Sing Me—Song Life…

H_327Again to be—to see…of loving the loving…of hands joined-to-body moving…of swings and wings and…Spirit-singing and peaceful sighing…Creation—The Witch smile and for this instant within a moment of Time—‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine Re-wind.

Stands the man and watches the slow up and down of water’s edge out toward the line as sea touches sky and sky layers—stacked above vision quests and heart beats. He walks ground-fall—down among slabs of stone mined and shapes made—mortar-steel and rusted lines—scattered behind him until backward—falls statues of Heroes Twenty-Eight and crumbled monuments—of warriors once live and stories dead. Swindle Park is seven miles of hill—of cliff—of ruined edge and oiled dirt. West-end of October City and well above seashore’s trenched runes and dunes high sand reach—less now—removed-to-somewhere windless and quiet. Stands the man—cliff high above shorelines of oil and streaks of gray foam and canals of—current dead—collapsed stone walls and dust. Watcher he is and Speaker he has been—quiet now except…

He is Preacher Lost—Teacher of Cost…When forgetting purpose—his words bounce along ruin—places and echoes—with occasional truthspeak and rhythm. Almost hearing—is almost praying—is almost living—is almost dying and the sighing in his ‘wordspeak’ is devoted to once wind-times and bell-chimes and air without oily tears—fears and devotion. His is soft voice— slow to quicken—to rise and fall—once practiced—practical—moneyed-honey sweet and ability-able to earn salvation—bred—by those pretend gospels of man—Godspeak rhythms of love and hate and death and destruction from beyond the norms of sky-fall and cliffs high above seashore’s sand. Godspeak Destroys—However—Warriors pull triggers and push life-defying ‘live and let-die’ buttons…

Mumble-Tumbles across Swindle Park—‘cross go—skies ago—as together and custom and life and speech and reason to think and thought and living and dying immediately stop…Reverses gone! Visions—homeward motions and little lights in windows at world’s ends or beginnings—extinguish and lost to never-light. Flashes light never-sky and star twinkle beyond layered sheets of gray-grayer and darkness without the twin-of-moons disappear—above earth-spin-sky-hide and die. Strip bare–ground and devour-quick ways around the planet one or two or three or… We—Worlders destroy our own—too many and our own—slaughter mother-world and failing to protect becomes insignificant. Mumble-Tumbles and Swindle Park is ‘falling down’.

Layers often diminish and the going inside wounds—cry for sweet peace. Peace—is never-last and leaves the day and by life’s end—flits ghost-shaped quickly across dream-side. Just before the worn die—worn smiles and body sighs—silence—more time and more and more and…Concert ends after air-breeder-body-stops then—ready Guide—Soul Breeder leaves behind damage—places of many names and Nemo travels ‘cross skies toward—-anywhere. Long sky visits or short sky freedoms—then trapped by anything and bang—bang—Sky-spirit drops and body stirs in good places. Then—born—star traveler sleeps in safe arms. And! Infant loved—is robbed of star knowledge and memories of past life and the future—memory of sleep and again… Primal-side begins in Mumble-Tumbles ‘cross Swindle Park.

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! Beautiful you are…

‘It Was A Very Good Year’—written by Ervin Drake and performed by Frank Sinatra

Following Twine Rewind…

OG_17‘Quiet by nature—standing tall
Old stone circles—they have seen it all.
Caught like a ghost in yesterday—shadows down the hall
Are locked within the crystal ball’
— Blackmore’s Night…

This length of twine—that is followed by too many—to discover the end of one strand and again new threads in an ever growing tapestry covering world folly and rancor swift—to renew-new strife and re-spin controlling lies and hopelessness—forever twins of faithless taste and wasted twists of truth. Acting within—actions of disguise and discourse and recourse and renewal when greed needs-need-be and never enough—control whims of chaotic seams—seemingly able to fend destructive machines from those results of greedy governments and very few against the purest treasures—of women and men.

In sun—solstice twirls and the now and then becomes the end—begins as fiddle plays sweetest song and silence—whispers across fires stoked against colder nights and sleepy dawns. ‘Tis’ tide- dance we chance this time-around-the-sun and as we streak lights across another space—another day’s slide away from here-to-there—we hear echo fade—made complete in dust and  vapor and with just a rough-touch spot of gold. And! Sparking-Sparkle life—close to angel’s creation as little ones reach the newest day with tremble hands-handling first air breathe—blood—mother’s touch—new sound-sighted-delighted-ignited- requited and her whispers—Love.

Sexless Gods—we create—creations of images dreamed and beamed to radiated-radiation—we spirit-dance these sounds without vibrated vibrations or derivations’ chaos there be—than we see and be both the life of songs and silence… We shift into the object of another day with the accepted expectations of extraordinary moments of original thought and lights of splendidly created—creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and overloaded repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…in the becoming of a notion immortally important and into legacy’s realm—repeated and recalled and repeated—now or again—again…

‘Coke-blow’ away the white lined wind—never-end and painless needles spin unreal reality and fade body walks among shimmers of blackness—edge storms—blinks the kitten eyes and scrapes escape to rooftop stars and window shines. There are no sounds of screams—in silence. Music in mind sized level is only 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…

Circles of…Maybe Life or memory or the almost real of a now to then and back again—Sweetness speaks upon canvas—lines and circles dance and dash as songs play and laughter reaches to diners’ corner and open doors call to inside secrets of ink motions and canvas wet with colors and the scent of orange and green and brown and yellow and perfume inside a night of air and dare and wear and fare or the future of moments again without the layers of walls climbed and discarded…And yes! With you—I do ‘taste beauty.’

Lives of—gathering together strength—of one or two or many more than them or us or we—be power of scatters—no rules to follow—no moral folly or man rules called Godspeak…when those ‘world words’ are the songs of death—control—fiction—suffering and the lies against Spirit—Speak and Life. Women Love…Men Love…Love is Perfection—is Touch—is Peace—is Spirit—Song and…No rules or explanations or ever-speak required.

Again to be—to see…of loving the loving…of hands joined-to-body moving…of swings and wings and…Spirit-singing and peaceful sighing…Creation—The Witch smile and for this instant within a moment of Time—‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this time—this Twine Re-wind.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Ocean Gypsy’—by Michael Dunford

Performed by—Blackmore’s Night

Forever Memories – Forever Life…

RG_66‘Life is a Dream—Realize it’…Mother Teresa

Once! Calimesa City was a small port town scattered along the fishing piers and docks of an Emerald Sea called Simprus. Ocean Simprus connected worlds-to worlds-around a twin mooned planet far touched yet still inside a Galaxy of Milk. Throughout the whirly-twirly of a single day folks rose— consumed—worked—consumed again—and cared and thought and dreamed and made love and fell asleep—satiated weary or tired. Others spent times away and copied daytime dances into night long labors and dreams and love and thought and twirled the whirl of short nights and sleepless days.

Aminadora stood in Land’s Court and courted a notion of national worth or a woman’s right to sing in harmony with free life and child speak. She voiced power and the logic understood by those witches-of-creation and instead of swords to kill—medicine became strong and well mixed with balance and cure—even the children of war-weary places smiled. Since! Many have fallen and died in scatters across so many spinners of ground and sea and tree and created along sky-ridges of cloud puff and star trails—these star trails traveled by ships of fire and scout’s chariots for reasons lost or found or again lost. And! Still along these ways and many spins—children of war and creatures of sorrow smile when medicine is balanced and the mixtures of steel and flesh cease—ends.

Simprus Sea floated water boats and ships of travel and commerce as trading carried both witches and creators of goods across lines of sky and water to many places too many times to be new-renewed or rediscovered. Golden shades of rock and change of currency once stored by few—powered the many to cliffs of silver stores and caves below life’s reason to know sunlight kisses against warming cheeks and muscles sore through labor’s greed and timing slowest creep. Food supplied from plants of land–reached and needed—as sailors discovered reasons to stay and trade balanced the in-between of have and not and wanted before the light of early dawn and evening time.

‘Brush to lids of my own eyes with sweet your lips and touch deep my heart with spirit dance your strength as my own often fails. We—you and I—do spin worlds 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…’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Photo’ by Iain McKell

‘While Your Lips are still Red’ by Nightwish

Of Spirit Songs and…

S_199—In your sound of music—in your works of art-touch and your words of rhythm and rhyme; I taste and feel the strength of your presence—Past and Today and into the Future and ‘wow’ light does exist…Thanks for sharing!

When eternal spirits visit body magic, please protect the ‘ghosts in these machines’—Open arms and rejoice in this welcoming of life—body embraced—touched senses to ground and as sky flight races across sky’s grand lengths remember—there are no gates of heaven. Body—form—blood—love—hand-to-hand and hip-to-hip—to and from the Mother-Ship…

Find no balance to bible-speak or the ramblings of government kings or the priests of wealth and babble—for they are the attempted ‘evil’ of control and failure. Eternal Spirit touches eternal spirits…Simple—refined—fair—logical—true and requiring no men-of-middle-claims or endless fancy killings—or…

Presidents, Premiers, Dictators, Popes, Imams, Chieftains, Generals-of-Death, Politicians-of-Control and Preacher Kings …When you fly by as simple sky birds without metal form and blame; we may just for an instant, look up into the sky and smile. Then we will continue the protection of little ones and our spinning world. Is not the purpose of us to help the small ones grow into the large ones?

When the call of  heart gives up and ends… eternal spirit never ceases—Eternal Spirit never waits to gain permission and access to Universe. Life is unstoppable and never ending…No Judgment awaits—No future calls for horror—No memories of past or present or future physical constructions…Not required or necessary. Gods created spirit-sparks and spirits—together dwell in the whenever time of wherever places for whatever reasons.

Call spirit-dance! The naming of name-times quantify mysteries of understanding heart-touch inside flesh-times when body-survival purposes daily pursuits or interests—same as food to stomach and sleeping in arms-of safety. Mother holds baby close and Father embraces in his arms; hope and love and protection. She and he together, once more family-dance the form of strength social and fabricated continuum.

So! Visiting Spirits stop and animate walking—flying—swimming and crawling flesh. No tests and no required reasons. Gods create no wars on earth or in the above places of the wherever or ever been. Gods do not allow horror or death or strife or pain or happiness or grief or destruction. The ‘Gods’ do not judge the fallibility or fragility of flesh and whimsy. Why? Poverty—Greed—Control—Governments—Religions equal the Terror/Horror of this immediate now and this immediate place.

Life is Eternal Spirit and we are these spirits. One or many across a star field of many star-filled nights and days. Stars do not dim in the light-of-dawning bright. Eyes often see more than eyes discover and understanding may stop at birth or continue until stopped heart—begins Spirit-walks again across a Spirited-Sky—beyond—below and maybe again on a whirly-twirly world somewhere in another time or place or race. Nothing matters—except Love and Life and Peace—doncha think?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘My Destiny’—by Leaves’ Eyes

Keys And Doors…

D112Often a magic key or sets of those unlocking instruments are an imagined tool to escape—to find—to prevail and to become again lost in secret recesses—accesses known only to a favorite few or in the plain-view of everyone. There are so many secrets discovered and so little time for those secret solutions. And! The way to hearts is always through hearts.

Keys are for the gate or the vault or the power over everything or underneath ever day. These bits of magic are always certain and almost—mostly remain undiscovered. On somewhere worlds of somewhere places keys of several plus two bring together and combine to open portals of sometime space to those able to find those magic tools.

Open now the valves of hearts before the ending winds of fantasy and miracle crafts of ancient presents start the sound and close the jeweled reminding remainders of once was and will again be—behind this closet space and scattered among the norms of whimsy. Combine the key of blood across a place knowing the unknown knowledge and uncertainty of places developed—forgotten and reminded as ancient sketches text ruins of things and times to remember.

We did not find ourselves within swirls of gold and pebbles of purple stones. We touch beneath the blue of sky before clouds reasoned our reason for running toward our cave of gray rocks and soft dirt. We touch blood-love dry from rain and warmed away from wind howl and storm. A key of warm blood and heart surge and the air of together gate and through a portal into forever—ever place.

Key then we and we are—before the rain and after the mystic portions of storm and war and wind and rain and gain and pain and the losses of yesterday’s mystical memories inside today. Across a world of life the same blood moves and time exists only in those carrying the sweetness of a nothing concept or a notion of not this moment. Time is never-key. No time are magic keys of forever places and spaces between raindrops and years-to-end.

And! Beautiful you are…

Wolf Diamonds and Life…

A721Are we more than the physical bodies we almost realize? An Eternal Spirit is a forever being with great substance and knowledge and wisdom and the understanding of…We are the dreams of everything and more than less…It is not the riddle of life. It is the living of this day. We are not born to die. We are not created by accident or purpose or reason or rhyme. We are life and we rule universal space  between drops of rain and among flakes of snow.

We spin just right of whales with horns and the unicorns of ages ago and futures from earth. We live inside the great shadows of a trillion suns of light and night and moon silver twirls upon the magnificence of between times when drenched in golden dreams and diamond wolves of today’s day-night. Not a middle riddle called Life…

Walk these Martian trails long before bombs turn soil red and chase air away from ground. We dance piper sounds between green cliffs of magic and the forever of Ever-lands. Gods smile and we; you and I smile back and with boundless energies of we—feed the land. We are the blood of substance but just for a little time and then we begin-again as now and as then ago.

Do we determine our own destiny—both as spirits and as the blood of flesh? Angry Gods do not exist. Angry men—matter little except to scrubs of scurry selves, being just before the spirits of after self and spinning matter of expressions. Rude the kings and queens of foolish speak when angles fall toward earthbound trivial moment and gods require no explanations and fear rules these angled angels.

As bloody flesh, we turned peace to war and gash—slash across another spin of earth. Battles disturb the strength of peace and the balance of life. We war against nothing except the ideas and ideals of Anti-life. Remove religions and governments and kings and queens!  Better-to-fall-in-love—not-to fall-in-battle—donchathink?

And! Beautiful you are…