I sailed past the river
till I felt myself lost
night was falling so fast
winds started to quiver
my compass was tost
Soon night would be past
Julie Heckan, October 28
Senses for a Sestet
Crimson lips, lovers awaken with a kiss
Creamy white skinned Goddesses resting
In a time where Socrates lusted after Sappho's
Poetry and art.
The Grecian people worshiped her with
her beauty and exquisite prose. On the wings
of her art she played enchanting music arranged
Golden chariots in fields of apples bold,
yet, solitary like one fallen from the tree,
Sappho wrote her memoirs and music
while exiled, her death unspoken.
My grandfather on my father’s side, was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his
daughter when she was just ten. He threw down vodka from an eternal well and took my father out to buy prostitutes when he was just fifteen... It was here that my father first learned the true value of a woman. Mercifully, a permanent steel brace got loose at the Pennsylvania steel mill where he worked and crushed Grandfather into a pool of blood and urine.
My father was a dried seed rattling in an empty gourd… he had grown up
hardened with leather-stiff roots exposed too long in the sun. My mother knew
that he wanted to rape me, so I kept guard with knives and ran away whenever I could. I went to bed fantasizing how to sneak into his bedroom and kill him with
the kitchen carving knife.
My older brother hadn’t adjusted well to the chaos either, so he put all his expectations and dreams into a matchbook and burned down three houses in the neighborhood. He secretly, robbed his friends of their valuable coin collections. He grew weary and confessed and was taken to a local Mental Hospital for evaluation. At fourteen, I needed a good stiff drink! I was transferred to two different foster care homes and grew up like a weed.
My mother Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain bisque, matt finished doll from a
discriminating collections of dolls... her father's dolls. She was not a witty woman
but silent, afraid and alone. She gave birth to three children who grew up like
wild dogs while Dolly made Betty Crocker weekends and otherwise TV dinners
until she grew tired... very tired.
One day the brothers were playing with Dolly tossing her back and forth…
like a ball, one to another... until we dropped her. Fragile, she shattered into pieces
on the gray cement patio. My father came out determined to put the pieces back
together but clumsily, he repeatedly stepped on Dolly crushing the refined
fragments into powdered dust.
Constellations of values and ethics
like dancing stars in onyx nights.
Majestic fields of ideals stay grounded
in what only seems right. Keenly, I search
philosopher’s heels to grasp theoretical
notions, held together by gravity’s scales
as comets of light circle in tails
and teach me in a dream.
What is the uniqueness of your poetry?
Someone once said to me that “poetry can’t include abstract language.”
Well, that really got me going! As a lover of language and theory I just couldn’t let this one pass. The uniqueness of my poem is that I use abstract language with planetary imagery to lightly illustrate two mega-abstract ideas, ethics & philosophy. The end culminates that all knowledge is refutable (i.e. “and teach me in a dream”).
Unleash the thread of unaltered seams
Night shade matters for restless dreams
Woven to knit each day of the night
Lie with the moon amidst the light
Armageddon is not a geographical location
that will destroy the world. It is a symbol
of the battle of good and evil within the
Armageddon is not a remote event in history
but a spiritual occasion to connect more fully
to the goodness that resides within the self.
Armageddon Divinity established that love is
primary throughout existence. The self is a
piece of Divinity which experiences love as
its primary source.
Armageddon is an opportunity to realize the
personality of the Divine within our own moral
and ethical life. There is no battle to end the
world only new beginnings to renewed our spirit.
Armageddon is a fever already raging. The war
that surpasses all wars is alive inside us on a
daily basis. Divinity measures the souls reach
toward or away from love.
What you gave was the humanity
lost now in the starry universe dark
and gray about to rain. A circle of
stars shuttering around in place
shifting from season to space
dancing in darkness.
What you gave were arms to reach
out and hold the world close in an
ever changing way buoyant and feisty
often ready to give up. What you gave
will always be alive breathing into the
surfaces of the universe.
Armaggedon is not a place where Divinity
lives war and plunder. Armaggedons' battlefield
is within our heart and souls.
It is not a remote event in future history but an
actual occasion for the Self to connect more fully
to the nature of God in he present.
Armaggedon is not the end of the world or an
upcoming historic deadline for disaster. It is
in the war within the heart and soul of the individual.
The Self is the creation of God. The serial disasters
that we accumulate in our lives are not about an
All Powerful God handing out retribution.
Revenge is not in the seed of divinty, who
contends that love as primary.It is our own battle
Armaggedon is an opportunity to realize the
personality of God within our own lives.
Justice, wisdom, love, knowledge, thoughts,
feelings and behavior etc. are all aspects of
the personality of God who created us. It is
our responsibility to merge with Divinity more
and more to strengthen the relationship
between ourselves, God and all people. This means
battling away that which is adverse to our lives.
Being a child of God means you already have the
inherent qualities of God within you, we all do,
no matter what your religion. Like a mother
who gives birth to a child, the child has aspects
of the mother’s personality within her. Thus, as
God has given birth to all of us, we have attributes
of Divinity within that we need to grow and
strengthen. Armaggedon is not a place outside
of us, it is a symbol of our growing faith.
I sat for an hour in paradise
illusions from the past fired high.
Wearing an ivory satin dress the
silent orange grove was beguiling
the sparrows sang while their image
fluttered past, like holy men dressed
in brown suits, flying lower and lower
I tried to read but lost any interest in
the pages. The fragrance of oranges
was beguiling so pungent and savory
I felt flushed as I held the tiny white
flowers close to my heart, the
I just sat in the house trying to think and
write. The silence was far too loud and the
stillness seemed too threatening to all of my
family. Responsibility, jobs, success, relationships,
were all making their excessive demands from the
kitchen to the living room. My silence and just
thinking was quickly eliminated and so I walked
outside. All I wanted was to hear myself think, no
distractions, only the sound of my hair
thinning on the top of my head.
I exiled myself outside to the deck and waited for
each family member to be off doing their own
personal errons. I was entirely complete, alone in
the quiet, no illusion of loneliness only a soft desire
to write and think. I was inspired by the calm and
cool air and the blackbirds fidgeting on the roof
preparing nests for Spring.
Once completely alone, the silence was both
terrifying and marvelous. To hear my
own birthing process, pushing away then leaning
against my own thoughts. Silence wasn’t a prison to
escape from, but a sacred space used to repair
and sift through the past to find treasure and to
contemplate the future for rich jewels to come.