So Strikes—The Minds of Us…

333“Courage is grace under pressure”…from ‘The Old Man and The Sea’ by Ernest Hemingway

We—determine—destiny—as spirits and as flesh? Angry Gods—do not exist. Angry men—matter little—except to scrubs—of scurry selves—beings—just spinning matter of expressions. Rude—the kings and queens—of foolish speak—when angles fall—toward earthbound trivial…Moment Gods—require no explanations—when fear rules—these angled angels. As flesh—we return—turned peace—to war and gash—slash ‘cross—another spin of earth. Battle— disturbs the strength—of peace and the balance of life. We war—against nothing—save ideas and the—ideals of anti-life. Remove religions and governments and kings and queens! Better-to-fall-in-love—and not—fall-in-battle—donchathink?

We work these fields—beneath sing-song wires and lengths of wave grain—toward the forever of sight—out-in and back again…Brushed wind—white tunics—seagull wings—flapping over soil black and breeze seeded—hand to bag—to sky—to flip ‘cross ground rich—water ditch—return again—‘til tunic—lost shapes—into the bluest evening mist of planet wash and evening spin…

We turn now toward—forked road—ways beyond sighted-righted places—and our stars of guiding trails—twisted—misted—shakes and quakes—push-pull us—toward left trails or right paths…Guiding compass—lodestone—or stars—point the way—only one direction—to go and to return—toward—this direction taken—always pointed—is pointed—toward us…

Look—ahead—we heart ask—to find a way—anyway and without voice touch—we know those traveled roads—of desert keep and ground soaked reach…Our hands are covered—centuries deep—dust—with must-do-to-will-not-be—and secrets of the good—of evil—and the surest evil of—good—too great—to see—forgotten heart fears—drying tears—gone voice—silent with—pretty pity and reverence silly-speak—squeak folly—or death…

We cannot know—standing here—if earth twirls at universal core—or still stranded and branded—dust ships swirl across a patch of dark grey—dawn and waiting for rainfall—to clean-wash us and our perch—we hear—here balance upon. Here—hear now—heart cry—sobs—without light—and—waiting without warning—then—just waiting—just begins—to want—again. And! What happiness—happens—is possibly happening—on dust speckled earth-side—through goals higher—than justified—to vindicate happiness—for dust speckled us? Or? Is a dust-speckled ride—a stand-alone stride—alone goal without end—without beginning—without purpose—but-to-be-point—free?

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…

Candle light—warms ‘cross tables—rooms—windows-to-windows and sometimes just east-north of darkest—planet spin—where night grin—grim news—‘cross space wig-waggle and eyes search sky—die—search and die—until starship light—lights—night and candle light fosters— hope—before freedom ends—then begins—again. ‘One Thousand Tears’ are longer time—than years of fears—pass star night and moonlight fails. And! You and I are not—ever—born to be wasted—right?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born To Be  Wasted’…by Alexander Perls

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…

 

 

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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)

 

The Star Guide…

I am worn and tired and pained of this gravity rich bone hollow earthed wreak of a planet.  Welcome infants, fortunate to live into adult beings of war and of shells and of walls built around selves for survival and…

Even love kills for many reasons and the hits and misses are unwelcome and those hurting wounds bleed from every opening in the survival shells.

Layers diminish and the going on inside the wounds cry for a sweet peace.  Peace, however,  is a 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 animal body screams in silence for more time and more and more and…

This concert ends days after air breeder body stops and with Star Guide ready, soul breeder leaves this wreaked place along with many names and the Nemo travel across sky toward anywhere. Long sky visits or short-lived freedoms are then trapped by anything and bang – bang – bang soul drops and body stirs in good places.

When born, star traveler sleeps in safe arms. And! Infant loved, is again robbed of star knowledge and the memories of once past life and the future memory of sleep and again death. Again, the stupidity of primal-side.

Once and for all, the circle is again safely closed and the web building starts the markers of builders old and builders new. The Star Guide is folded into its original shape until it is again required and opened to be read and followed across the skybridge. Bang-Bang-Bang and let the games begin…

And Beautiful You Are!