time and great time away.
Universe of sea and water
Wind and storms and planet touch—
I come for you

Away from mid-Jan’s night magic and soft
lips and kisses without sounds with us.
On this silent and this windless night—
I come for you.

Now! Sally Born-She Sea-ness-And Salt-ness-Upon foam-less-Night seen-Day-loss. Alive life-Before time-Raining time-And night-Out begins-Or Senses.

Now! Sally ridge-Run summer-Without fall-Not winters-Spring ins-Reason outs. Just blood-Blue or- Red wiggle-Or warming-Self to- Air pushed-We then-In Breathe-Out then.

No! Quicker now- Quickly not-Without Sally-Sound gone-Remembered now-Forgotten or-Mourning willed-Minded danced-Without Sally-Home dreams-Picture silenced-Of life.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

//

War Eternally Yours…

We fight these wars for so long and over and again until life ends and begins and ends…yesterday—today—tomorrow…Nothing matters but everything means the beginning of another end and we die and live together on these fields of battle.

I have been with you and in the names of religion and government and power and home, we battled foe, either you or me against another or against each other. No matter…we lived and died and were remembered and forgotten. And! We fought these wars and died. Forever; these wars for life-for throne-for freedom and we are lost.

War with Alexander or against Napoleon or another king or another religion of a same or different God. You and I, battle scarred or wounded or dying and never remembered except when she misses us or when we miss her. And! Our women go to war beside us. They stand with us and they die with us. They are not created to die in war. They are Life.

If we hate war—then why do we continually fight wars against life until life ceases and starts and stops and begins—ad infinitum? We! Are born to be wasted? Flags changed and still blood red is never a different liquid poured from wounds of knife or sword or spear or bullet or bomb or cannon or when mixed with powder and smoke. Blood red flows from you and I and horse and cat and dog and man and woman and child and baby…Still blood red—cries for strength and air and life.

I win and your history fades. You win and my life fades…And! If I must fight may I die to protect or save my family and my love? Be damned the government or the church or the faith or a thousand knife wounds or a million bullets. I fight and I will die for Home—and home is where I am this time—in this land or another place or world in another day or another time. We are born to be wasted…

Would it be precious to know that Love and Peace and Understanding is the next ideal stop made beneath the sky? Would it be precious not to be born and wasted but to be born and last without war for just one lifetime? Not to fall in battle—but just to fall in love…

One then
Two now
Then another
Then we
Then us.

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

Then whistles
Of distant trains.
A long distance
Away-again a call
And memory of war…

And! Beautiful you are…