("The Cave of Unknowing", 2012, original oil)
Live Free or Die
Live free or die!
Well, we’re all gonna die,
But living and dying free
Is obviously the way to go.
Freedom of speech
May be the root of all our freedoms
But it’s meaningless
If all we can do is parrot others.
Look around
The night sky is daylight bright now
From all the gaslighting we see streaming
From every pore of every mainstream media whore.
The blind are blind not from birth
But from having their heads buried in sand
For so long
They can’t tell up from down.
Nothing new under the sun
And Plato spilled the beans long ago
On the blind
In their caves of unknowing.
But the point is you have to see for yourself
To know the truth,
And as all truth knowers know,
Only the truth will set you free.
(6/26/24)
Pedestals..
Climbing up
Looking up
Seeming deviations
Extraordinaries..
Characters posing
As deserving of
Attention..leaders
It might be said..
Or knowers..
Or worshipers..
The stories
Separation has
Wrought..
Showing up as
Already This...
October is not all witches and goblins in my neck of the territory
We are dashing about, preening our tails, storing nuts and berries
Running around screeching and slapping each other
The raccoons think we are crazy, but that identifies them actually
October is not even October this year
Something is amiss
The children are not making leaf piles
We have to go farther to get our nuts
We know the cold weather is coming,
Oddly, fear and angst parade in the air now
What is happening? I ask the oaks.
They have always been the knowers of these things
Even the oaks are in the dark.
Nothing is the same.
The children are missing, hidden in houses.
The yellow buses are not coming. Something is terribly wrong.
A Disciple’s Desire
Sight is one way of knowing.
Let me see,
and I shall be a seer.
Hearing is one way of knowing.
Let me hear,
and I shall be deaf no longer.
Taste is one way of knowing.
Let me taste,
and my lips shall be spiced.
Scent is one way of knowing.
Let me breathe,
and my chest shall be full.
Touch is one way of knowing.
Let me grasp,
and my hands shall crumple satin.
Powerful knowers, yes,
but the greatest is the heart—
beyond reason,
and certain, without parts.
Hers is a deep, deep knowing,
when sight excites the eye,
the awakened apple, open and wide.
This deep, deep knowing,
when touch is a chorus,
amidst the crash of symbols.
Yes, a deep, deep knowing
with intoxicant bursting
and taste of care.
One deep, deep knowing!
and the drum-drum of panting
on warm, worshiping ears.
-written April 2017
-contest: "I'm Crushing On You"
-sponser: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
. for public domain
So many of us know why they exist,
some know they will never ask why
the sky is blue, why one heart is true,
and another will suffer a lie.
So, many of us, great knowers of life,
will flourish and blossom, and why?
For some, like the bees, and flowering trees,
too busy each day til they die.
But many the idle who ponder the sky,
the far lights, and the darkness beyond;
for asking, to them, an insatiable yen,
bequeathed to their young when they die.
The asking, and not, goes on quite a lot,
hand in hand, like kids playing in sand.
Foundations get laid, castles are made,
then knocked down, no matter how grand.
The knowers are the star gazers
Who sit on the corner of the crescent moon
Wildly, wildly
With sparkling eyes
My notions are lacking substance
Lacking grace
Lacking innuendo
Separately I traverse
The same familiar paths
Day by day
Until the paper plates are all used up
And I sink deeply
Into a cushion sleeping
When therefore great Father Saint and our driver, us your reasons knowers will
be saved? The world is changing I feel it in the water, I taste it in the air on the
moisture of the ground, shades in the clearing of midday, whispers of horrible
voices echoing against the Stone. Drums crying and us inside the mine drinking
the sulphur, the knife in the scabbard has spoken also two flowers bent on the
step of a trespasser. The black dog raised itself to us in the night, knowing that
came the hour the last, it is time to give the blood and the sweat and the white
tooth. Brother will cut brother in blow body with body looking at the blood as it
rolls slowly from the rock' s head. The wheels of fortune turns. Crowned and
cleaned with light the suntanned breasts and the hands, dark bodies wild
embraced with glances sincere and comfort on there walk laughing. Our chariot
driver, father, God Unknown! Unwrite what its written to be done on this land of
Heroes, gently I grasp they and hand you flakes of winter.
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