Long Consenting Poems
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We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Love’s Path
Love's Path
Rules bind us from infancy
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson works
for success, we forget practices that thwart happiness.
Passages and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Romance, a chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery- our endurance of drudge before we fly
We are living in the middle, you and I
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings- what if we had never met? Our paths, never intersected or,
if they did, we missed our chance to connect.
The perfect moment when the sky was right to usher in romance,
the laws of attraction that shaped the joy of love in magic renderings, in heightened awareness of simple things.
Brighter colors, heavenly perfumes
the harmony and peace of mutual understandings.
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings
Time came for making promises --getting used to things,
expected or not—learning the art of forgiving
Consenting to cherish common objectives—
was it our love succeeded because
we overlooked each others’ flaws, or unmet expectations
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord
or was a momentary whim the cause?
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we reád
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years
weathered all the seasons with forgiving hearts
Nothing could measure the small eternity we made ourselves-
we endured life with every sinew- refused to imagine
a life devoid of one another
Now matter how circumstance may try spin you
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue
It occasionally occurs to me,
as I distractedly remove my right dominant
Powder-Free Vinyl Exam Glove,
after yet another young adult diaper change,
Perhaps getting lovingly laid
by a lifetime committed
caring and passionately consenting peer
filled with warm compassion,
active hope for tomorrow
would not be the worst conjoining thing
that could happen to neuro-alternatively-challenged intelligent beings
childishly preferring win/win cooperative outcomes
derived from compassionate climaxing thought-feelings together
while experiencing full-sensory resonant mental health.
Then again,
I suppose the same
powder-free examervation might apply
to economic and political narcissists,
and patriarchal double-binary
co-disassociative left v right hemispheres
runaway debating between lonely older aescetics
ordained to fulfill male dominant sublimation
through yin-recessive win/win co-passion's ostracization,
diminution,
fragmentation,
cognitive-affective dissonance.
And then I wonder
how long will it take
to re-sacralize humane non-elite poop
as richly robust future compost
best for black gold richly embedded fertility,
as I race and gender and age
to throw out plastic scat bags,
filled with cotton and plastic diapers
and under/overpads,
and right dominant
Powder-Free Vinyl Exam Gloves.
The landmark was given the name
"Exclamation Point," and indeed it became
the most exciting place I'd ever known!
The "parentheses" between us shone
of sun "dashes" splashing
on the "comma" aquamarine.
My fashion "square bracket" charms swayed
like my body stayed in Mark's trustworthy arms.
Our eyes simultaneously met
the first "asterisk" set in the sky, shining brightly.
"Make a wish," he whispered softly,
"and close your eyes tightly."
When I opened my eyes, he was down on one knee!
The "question Mark" asked next
was actually my silent request!
He pulled the "asterisk" from the sky,
and lovestruck eye to eye,
he gently slid it on my consenting finger.
Then suddenly swans graced the stage
like a princess rescue in a storybook page.
We agreed to continue our courtship that day
the "semicolon"ial biblical way.
How difficult it was that magical night,
amidst the "ellipsis" Little Dipper kite,
but we wanted to honor our great Creator.
A longing "period" of three months later,
down a driftwood isle along the same sand
our "carets" met "ampersand" hand-in-hand.
4/19/19
On the night skies,
Drifting – solitary stars…
Collected, quiet, nomadic,
Free and flowing
Gliding through the silence
On the gentle promises,
Wordless, but sworn…
In faith, never doubting,
Sure as the endlessness of stars,
Moon glowing – wise as the heart.
On the softest prayers,
Voiceless whispers, violet…
Kisses, like wonders, blessings,
Preparing the soul,
With hope, peaceful and low.
On the melancholic colors,
Visions in sapphire and gold…
Brilliant scarlet, nature glowing
Reflecting the joy,
Breathing elated splendor.
On the morning, dawning,
In echoes of grace…
Shedding the skins of a past,
When yesterday felt so hateful,
Yesterday, twilight feeling shameful.
On the edge of a song,
Captured by the heart, the knowing…
Breathless sighs, singing along,
Inspiring the feelings,
Consenting to acceptance.
On the shadows of Christmas,
When love falls all around…
Dusting the rim of our moments,
With heaven’s grace,
Stirring awake the true praise.
On these precious moments,
Close as the twinkling…
Glistening on the easy silence,
In eyes, alive as stars,
Breaking through the dark –
Breaking down every wall,
Releasing the bonds of intolerance,
Destroying the fears,
Cleansing the past with fresh tears,
Tears of hope, tears of faith –
Tears meant to embrace Christmas’ meaning –
The significance of kindness that gives…
From the heart, from the spirit
Gifts of light sent down from above,
Gifts of His peace – the hope, faith and love
That only Jesus…
could have stirred awake inside us!
The cosmos sees itself through the individual eye,
creating space from limited believes not shy.
Whispering firmament reflecting source consenting dreamer,
detached magnification of a rhetoric believer.
Contemplated exhibition of natures trance,
echoes from eons past to purpose advance.
Redemption of all things by beauty,
the art of life force creation and its duty.
Philosophical reign of liberty by light,
mind clothed with wings takes flight in that sight.
Gathered rays entangled breathing beams,
radiant apparition tempers in forms of seems.
Unexhausted spirit where discord can not be,
immortal progeny imagined mystery.
Where intuitions swarm in harmonious wisdom,
the essence poised for all sainted blossom.
The soul in timeless sphere is waiting for the view,
until it dreams in the threshold of the new.
The One who writes the music
In notes of hope and peace,
Leaving out the darkness, embedding
Grace that relieves…
The One who writes the story
Between joy and faith,
Echoing life through the pages
Inspiring such thanks….
The One who writes the moments
With a pen of sun and rain,
Silencing the worries, easing
Even the past…
The One who writes the smiles
Through intimacy and light,
Foresees the edges of sweet joy,
Enlightens and enlivens…
The One who writes my colors
In hues of wonder and love,
Brightens all my heart’s yearnings
With dreams forevermore…
The One who writes my journey
Through blessings so unique,
Miracles and Godsends – consenting
To bring me a full book…
This volume is made up of wonders
Far more beautiful than the eye can see,
Far more brilliant than the sunlight,
Far more amazing than I can explain
For it comes to those who know Him
The One who writes with a creative hand,
The One who inspires and understands,
The One who answers all my prayers.
Because of Him, I know what it means
To love beyond my wildest dreams!
Why does hatred bloom where two lovers stand
vowing only to cherish each other forever?
When it is love and hope that brought them together,
why do hoards of people want their union banned?
Just because it is a love they cannot understand?
Does it somehow make their lives a little bit better
keeping different drummers from marrying ever?
And here I thought we lived in a free land.
Why must we put restrictions on how people love?
Why does homosexuality scare people so?
Consenting adults should be allowed their own choice.
I’ll leave moral judgment to the heavens above,
but this is one thing that I certainly now know -
a union of any two lovers is a cause to rejoice.
Written and posted on 4/29/2014 for Craig Conrish's "Miltonic Sonnet" contest.
Death, don't lie to the rest of the world
Say it,
Loud and clear
That you and I are good friends!
Say it,
That you are,
For me,
The taste of exquisite chocolate
As it melts in the mouth,
You are,
The orgasmic climax lovers feel
When they get tangled in each other
On those nights when the moon is too shy
To even show a part of itself!
You are,
The moment creation happens in poets
And artists of all sorts!
Why, Death,
You are my soothe,
You are my relief,
The hand I long to hold,
The channel through which I shall go through
Overjoyed,
As free as a free spirit
As free as a liberated soul,
One so totally aware of the need to
Be as exactly as she wants
For life remains as elusive as is a reflection
On river waters!
Death,
I revere you,
I live for you
And I await for your coming
With music pounding in my heart
And with zeal painting itself all over my soul!
Though, I have one request for you,
Be gentle with me
I shall not fight you
I shall accompany you,
There shall be no need to be catastrophic with me
Be gentle
And lift me up to your realm
Being a good friend of yours,
I shall simply accompany you
With a smile on my face
And with curiosity in my heart
As,
Exploring what lies beyond
Has been on my mind
Since quite some time now!
—Receiving Before Language—
The roof retained it—
a weather-anointed dereliction,
its articulate wreckage
still ascending
through the firmamental grammar
of unanswering air.
The neighbourhood,
custodians of decipherable things,
declared it obsolete.
They trusted only
those frequencies
already domesticated by speech,
signals
that arrived
having survived interpretation.
Toward vesper,
the wind uncodiced
its invisible leaves,
and the antenna commenced
its liturgy
of immaculate static.
Not absence.
Ante-language.
The unconscripted province
from which utterance
would one day recruit
its alphabet.
Then,
without announcement,
the impossible
altered jurisdiction.
No transmission descended.
Instead,
there accumulated
every sentence
creation had declined
before consenting
to become pronounceable.
Primeval bereavement—
antecedent
to water's apprenticeship
as tears.
An inaugural horizon,
before distance
persuaded luminosity
to undertake pilgrimage.
The first appellation,
waiting
for a mortal object
equal
to inheriting it.
Above,
the constellations
did not illumine.
They precipitated
around attention itself,
as though every star
were merely
listening
after acquiring visibility.
Even darkness
remained provisional—
an erased manuscript
whose vanished text
continued
to illuminate the page.
Only then
did I perceive
that static
had never interrupted meaning.
Meaning
had interrupted static.
Reality
had first arrived
grammarless.
Language,
with impeccable intentions,
had reduced it
to comprehension.
Morning
ratified the customary horizon.
Someone,
glancing upward,
pronounced
its earthly verdict.
"Broken."
The syllables
approached the metal,
hesitated,
and returned
unadmitted.
The antenna remained,
its fracture
keeping vigil
at the frontier
where the cosmos
still rehearsed itself
before consenting
to become
the world.
gauntlet of mirrors transparency personified
transparency personified when the curtain falls
in an arena of quick sand and impromptu judgement
the stage was well set though actually
it presented itself as rather empty
epic theatre art form at its vacant best
I placed himself at the very manifest epicentre
of concealed and subconscious intentions
would I shed the gauntlet despite sharp sordid shards
sharing poetry soul-stripping and nakedly honest
Freud would think of an electrifying Egopuss complex
Jung’s shadow play might reveal phallic saints on display
until of course Nietzsche found God in Mary Magdalene
a marriage apocalyptically consummated in Dante’s inferno
with four horsemen in G-strings frottageing lust and desire
no contest is real unless the audience may be allowed
to pervert justice or shed more than hypocritical applause
constructive critique does not forbid foul language nor rage
at times I felt deprived when my poetry in the soup’s cauldron
merely attracted kind comments or however heartfelt approval
when I put myself into the lioness’ den I expect to be ravaged
ravaged displaced exposed devoured and put to the stake
a wizard needs fire because talent and flair have to be moulded
publishing poetry is an interaction between consenting partners
otherwise it risks to become pantomime or unilateral megalomania
mirror mirror on the wall am I not the best screwball of them all
where is the podium what is my prize accolade and quilled line squall
a masked persona falls short of the truth and I am the court jester
expect my bells and whistles to jingle as tools for the eloquent fool
tomtoolery when Machiavelli meets de Beauvoir in the boudoir
oh crystal ball kaleidoscope gemstone alchemy of soul and mind
nights in white satin and shining armour pain pleasure and words
words that cannot express my conflict when the prism is smudged
footnotes:
Egopuss complex refers to Oedipus’ gender neutrality, although it could be
viewed as a misspelling for the purulent excretions of Self on autopilot
tomtoolery are male tools of trade and craft, but could I not be the feminine
version