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When All Fails

Journal Entry: Thu Mar 21, 2013, 8:26 AM
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When All Fails


And it’s always on to the next adventure.
Random leaves flicker roads of desolate
neglect
trod and cried
over, fallen quicksand depths demanding
flight
for survival.
Frozen wings, sudden sparkling cold
commanding
damp unforgiven. Bent below, tramps
expecting handouts,
bankers expecting deeds,
women expecting hollow forcomings.
There is no easy fantasy. Tales of fates and
magics
lie on quantum desperation, haunted nights.
Winter always lurks on Spring’s horizon.
Keep moving; keep life singing, gyrating for
warmth.
The road long saturated with evil, rise above.
Learn, grieve, abandon.
Envision a grander hope, shining spire
beckoning.

~poem by our cofounder libramoon :iconlibramoon:

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:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2014
Summer Again
 
 
... movin' into summer
Wind plays in cloud formation.
Drift into deep elation.
Sun rise
blossoms to a
rhythmic peak
sending out, sending out, sending out
radiant vibration
reflected through summer skies.
 
New esprit conjures a story.
Fantasy and careless
fling into tall grass,
fruit full trees, languid leaves.
Ebullient sunshine warms
soporific
melting melodies.
The tale unwinds in brightly
colored ribbons,
high jinxed gypsy comedies
of breezy, dimpled romance.
In silken perfumes bathed,
flagrantly scandalous.
Deign o dainty smile.
Laughter bubbles out,
bursts.  Minstrel raucous flames
fill summer eves'
glistening fairy light
 
Tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper.
We have paid all the long
seasons of darkness.
It is time to reap an early harvest
of rapture dancing to dawn.
 
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2014
SAGITTARIUS FULL MOON
om2317.wordpress.com/2014/06/1…

The many faces of illusive Moon
reflect starlight in her artful glide,
entrance the sky.
My mortal eyes want to believe
gleaming quests, brave truths, romantic rhymes.
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in sacred moonlight,
swaying from your ivied castles
to mystic mountain
legendary glades,
tell me why I should give credence
to magic codes of
spells and sacrifice.
Is the wisdom of the ages
so constrained?
My species may be blind to
naked eternity,
but we mutate,
find and define
new ways to see.
Fixed space is far too limiting
for me.
Dear Sister Moon, separate entity
from birth, entwined destiny
with Mother Earth,
patterns re-cycling reveal
what we regard to be real
is but reflection.
Face to face to face, fluid
to change.
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner May 31, 2014
Fish Tale
 
 
I didn't know the fish would die
flapping on sun-warmed metal.
Peacefully domestic afternoon.
Children discover death
and other worlds.
 
Sitting by the well
to draw inspiration.
Spinning yarn, weaving words.
Dusty work.  Flakes of skin
embed the fabric.
Struggling through childhood,
the tales get twisted.
Little boys & little girls
separate language.
We think we know our place,
our destinies,
from the games we're given,
the words we've learned to imitate,
rhymes, reasons, rituals.
Imbibing passion body to body,
we awaken rules of blame.
The woman tempts.
The hero conquers.
The sad boy desires a
self-fulfilling fantasy,
stomping upon his heart to
start the flow of real blood,
real rage.
Out of water, out of earth,
out of air,
flopping upon some inert surface
the tale mechanistically repeats.
What world can we discover
nurturing life?
 
 
 
 
bird songs
 
 
I've been through this before,
pre-dawn morning
birds chirping, infiltrate my airspace,
awake when I should be long oblivious.
Good girls dream of princes,
subliminal desire to be slain
by love piercing enshrined virtue.
Gold hued birds in crystal cages
incant witchery for food --
hair of newt, spleen of worm; smoky
syllables induce pleasure.
Warm hearts beat together, no bond
of pact
or sentiment.
Lore is explicit; no crime to commit.
Vexed, inconvenienced by the regular
comings and goings of
the natural world.
Birds of a feather exchange their
social pleasantries.
It is I who should be sleeping,
conjuring brave new worlds;
ambient noise translated into
neoteric lullabies.
 
 
 
duet
 
 
Rambling through fields of daisies in spring.
Hoping to find a new feeling.
Coming to terms with what each moment brings.
I'm making a bargain with time.
 
Not getting tired of running around.
But wanting to know where I'm going.
Trying to measure my meaning in sound.
Trying to keep it in rhyme.
 
Hoping to answer a call to my heart.
Quest for passionate focus.
Adrenalin pushing, I'm ready to start.
Making a bargain with time.
 
 
 
 
FAE OPERA (excerpt)
 
 
A joyous encounter with life
A joyous encounter called my life
I've swung from trees in tropical climes
And swum the seas of paradise
And learned to breathe upon the earth
You've got to see me; you've got to listen
to these wonders that I've learned
 
Traveling, traveling a hard-stoned road
Working my legs, my back, carrying my load
Journeying for countless years
Seeking out the sea of tears
Eyes bound behind innocent’s lace veil
I break my trail
(As in my mind my song unwinds my tale)
 
A marvelous secret, a hidden treasure trove
While unicorns play harpsichord
within a blossomed grove
A newborn child with something wild that
plays in rainbowed eyes
Has been declared of druid laird
Born to hypnotize
Been borne to hypnotize
Sing lullabies
Reward all the heathen with sleep
And dreaming dreams as such who waken
Find their very core earthshaken
Thus made to believe in possibilities
They set their sites, reshaping all reality
And of them they've begotten me.
 
Sound the magic pipes of Pan
All who hear may understand
The fluid waif who walks the land
Spawn of Diana's fling
With the clove-foot forest king
 
Vibrate to music, music, music
In every cell of living fluid
'Tis alright to be a druid
Of forest borne to roam through future lands
Touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me
Become my hands.
 
Floating, wandering, restless shades
Call me to respond.
 
I rode a mountain faire
Picked daisies for my hair
Learned to know the name of every weed
I dwelt the night alone
In a crevice made of stone
And never thought of what I next would need
I dreamt of castles bold
And the language of the Olde
And struggled to bring my dreams alive
And whistled as I rode
The songs I'd oft been told
At parties seen
In waking dream
Another place and time
Another tune, another rhyme
And I'd sit beside my campfire
And gaze into the flames
And yearn of learning other places,
Atune to other names
Traveling over other lands,
Seeking secrets, other plans
Or just remembering another song
For the secret of each soul is in its song.
 
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Twisting twig upon an aery sea.
Luminescent way
Whatcha gonna say
Songbird, whistle your wisdom to me.
 
A maid of golden wings
In lullabying sings
Of white sails racing in the wind.
No two are e're the same
Of the tales she can name
Oh, nightingale -- take me in!
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Journeying upon a vessel rare
Silently I sing
To hold remembering
Magic castles in the air.
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner May 25, 2014
memoriam


Study War No More
 
 
What lesson can be applied?
When imperialist troops crash down upon a people's pride?
When might as right meets the instinct to survive?
When Midas greed lashes out to destroy?
We've been here before, o my brethren, o my children --
repeating fouled lessons poured into our thirsty minds,
pushing back the horror before our eyes with blinding rage
forged into weapons by mortal foes
who hide in plain sight.
The only thing I know --
The lesson repeating agony in all our souls,
haunted by the pleading eyes and bloody hearts
of slaughtered sacrifices to malignant gods --
There is something vital here to learn.
 
 
 
peaceful moment
 
 
Like a warm evening on the beach, all woozy from sunshine.
Tingle of sea breeze, that ocean scent of the wild.
As the sun recedes, cooling, refreshing, yet still a lazy summer eve.
Oh that luscious feeling, that overflow of quiet release.
In and out of sleepy reverie, gently washing through pools, reservoirs
of elation.
Like a sweet warm breath caressing.
 
We give what we can; we take what we need.
Marching, in orderly fashion.
Or beatific saunter to a sacred beat.
The horizon shifts through daily duties, nightly prayers.
We take what we can. We give.
Without edict, without rational equation,
we give each outward breath, and take in what is given.
 
Like happy inspiration, song springs from memory to lip,
moves the fortunate mind to acute ecstasy of recognition.
Moments meant to linger, to haunt as devoted ghostly guardian.
Draped in ethereal glow of grace's reward.
Ambient iridescent spirits play joyfully,
ubiquitous harmonies.
Like the words we tell ourselves to bring us peace.
 
 
Support Our Troops
 
 
Bravery?
What if they gave a war
and nobody came?
What if our ethos gave up
on targets to blame?
March of disorders;
unstable bonds break down,
crush frightened nestlings
to dust.
We meant to serve our nation.
We meant to save liberty, defend
threatened treasure, staunch
guards against disaster.
We meant to honor sacrifice, deference of
our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers
for the respected life:
family, God, country
and a wholesome emolument of pleasure.
How could we consent, become executors
of horror so intense
as to reverberate, capture our
remaining consciousness?
Who is advanced?
Who left in pieces that never heal?
God is on the battle field
not as commanding general nor
emboldening mascot,
as witness
and gentle minister
of tragic rites
to shattered soldiers.
 
 
 
Logic of Evolution
 
 
Successful progenitors
survive to sow seed
by force or persuasion
or hiding off screen
or banding together
that more may succeed,
and upgrade conditions,
enhance the breed.
But, for such teams to work well
we must
learn to respect, honor, and trust;
expect to contribute and take and share,
accept the caring for and care.
In community varied seeds are sown.
Thus is a thriving future grown.
Or, sibling rankling infests, turns
on neighbors as scorn.
Barriers proliferate,
preparations for war.
Who is emboldened by
destruction and blood,
blasting civilizations
back into mud?
Are these principled people
filled with kindness and joy?
Those who can create, build;
the lacking destroy.
Guns, bombs, cruel words,
contempt, angry sneers,
promotion of pain,
preying on fears,
paying us naught but
unneeded tears
and advancement of certain
unsavory careers.
We can reject violent lies,
realize the prize.
Here! before our eyes.
Simple. Easy. Free.
Expect, accept, embrace
the abundance
of Peace.
 
 
 
Firelight Story
 
 
Oh my children,
not so very long ago,
probably in many places still,
we lived in communities
in which we had pride and dignity.
Small enough for everyone to
know your name.
Large enough to provide diverse
resource of skills
and personalities.
Caring, squabbling, challenging
as family.
Able to leap beyond petty animosities
and find a way when a way
must be found.
Entrenched in lessons of former days,
preparation for breaking future ground.
Not just a pretty myth
like heroic champions who protect,
subtract our sins.
Community, adaptive growth within
a solid sphere,
a social network of mutual support,
often said to be what we are here for.
(I hear you sneer; you who tear down magic,
hope, shared trust.)
It could be, community,
our prayed for cure (balancing salvation)
to the follies of humanity's
deadly love
of war.
 
 
 
 
 
Body Language
 
 
Teach Peace
Ecstatic dancing in the classroom
Body wisdom
reaches through neural pathways,
regenerates whole to whole,
touches soul to soul
exactly.
I feel you in my mind, my spine.
Feel me dancing,
elongating muscles
extending connections.
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner May 19, 2014
)mad magicks( Emerging Visions XX 

emergingvisions.blogspot.com/2…
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2014
It's really a simple story. Beings find planet. Beings treat planet badly. Planet goes about her business.
Beings start to realize that they need planet, and had best learn to make friends rather than futilely keeping up enmity.
 
 
Gaea: A Ritual Performance
 
 
layers of imagery, music, tribal drums, futuristic dreams
 
 
Gaea was there, in the beginning. Gaea was all. Gaea was wise.
How could we not have seen, in the blindness of pride, of avarice,
of service pledged to false gods?
 
The journey was long.
The journey was harsh.
The journey was lonely.
 
Asleep in a box with wilderness dreams.
Or awake on the watch, wondering what was to come.
 
Thus it was those false gods bespake us:
Out of the cold vastness of desolate space,
out of base fear over years seeped in to overtake us,
out of a need to deem our fate Someone else's scheme,
out of a need to believe all would be well for our kind.
 
Our world was dying.
We did what we could to survive.
Survival we find
an appropriate end
to any means.
Survival will give us
the time we need
to find a better way
to survive.
 
The bravest of us,
the proudest of us,
the meanest of us,
would not allow us to die.
We took off in our ship with the barest of plans
 
to find another land
where our kind could live ...
expand.
 
Now,
hybrid children evolved
from refugees
fleeing a hostile star,
Skygods and Earth Mother of ancient lore.
 
When will we relinquish hubris, ruinous hatred,
accept Gaea as partner and home?
Build strength of unity so all may thrive?
 
The land, when we found her was warm and inviting.
We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow.
 
We ate of her fruit, fish, herds.
We built with her trees, stone and clay.
We drank from her beautiful streams
which we soiled with our waste.
Gaea was saviour and womb.
We repaid her with rape.
 
We didn't understand,
thought her merely land,
thought ourselves masters from afar.
 
Gaea sent storms to bring us to our senses, wild winds and seas.
 
Gaea tried to shake us off: Earthquakes, Floods, Famine, Plagues
sending us scattering into hiding,
intermingling with her primates, Gaea's ape children.
Without question or shame, we murdered what we could not steal.
Without honor or remorse, we laid waste to our host,
to our adopted home,
then cursed her for not giving more.
 
By accident or design, chimera adapting to nature’s marketplace,
creating stories to redefine our origins from outer space.
We lied to our halfling children, denigrated their Gaean kin,
twisted their virtues into a false concept we called "sin."
 
What Gaea did to us? Cruel, evil, in need of the whip.
We seal over her bounty
into mad parody of Mother Ship.
Unforgiving of the mess of living, the miracles of life.
In ignorant pride we gave ourselves law to decide
propriety over fate,
turning
in our minds
mother love
into a mirror of hate.
 
Frozen in fear and rage, children swept out in the storm,
trapped in a self-made cage we had hoped to protect us from harm.
 
Gaea, we cry, why do you treat us so angrily?
What will it take for us to wake up and see it is we who are wrong?
To hear and be aware of Gaea's song singing in our blood?
To learn the cycles, the seasons,
the reasons for fire, wind and flood?
 
To redefine our race,
to find out that our place is here among our Gaean kin?
 
The telling of new tale must begin.
 
Gaea opens to sunshine to ease our agitation.
Easy winds, breezy gush of summer rain.
Feeding the greedy young grains,
growing along the plains, the flowers of the storm.
Feeding the beasts of the field,
celebrating the cycle, as all is revealed.
 
Love is the web,
craftily spun by great mother spider,
Gaea's familiar,
weaving magestic grace
no longer concealed. It was never our place
to control, nor others' to steal.
 
Gaea creates in intricate arrangements,
feeding us all of us all, a transformative stew.
So much energy wasted; painful lies to find our way through.
New beliefs, guiding stories to provide for, enthuse
children, reaching out to become and be free,
embrace our destin,
as Gaea's beloved.
 
Arising in the circle, giving voice to release pain --
grateful to Gaea's grace, dancing in her cleansing rain,
we sing, rejoice, united:
 
It would be so nice (paradise)
You and I
Floating in the sunlight
Ready to break free
To be
Exactly who we are
()
()
 
Gifting Gaea EV22
Sacred Earth, EV#7
 
 
 
Earth Angels
 
 
Speciesism.
That boorish arrogance.
Deaf to wisdom, portrayed in
ominous myth, faery lore.
Slay the goose;
destroy the whales.
Uproot untold trees
bearing fruits that may have
saved us staggering pain.
Crucial for well-being
microbes, photosynthesis,
symbiotic
processes ignored, misunderstood.
Focus expended on ephemeral
opinion, petty greeds and rivalries,
diatribes on evil and good.
Realities we have yet to account to,
acknowledge,
fall, collateral damage
to insolent bravado.
When will we ever let go,
rethink this mad master plan,
relinquish need to command?
 
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2014
420 eve



420 fledglings escape pie and fly
  *
  *
Silent night, pensive night.
Carefully managing intrepid flight,
serial soaring heightened insight.
Self-sabotage may be a right.
So is a paradigm shift, excitement of
quantum array;
a quick turn through reality's rift
into a fountain of play.
Happy day, glorious day.
Why would we have it some other way?
Revise decorations -- more brilliant, more gay!
Dialogs weave beyond yay or nay.
Reveling in destiny's space/time/what may.
 *
4/20/10
 *
 *
 *
Escape Velocity
  *
  *
RRRRRunning--Spinning--  rising to fly, to reach
and conquer the sky, the rooftops, the treetops,
outside the city crowds.
To elevate,
escape gravity.
Ascend beyond all those petty groundling woes and fears.
Climb past the clouds,
among stars and moonbeams.
Catching sight of 
those celestial omens foretold by fantasy.
Catching hold of tickly, teasing, zooming ecstasy.
Catching up to steep snow peaks.  Peering in lofty windows.
Prancing gaily so many feet above fields and roads,
glancing below -- can't catch me
not you dour, sour, 
glum-faced cons down on the street.
Learning to fly, to soar, to race up high
where I can see for miles, 
and miles recede.
Learning to say no to ordinary normality
and break free.
Learning to say yes to magic, and make magic me.
Spinning--running--dancing--flying
unlike anything before.
Learning to break out of bounds and take in more
Ain't nobody gonna tell me I can't fly.
 
 *
 *
 *
Smoke and Mirrors
  *
  *
 The calmness of night
with no one
but me
and the cat and the music.
Sentient spirits
out of reach, out of time
feel me yearn
for soft waves, perfumed
ozone,
a secret moonlit ride.
Gentle, waft breezes
carry, caress calloused cares
into quiescence.
Loving seas, cradling essence.
Paradise state of mind.
  *
Some are born to battle,
to die of sadness on rocky
foreign terrain.
If I could give them ease,
could discover
words and gestures
that bind us all
in happy equilibrium,
I would gladly reach out
so far my arms might break.
I would sing above the fray,
soulfully
mesmerize.
I would open the walls
that hold nirvana at bay.
Would you exercise escape?
Would you swim into bliss,
drink the nectar of precious contentment?
Would you be so elated
to play
swept away
in potent beatitude?
Or defiantly never
look past the sign:
No Weapons Allowed
?
 *
  *
April 20, 2008
 *
 *
 *
 
 
 Celebration
  *
 *
Caught up in the whirl as the world evolves
We weave by the light of the moon.
A fabric of fancy, sunbeams, pansies, mist.
A trail of bluebirds embroider your tresses.
A veil of gossamer softens your eyes.
A breeze of belief to embellish your breath.
Dressed for the fete in the finest of jewels
Alive to excitement, shining with love
Wrapped warm in a floating cape of wishes fulfilling
 *
 * *
 
Mythopoesis
  *
  *
Reality enrobed in symbols.
Where would we be outside our trance?
Ecstatic in sunrise.
Open to the rainbow rays.
Whirling, life within the dance.
Each cell, each system, synchronized.
Vibrating to celestial tones.
Each jagged lonely fragment
joyfully bonded, tethered with love.
Sent on to chance.
  *
    Listen then, and hear anew
    A melody so swift and free
    It's memory can carry you
    Floating on a magic sea
    To the inner facings of your soul.
  *
    Look, and feel with lover's sight
    the polished crystal jewels of time
    that catch you in your secret night
    and send you tumbling down the mire,
    through vortex lambent rabbit hole.
    Expand the seconds of eternity.
    Find your way unwinding.
 *
 *
 *
Joint sessions
  *
 * 
Joint sessions
In a hovel-hole basement haven.
We keep the faith and
Drop-in
Turn-on
Tune-out.
  *
And it was told . . .
How the everlasting presence
still isn't very old.
How the Diamond got her ring
How the matchgirl got her king
How we all got everything
And how everything got sold.
  *
Reeds bending in the wind.
A haunting sentimental song.
Breeze saunters by.
The neon letters "PEACE" light up the air.
  *
A poem in pictures and sound.
Rather like a spell, you know.
Those dawning tendrils
sneaking through my windowshade.
But it's much too early to be rising.
So I'll dally in enchanted romance
without recalling
I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.
 * 
Reaching to the stars,
tarry in eternity:
This is all.
 * 
Soldiers marching in a desert,
remember not their daily cares.
Remember only endless marching.
Caught suspended, unawares.
The crackling fire.
The sweet cascading smoke.
Light another match and start anew.
As pinwheels and starbursts float
through brilliant trails.
And visions of all our wanderings gently
drift in liquid air.
 *
 *
 *
 
mix phor meta
  *
  *
double, double toil and trouble
mix in moonbeams dripped from Hubble
with a pinch of housing bubble
dump in tons of scraped off stubble
just a taste of wry
with a twist of lime
seconds cloned from time
and, Voila! a rhyme to rollick
swing your partner, tase your Dalek
what a party tea for frolic!
double down, but “Don’t Panic!”
brewed up for fun – enjoy the manic
d a n c e
 *
 *
 *
There is a world here that knows itself in the way we all do.
That is to say it has a surface personality, a proper social mask
for formal wear.  Underneath, plots are hatching like fish,
bubbles display quick new life -- snatched into oblivion
barely formed or growing fiercely strong beneath the surface waves.
  *
Was it a warm, wet Spring?
Is the Sun supplying energy without heed to the people's stated needs?
Are ocean waters cursed with pollution born disease?
Do ill winds suffocate a nation's glory?
We could weave this world a better story, play more mindfully
constructed games.  We could take back our focus from blame,
realign.
There is a saying that what one knows is merely that
which has not been denied.
 *
 *
 *
 
Dazzling Genie, weaves scenes of wizardry
upon the dusty window of my gaze.
Champion of crazy crippled dreamers, lazily
giving wing o'er wondrous glades. Simple,
serene days; nights of stars, Moonbeams,
ecstatic serenades, mystics' bliss.
My nightmares exchanged for a kiss of your majesty;
enduring pain relearns its place, energy
refocused by your trail.  Enthralled, at peace,
inspired by your tales of labyrinth space and time.
Honoured, awed by your divine gift, I become
at one
with grace
 * 
  *
Etherized
 * 
  *
Will o' the wisp wending a land of glee.
Daisies, bright blooming weeds,
mellifluous, grand.
Whoosh! Genie arms-wide smiles
above foamy sea.
Beyond mere illusion,
absorbed by awareness – horizon
confined by no mind, reason, expanse.
Who imagines,
and in that magic space settles
to reside?
Women in velvet and fur, swan necks,
arrogant tresses,
sip marvelous narcotic, sweet as fire.
Upheld mirror paintings, glowing wire strands,
prism hues, released.
Vibrant perfumes call to wander,
to stray.
Will-less, free, each step,
each feather fall
a gift of mystery, of mystics' play,
caress of bliss.
 *
 *
 *
astral vision
 
 
Mystery mists of history holy crescent lightening sky.
Calm anticipation early pinks ascend from eerie violets.
Thunderous Jove twinkles like a happy kitten,
tummy extent for adoration.
Omens, prophecy, hope for endless happy returns,
quests into/out of space/mind.
(without gravity, how can we fall ... or love?)
Aching for stars, planets, dreams,
silent assent that means all is promised.
I touch a cosmic peak,
breathless at such altitude.
 
Reply
:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2014
Poetry Month
 
 
Resonant words align.
Mystic energies manifest, 
call to neural chambers: "Come to play!"
Sparkling children fashion dance.
Innocence against a random nightscape
humbling the wise with unknown unknowns.
 
The moment flown, eyes carry to the next entertaining bit.
We've had our fun, perhaps an epiphany or two.
 
Inner ears listen,
merrily engage in lingering song.
May dance displayed as heady words
sparkle.
Mystically lit lanterns
illuminate without end.
 
 
 
A Woman Disappointed and Disillusioned, Courageously Facing a Seemingly Empty Life
 
Dressed in sadness
Depressed to madness
Mad to believe in passion,
which never lasts beyond the hour.
Shrieking to bequeath the
power to stand, to breathe.
Time appears, macabre hag
preening her wares.
"See how it was, how it could be.
Drag and drop your face, your fate
onto a printed page. Can you see
new meaning? New lamps for old."
She cackles, like
a metronome.
New maps for a new age.
That charming village erstwhile
known as Hell
has realigned into Helvetica.
All that pain and sorrow
tomorrow's poetry.
 
 
Pop Quiz
 
What is more useless than a poet, and why?
 
Encloistered in my artist's garrett, threadbare garments more holes than whole
Paint spattered, unruly and unkempt
Barely aware of the need for sustenance or even air
Entranced by the necessity of exploring, exposing my vision
I am the essence of romance.
 
Writing words on paper, I am merely effete,
Despite my black attire and permanent scowl.
Even if they are good words, finely wrought, expressing deeply true emotion
They are almost literally a dime a dozen.
To expose my wound is inelegance, to explore my essence a narcissistic malaise.
 
I am the real deal -- the poet-philosopher, the idealist dreamer, the journey's fool.
Surely I should be surrounded by accolytes at my feet, honored to breathe the sacred
Incense of my magesty.
 
Yet here I stand with bills unpaid in the squalor of a rented room,
Unadorned by idolatry.
 
 
 
 
Perhaps a poem of love,
thick words upon parchment
to hold to your heart,
as it dampens through the years
from dripping tears
might seem a heaven sent reminder
We who love without rhyme or
rhythmic scheme to slow our tune
if we are truly in the spire of love
create in shining halls of memory
poetry that never dies
 
 
We are a well at the center of the Universe
suspended like a spider spun out from
a web of space and time
All that ever is, like sea and rain
catalyzed by light, is processing
rainbows
or other illusions
into effervescent poetry
 
 
It is a poem because of the evocative nature of the language, because it intends to speak with more than the prosaic words, but as a massage for the mind and heart. The line breaks are to make the reading easier, to put the phrases together as the poet's ear hears them, like stage direction.
 
Poetry throughout written history has been both an oral and visual art. There is a great deal of spoken poetry available, as well as more and more writing, experimenting, genre melding and overturning. Look for what speaks to you.
 
 
Voices in my head speak
in poetry, prose, creative nonfiction
stories of courage, adventures in change
 
Tales of whispered words hypnotize
wrench veils between dream and sleep
Deeply darkened mists of memory
prismed in poetry
arouse such imagery
Be at peace
Breathe in wintry wind
to warm in secret private seasons
Breathe out
a better world
 
 
 
Perhaps we constrain ourselves by our definitions of "poetry" whatever they may be for each of us, or collectively. Perhaps we would better serve the honoring of our deeper, more carefully observed, more cherished, more reflective, more emotionally evoked or thoughtfully worded communications by freeing our critique from "poetry"?
 
When we call "poem" expectations climb aboard Is this one of those silly word games or a test of my ability to please teacher or take teasing for being studious or wrong or rhymes herding phrases out of clarity over-ardent attempts at sincerity What if I just want to explain beyond the everyday chatter What if I want to say how and why feelings matter or work out ways to scatter bits of meaning on a page to save visions, ahas! glimpses of horror or wonder as I gaze at nature's seas and stars or the grace of deciphering commonalities that could lead to human conviviality
 
 
 
You tell a tale of private familiarity simple, trivial, self-contained
Profound sincerity eternal poetry
 
 
 
Poetry is about meaning and wonder
Poetry can say:  "Yes, we feel the same"
and "Yes, we can go further, together."
It's not the rhyme or word or name
that creates this form we ponder
to say what we've seen, how we came
to be who we are, how another's
ways of making sense have made us
more ...
 
 
 
poetry mice
nibble nimble syllables
feed on grainy meaning
scamper renewed, enlarged
 
 
 
Poker as a Metaphor for Poetry
 
 
Play the cards you are dealt,
inflated for the gaze of your opponents.
Don't squander emotion reactively.
Enjoy the thrill of being in the game.
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:iconlibramoon:
libramoon Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2014
Check out this project [not mine] to post written works and short videos that detail the difficulties of artists' lives. Stories can create awareness about what it really means to live a creative life. 

artiststories.wordpress.com/su…

Send emails to jrowartist at gmail dot com and I will upload your story to this website. There will be a library page designated for stories once we have a good collection of stories. 
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