Long Tracings Poems
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I can't remember
how many friends I had
after I departed to Illinois.
It's true they were far away and
I enjoyed their affection
only through the mail
with its own kind of sensuosness.
The tracings of pens and pencils,
dribblings and stains
informed me of bodies.
.
How much they professed missing me
and asked for my return.
To be asked when you are coming back
is one of the most touching endearments,
especially when you
have no intention to.
I should have felt beloved.
.
I thought I was superman in those days.
So kind and knowing.
Knowledge always precedes education.
Education only refines, adds patina,
gains you names, arguments,
but knowledge is constant.
I survive by inventing theories.
Forbidden Chocolate
I was riding psychedelic,
Riding Electric Ladyland,
Inside
The long wheezing worm,
Riding easy,
Through the black snoring night,
Aboard the Amtrak Southwest Chief,
Roaring and rumbling,
Down the track for distant Kansas,
Heading east,
To silent Garden City.
I had donned white earbuds in Barstow,
Connected umbilically,
To my ITunes universe,
And stoned as Hendrix himself,
On forbidden chocolate,
I rode in the windowed lounge car
At midnight,
Observing the vast darkness of America,
At 90 miles an hour.
As Jimi dazzled me with Voodoo Child,
From 1968,
On his white Fender stratocaster,
I saw before me,
The imploding annihilation of the universe,
With passing strobe-light torpedoes,
Pelting my mind like exploding hail stones;
The distant country lights flying by,
And through me,
In a whirring surreal-like blur.
I was riding psychedelic,
Riding Electric Ladyland,
Inside
The long wheezing worm,
Riding easy,
Through the black snoring night,
Across the California expanse
Of wind and sand and stars;
Across the rich pallets
Of Arizona and New Mexico,
The upper tranquil reaches
Of southern Colorado;
The high flat Kansas plains,
Listening to Jimi tear apart the world
Like a rampaging Godzilla,
Coming into Tokyo with his fiery axe!
I saw colors and shadows,
And strange tracings out there,
Flickering like swamp bugs
In the dry darkness,
Aboard the Amtrak Southwest Chief,
Roaring and rumbling,
Down the track for distant Kansas,
Heading east,
To silent Garden City.
George Washington Cole
1827 – 1911
So here I sleep.
Buried in this dirt.
Covered in this earth.
Returning to the dust.
Finding heaven in the whispers of the wind.
And as for all my friends here,
All these stilled silent voices of Clark Cemetery,
We represent just a single sand pebble
Just a minute solitary dust particle
In an ever expanding infinite universe
Of shadows and scant tracings.
Travel to any city or town in the United States,
Or any sovereign country on Terra Firma,
And you will find the endless names of us,
The dead,
Who lived and died since the onset
Of the Gilded Age of Bessemer steel.
And those endless lists of the dead are nothing,
Nothing in comparison to the endless lists
Of the by-gone personages before us,
The past generations,
Who breathed and sighed and spasmed
Since the onset of Eden’s first heartbeat.
My friends, we are all so small,
And so minuscule.
Does it not behoove us to dance
Even while the music plays?
Does it not behoove us to be kind,
Even when the cruel day
Finally slaps us on the side of our faces?
So here I sleep.
Buried deep in this forgotten grave
Just a whispering shadow of a former man
Awaiting with bated breath
The blare of the last trumpet!
I am not a heartless statue made of stone,
nor a marble sculpture that's never known
the sweet savor of a kiss upon parted lips
nor the sensual tracings of one's fingertips.
I'm not averse to desires for which I yearn
or to the ways to achieve them all in turn.
It's happiness I seek throughout this life,
not depriving myself with sadness and strife.
Desire is usually linked to sexual pleasure,
but I aspire to acquire beyond all measure
such mundane things, like a juicy red apple
without having to beg, borrow, or grapple.
It's not greedy to want my desires fulfilled
or instead of hot coffee, to prefer it chilled.
I'm much happier having a positive thought
than suffering the aversion of a broken heart.
I cannot condone feelings of dislike or hate
but I'm averse to things that I must berate...
death, war, and looking down upon others.
I'd nullify all of them if I had my druthers.
Antipathy can be detrimental to many desires.
It's water dousing the flames of my wildfires.
I prefer to follow a path of my own choosing,
one in which I'll find life much more amusing.
As long as my desires are kept under control
no one would dare label me 'villain' or 'troll.'
I cannot act on impulse, so no one is harmed.
From selfish greed, my mind will be disarmed.
October 5th, 2022 ~ Desire and Aversion Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
The full moon and milky snow illuminate the nighttime landscape I found myself lost on the mountain.
I have to make a choice. Looking for the North Star I placed a stick pointing north to direct me to the closest destination when I rise in the morn dawn. To the North one hundred fifty miles to the nearest cabin hoping that it is supplied with stable foods and a warm place to stay until rescued, or south two hundred miles in the other direction where a trapper lives all year round.
Over my shoulders I carried my rifle and survival equipment and begin the one hundred fifty-mile hike to the cabin. Walking through spruce, hemlock, and lodge-pole pines and eating a variety of berries.
In the morning after the snowstorm, I woke to ski snow-powder steeps. A wolf rested on its haunches, inspecting my unprotected surroundings. I took aim, shot, and missed, and it turned and took off.
For days, I had the feeling that someone or something was watching me. I started seeing signs of bear tracings. I was almost out of ammunition for my rifle and decide to make a spear. I looked around for a suitable sturdy tree limb or sapling a few inches taller them me. Using my knife, I fashioned a shelf for the knife creating securing support for the knife and wrapping it tight with rope.
I had shot a three-point buck early that morning and dressed it out; when I heard woof, woof, woof, sounds. The brown grizzly bear came down on all fours and started pawing at the ground, then came at me like a freight train.
I wedge the wooden in of the spear between the rock and into the ground. The grizzle charged then stood up rising above me, impelling itself through the heart with the spear killing it instantly. His dead weight slumped falling limp forward on top of me trapping me under.
Tired and cold the pain disappeared by the time I amble down the pathway toward the summer cabin in the noon-lit dawn.
12/30/2021
Sitting here lost in thought
listening to this graveyard noise
just looking out into dust and ash.
I see you drifting into an empty city
of empirical sums.
Alone, distant is my voice echoing
into this apathy of stone…
all I hear is graveyard noise.
Feeling the totality of all,
Watching cinders fall,
Glittering stars burnt from heavenly Wars…
drift like lost wishes.
Dust and Ash…
Not thinking only feeling a sleeping city.
Deep!
Seeing the population of humanity
As fleeting lives like red embers falling,
each a wishful of dust n ash…
Each emote, a speck,
Falling
…falling on this apathetic face,
In this empty city of empirical sums
…graveyard noise.
The totally of One,
Knowing none looking into the city, undone!
Feeling the absence of divinity,
only seeing its aftermath
of dust and ash…
Wasted wishes blown in storms wrath,
a woman’s tears flown,
as dishes crash,
the fist Falls at last…
In the city of Dust n Ash
Stars are tracings in heavens fault, vast!
Deep in to this wasted land.
All a alone… after midnight, my mind roams.
Distant is my voice as it echoes, dies at last…
Lost in thought, only looking out into this
city of Dust and Ash!
Feeling this graveyard noise!
The full moon and milky snow illuminate the nighttime landscape I found myself lost on the mountain.
I have to make a choice. Looking for the North Star I placed a stick pointing north to direct me to the closest destination when I rise in the morn dawn. To the North one hundred fifty miles to the nearest cabin hoping that it is supplied with stable foods and a warm place to stay until rescued, or south two hundred miles in the other direction where a trapper lives all year round.
Over my shoulders I carried my rifle and survival equipment and begin the one hundred fifty-mile hike to the cabin. Walking through spruce, hemlock, and lodge-pole pines and eating a variety of berries.
In the morning after the snowstorm, I woke to ski snow-powder steeps. A wolf rested on its haunches, inspecting my unprotected surroundings. I took aim, shot, and missed, and it turned and took off.
For days, I had the feeling that someone or something was watching me. I started seeing signs of bear tracings. I was almost out of ammunition for my rifle and decide to make a spear. I looked around for a suitable sturdy tree limb or sapling a few inches taller them me. Using my knife, I fashioned a shelf for the knife creating securing support for the knife and wrapping it tight with rope.
I had shot a three-point buck early that morning and dressed it out; when I heard woof, woof, woof, sounds. The brown grizzly bear came down on all fours and started pawing at the ground, then came at me like a freight train.
I wedge the wooden in of the spear between the rock and into the ground. The grizzle charged then stood up rising above me, impelling itself through the heart with the spear killing it instantly. His dead weight slumped falling limp forward on top of me trapping me under.
Tired and cold the pain disappeared by the time I amble down the pathway toward the summer cabin in the noon-lit dawn.
1/3/2017
Contest : Prior to Intent
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
29.7.25
PLACED 2ND IN CONTEST
_________________
IN THE BEGINNING
intentions set
luminescent spiralling
quarks already written
as codes at birthing of Soul
from Divine Mind
intricate patterns of
His-Her inconceivable
eternal infinite Plans
tracings of filigree Love
dormantly waiting for its
Time to flower then fade
so Soul descends carrying its
precious curriculum
safely packaged spiritual
missions into Heartspace
many slumbering intentions
of All That Is being embodied
Heart delicate pure receiver
of Soul’s encodings
cradles, embraces, lubricates
acknowledges intent ~
relays God’s codes to
mind to pattern into fruition
before intention unfurls from
mind it glimmering hovers
flickers between Heart and Soul
awaiting Divine Timing instruction
precise moments for exposition
of the new
whispering inside and outside of
consciousness from spacelessness
into spacetime Heart who
recognises light-sound
frequency waves from
IN THE BEGINNING
Divine desire plugs power
into Heart as His-Her Lover-Child
balances presence attracting
right emotion
a globule on Tree of Life flash
need becomes illusion
kaleidoscopic patterns form
spaces fill or empty
intent given shaped form
coloured creation dances
then disappears
God smiles with Soul
Heart in bliss
Sunlight surfaced at the breach of dawn
It climbed salty rungs to emerge from the sea
When fully risen, what had been spawned?
A molten fireball cast from the dragon's breath,
a firey yawn exhaled in languorous flight
searing tangerine flames across the horizon
Daylight drifted over waking valleys and hills
in dappled luminance of shimmering gold
It danced in pirouettes upon my window sill
and chased shadows from my bedroom wall
until it tumbled on the bed where my love slept
He stirred, I smiled and then wept with emotion
at the passion glimmering in drowsy jade eyes
With each rise and fall of his muscular chest
the heated flush of desire within me burned
Sinewy arms reached out for me...
"Come back to bed," whispered from his lips
and my gown lay puddled upon the floor
I'd had enough of watching sunlight's strolling
for it had stolen too many moments next to him
My toes were cold from morning's chill
but it was not from Winter weather that I quivered
It was time to savor the sweet warmth of love
from his fingertip tracings upon my skin
I'll begin my dot-to-dot journey at first light
when dawn paints the sky after darkness of night.
Dots like stars on the horizon will be pearlescent hues
all interlaced with shades of pastel lavenders and blues.
From that mark my tracing would take me aloft
to view the sea whose waves are curled and coifed.
A ribbon of specks then bounces from beach to beach,
where upon sandy shores the sea's fingers flow to reach.
To granite cliff tops my next dots would climb
where I'd walk in heathered meadows for a time.
Each step a new spot where my dotted tracings align.
The next ones will lead me to an evergreen forest of pine.
On soft pine needles, several dots will outline a bed,
and four more to make a soft pillow for my weary head.
I'll laze for a while, drawing more dots from flower to flower
until I travel along on the pixeled road for hour beyond hour.
My journey will be unscripted. The dots will have no plot.
They will ramble and scramble to wherever I choose to trot.
Inside a starting gate of horses, ready to race on a dirt track.
On and on I'll draw dots and never once bothering to look back.
More dots will I need as soon as the moon appears,
for not being able to reach her fills my heart with fears.
I'll stipple many pinpoints from moonbeam to moonbeam,
then follow with more of them from stars with a silvery gleam.
From morning's pale horizon, onto midnight's crest,
I'll make my way through the day then stop for a rest
to plan an alternate route to bring me back home again.
One that takes me winding through clouds and a gentle rain.
November 15, 2022
Dot to Dot Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues