Songs of Love from the Bottom of the Ocean, Inside the Asylum or Within the Armory

Collected Poems

This represents the sum total of all poems I have published on WordPress.

…(This post was inspired by several of my favorite bloggers…I trust you to know who you are…fellow bloggers who share this love affair with words, thoughts, meanings, and ideas. Chances are if you even think I am referring to you, I probably am, because you have inspired me in one way or another and I want to thank you all for it.) 😉

This Thing We Do with Words:
(the reprise)

We build bridges

from island to island

one word, one stone at a time.

We build monuments and temples

to Love and Lust,

Adventure and Power.

We can spin webs of intrigue

like giant subterranean spiders

with words artfully applied

and patterns beautiful to see

as Love seduces Logic

and Romance beguiles all Reason.

And tell tall tales

of days of old

of arts arcane and esoteric,

from ransom notes to love letters

charters, pacts and treaties.

A poem, a love letter and a plea for rescue,

a note wrapped up in a bottle,

flung into a sea of humanity,

awaiting reply

from my private island of exile

to you.

We can wax eloquently and long,

or we can get write down

and dirty.

Isn’t it such a beautiful thing

that we can do?

…this thing we do with words?

…free to be whatever we wish to be,

or be whatever you wish we were.

(I can be very flexible that way, you know)

Anonymous sex with words

spewed from invisible mouths

by mysterious lips and tongues

in a bathhouse of like-minded

wordsmiths.

When you touch me

I create you

in the most flatteringly imaginative ways

in my own image

and never worry about overstepping either’s bounds

because honey,

If you only knew what things I do

To and With each other with words,

and in our minds,

in real life,

it might be hard

to ever stopping slapping my face.

But in This Life,

trusting in the fact that whatever it is

I will cheer you on,

and vise-versa

Mon Cheri.

You have Carte Blanche

Chez mois….

(And trust me, I doubt that it violates any rules I know…)

but then again,

that pretty much leaves you free

to be with me as you please,

Madame Weasel…

meet Mister Weasel.

In my mind, your bottom is perfect

in your mind, every part is just right.

And everything is exactly the

the way we like it,

In My Perfect World.

While we do this thing we do with each other

with words.

We can touch each other so intimately

in such private places

deep within our psyches

with visions of forbidden acts

too emotionally dangerous

to allow,

except within our deepest

recesses

kept locked away in a dirty basement

beneath a haunted house

inside (y)our soul(s).

It’s Better Than Sex

only because it really isn’t,

but imagining what it Is in each other’s minds

each according to our own inferences

means that at least fifty percent

of what we get

is what we bring to this picnic.

Because there’s always more

inside this thing we do with words.

Mass media meets social networking

begetting Art

in a mad orgy of

words and thoughts

both sacred and profane.

Noble and Lofty

meats

Down and Dirty.

Spiritual and Ethereal

do a minuet

with

Finite and Practical,

making Voyeurs into Voyagers

and Fellow Travelers

of us all.

This thing we do with words,

My F(r))iend

allows us to span continents, universes

and alternate realities

in an instant that is less than an instant

that arrives before it leaves

and never stops coming

(or cumming).

This thing we do with words

spoken with love

will one day

teach us to love our enemies

once we realize

We all are one.

So even if you say

“FUCK YOU!”

I can either take it as a compliment,

an enticement,

or just smile like I do when I watch a

monkey jacking off at the zoo.

We all are One.

So thanks for the handjob.

We can praise or we can criticize,

condone, condom or condemn.

We can teach, touch, (p)reach and multiply

and be bountiful

and all it costs

is the price of baring your soul

and opening your eyes and your mind

and inviting me in,

be I vampire

or Pilgrim

fallen angel,

or

grateful worshipper,

or referee

for that fight you’ve been having

with yourself in your mind.

I am here for you

my friend

my brother

my sister

my mother

my father

my mentor

my co-conspirator,

fellow prankster

and lover.

I love this thing we do with words…

If I had to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

*****************************************************************

Justa Juxtaposition
Scratch & Sniff
Snatch & Sniff
Snatch & Stiff
Blissed.

Sounds by Charlie Mingus
While performing Cunnilingus
You worshipping my Dingus
Come Inside and Cum Inside.
A liter of Tequila and
A bucketful of Oysters
To make us both quite boisterous
All I require is You.

Kush, Cocaine and Fellatio
Will get you by no matter
where you go.
It’s no accident they call it Blow
But it’s better when you Suck.

*****************************************************************

Final Confessions, Rants, Lost Rights, Last Rites and Wrongs

And so he witnesses Trauma,
as he heals their trauma,
and in so doing, suffers trauma,
and also inflicts trauma, all of which affect him
in different ways that are also the same;
and those effects resonate among themselves,
regenerating sums, and differences,
as well as products of their interface;
heterodynes and overtones alike.
Eventually, the effects become overwhelming
…a symphony of broadband noise
resonating and harmonizing within itself within our beings.
Perception is the Mother of Harmonization.
Recognition is the Father.
Their children are the players.
Improvisation is the Dirty Cousin with secrets to share,
(like the knowledge of Good and Evil
…and Jazz.)
Music is the Family that Plays Together.

*****************************************************************

My Angel

Angel of Mercy

Angel of Death

Sweet Angel gonna carry me

across That River

To the Other Side.

I’m in no hurry,

but don’t feel no Fear.

I know your face

I seen you before.

You told me back then

If I make you come again

You’re gonna have to make me go

but you’ll be taking me there with you

and I don’t blame you at all,

It’s just your job

it’s not your fault

your job is tough

but you make it look

so easy

All you have to do is smile.

Give me the Nod and Wink

I’ll offer you my arm

As we walk away in style.

*****************************************************************

Torch Song

When I met you,
my eyes were already
Wide Open,
which probably explains
Why
I was so Blinded
by All the Stars….

********************************************************************************

My Oldest Friend

My Oldest Friend is the youngest person I know.
“Running Mates”, some people would call us.
Partners (often in crime)
in every endeavor for as long as I can remember,
we were co-conspirators
in every Dirty Deed I have ever done
or been “falsely accused”
since the beginning of Time.
Taught me shape-shifting
before I was five years old
and “relative invisibility”
shortly after that.
Went on every excursion I ever took
from Astral Travel To Acid Trip
from Santeria to Salvation.

Most of my other friends are afraid of him
and warned me that
our acquaintance was conjured in Hell.
You can see the terror in their eyes.
So enigmatic that they cannot even tell
if “he” is male or female…
(When he talks to me, he sounds like Eddie Griffin…)
and he always has enough Havana Cohiba’s
for both of us
…and Dark Rum
from a bottle so old
it was hand-blown…
it has a cork that he pulls out with his teeth
and it always looks about half-full.

“Mista Chazz…”
he calls me
through a smile
full of long pearly-white shark teeth
as the smile becomes a grin
just a red cunt-hair’s breadth short of a sneer,
“We sure do strike sparks everywhere we go.
I wish they would let me
take an assistant,
but MANAGEMENT sez no…
such a pity, but no matter,
I go everywhere you go
just because I like ya;
I go everywhere else because I have to;
…even when you was a baby
you were never afraid of me
even though your folks
couldn’t see me
…funny thing, like that, ain’t it?
Maybe they’ll let you be my assistant
when it’s Your Time.”

I remember feeling him walking on my shadow
that night in Pompano
as we walked through that apartment building
police everywhere…
around the pool…
chalk line around the stains
that hadn’t even dried yet…
cops hanging out on the stairs
smoking cigarettes
like all the big stuff was over…
the bust was over…
now it’s paperwork
and reports and debriefings…
cops just milking the job…
walked right in with me
to that apartment
on the other side of the building…
a half-dozen detectives standing around
shooting the shit about the shooting…
just walked right in and bought a forty-piece
like it was fucking bubble-gum
right under their noses
and walked right back out…
Holding…
just like that.
He’s always there with me
every place I never should have been.

As I get older
I know there will come a time
when MANAGEMENT will insist…
retirement time…
My Friend will come
to take me to the other side…
he says that what we don’t realize
is that for the first six months
you can’t stop laughing
just looking back on it all
especially The Fear.

He says that as long as I can keep up
then we’re cool
because I amuse him
and I sense a certain detached admiration…
he says I make the time he spends on this side fun…
for now.

This may be the longest introduction
for The One Who Needs No Introduction.
He is the Harvester
the Guy with the Clam Rake…
the Butterfly Net…
the Spear, the Lasso, or the Scythe…
we have been friends
since before my parents were born.

Some time back
I started to realize
that my friend was with me
even when I didn’t realize it
’cause did that shape-shifting thing again
and caught me by surprise
by coming to me as a woman…
knew I wouldn’t be cool with that…
couldn’t feature it…
(especially thinking back on some of the things we did)
…but really, that was my fault
because I made Everything
in My Own Image….

Somebody like that
doesn’t really need a body of their own
when they can just act
through the others that come to you
from what seems like out of nowhere…
and now here.

So I told My Friend
that when it was My Time
to please come to me as a woman…
she doesn’t even have to be beautiful…
soulful will do just fine…
It’s just not my nature to Surrender…
willingly, except to a woman…
something which I have been doing
since before the first time
I was ejected from the Garden.

This Is Nobody’s First Rodeo…
but for the ones who haven’t realized it yet
it might as well be…
everything that has or ever will happen
is happening right now…
Always…
My Friend and I
have been doing this ever since
always
and Your Time
is Always Just Around the Corner.
Every Day is Judgment Day.

*****************************************************************

I Reach Out to Touch You

My words reach out to touch you
in places
No flesh can ever penetrate.
My heart sings songs
whose notes seek
the most moist and pink
recesses of your soul.
My passions fly to you
on wings of every kind,
Fashioned of whimsy
and gentle affection
to hover high above you,
awaiting their moment, to
impale themselves deeply
into the most inaccessible crevices
of your Mind,
furrowing ever deeper
ever wetter, seeking
the origin of your
hidden desires,
dripping nectar of WonderLust
and oil of Onan.
That my words inquisitively violate
your ears like my fingers
tickling your lobes
As I feel the lips of your brain
wrap themselves around
me.
Searching for that
Sweet Spot…
Deep inside
Your Psyche.
In a Place before Words.
Before Ideas.
Before Thought.
Just This,
Only This.
Our Hearts Touch.
Our spirits mingle
and explore each other
like children playing Doctor.
Wherever we can hide.
Whenever we can steal the time.
When we are apart
I go to those secret places
we’ve known.
Those affectionately curious
dirty places that know not of shame,
or guilt, or Sin or Regret.

*****************************************************************

The Warm-Up Act for the Aristocrats (…or Low-Brow High-Diving)

I had to push an oyster through a coin slot

to go on my favorite ride,

The Monkey with Two Backs.

The boardwalk was teeming

with inquisitors that night,

but I had a little Time to Kill

before we went onstage.

The sign said

You have to be THIS BIG

to go on this ride,

which should have been no problem,

until I learned I had to stand up

to qualify.

We did

The Monkey Dance

Like there was No Tomorrow

and for all I knew that night,

there was none,

and if there hadn’t been

I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

By the time I got inside the theater

My friends were already

Performing like Porn Stars.

I stood there gawking behind her

as she bent over

leaning forward

on her knees,

swallowing

the Anaconda.

Her face was turned away from me,

but her blind eye

winked knowingly,

inviting me

to come inside,

like a starfish

doing jumping-jacks.

Mister Weasel’s French cousin

Monsieur Huis’elle was

Patiently awaiting

A nod, a wink

and a flash of pink

From Madame Huis’elle

(she is no mere Mademoiselle, to be sure)

to mount Jacob’s ladder

and climb

the Tower of Babel

to perch on the platform,

wings spread

like an Anhinga,

as I launched myself into the rafters,

poised for the longest of instants

hanging in midair,

I imagined I was

diving out of a midnight-black sky

so full of stars you couldn’t count them all

in a hundred centuries,

straight down

into a single clam

naked

Laid Wide-Open,

and slathered with salty butter

on two half-shells.

Ta-Dah!

(she was delicious).

*****************************************************************

Pandora’s Box

Pandora’s Box

We were children when first we opened Pandora’s Box,

Precocious, Curious, Unselfconscious,

and Unsuspecting.

We had already learned

How to fashion

make-believe armor

from Sarcasm and Cynicism

to cover hearts

Too tender

for their own

Good.

I remember the morning you stood outside my window

asking if I could come out and play.

The sunshine lit your smiling face like

Heaven,

and I had a new friend who made me laugh

and long for adventures yet undiscovered.

We found Pandora’s Box down in the basement

One rainy day in January,

but we took it up to the attic

to try to find a way to pry open the lid.

The instant we started

the most amazing, blinding light came pouring out

Like a nuclear blast

Bathing us in cool fire.

We were so excited

and couldn’t wait to discover more.

As we threw open the lid

the room was filled with Angels and Wizards,

Majic and Mischief, Dragons and Drama.

and the Music was from another world,

familiar, but unrecognizable

It mesmerized us both

until we were hypnotized

in a trace from which we thought there was

no escape

because we sought none.

When we opened Pandora’s Box

we created such a ruckus

that we were banned from both the basement and the attic

But once that majic had been let out

there was no way to get it all back in.

It just refused to go.

Something there is that does not wish it so

To be confined or limited

or be told NO.

But as much as I miss the box,

I miss our friendship more.

*****************************************************************

If it’s Love that You’re Running From, There can be no Hiding Place….

(Peter Tosh said that, because eventually all manifestations and phenomena seek resolution, or a moment of stasis, and Love is no exception…you can run but you can’t hide…because Love can be unrelenting. And infinitely patient.)

(Patience enables us to see beyond what is now, to focus on what could be….)

“…And your Problems, are no one else’s problems.

They’re only yours to Face…”

Yet it is Love that unites us wherever we go

no matter what we do.

“So if you’ll just put your hand in mine
we’re gonna leave all our troubles behind”

In our hearts we can do no wrong,

we face no shame;

we know no guilt

“We’re gonna walk and don’t look back”

*****************************************************************

This is More

I would miss a cool ocean breeze on my face,

or the warmth of the sun.

I would miss tequila

or the sweet smell of Kush.

I would miss oysters,

Naked, Wet, and glistening,

awaiting My Desire.

I would miss those high-speed

runs along the beach

Going much too fast,

with the top down at night.

I would miss Romance confounding

All Reason,

Or Love Seducing Logic.

I would miss the moon,

or the feel of the night air in Summer.

But This is More.

My heart aches for you.

And nothing else

can make it better.

*****************************************************************

L’Huitre

There she lay

Splayed open upon two half-shells,

My bi-Polar Bivalve

Naked and glistening

Sans even her pearl.

It is she who is

the gem of the ocean.

As I kneel before her,

Savoring the delicious aroma

Of her salty juices

reminiscent

Of the sea

from which she was borne

Overlaid upon

A sweet musk

Like no other.

My mouth aches

To taste her.

My lips long

To kiss her,

And my tongue

Desires to speak to her

In her native language

في مكان حيث أن الكلمات لا معنى لها،

(In a place where words have no meaning,)

But purpose is meaning.

We share an eternity

in a moment

within eternity.

Expressing our Mutual Admiration.

Upon her shell

she is Aphrodite.

and

I am an appreciative

Gourmand.

*****************************************************************

Dialogues

Sunday morning, I found myself stuck so badly it hurt…

I felt adrift to nowhere in particular,

and even the Now Here felt like No where…

Nowhere.

Out of Nowhere

a song bird perched

upon my shoulder.

She whispered a cautious introduction

and engaged me with questions

that were also answers.

Inspiration.

To Inspire

Is to breathe in.

Sometimes

To breathe life back in.

Gratitude.

*****************************************************************

Your Birthday

08/04/13

Long before you became the mother of our children,
our eyes met, our souls touched, my heart melted,
our worlds collided, and time stood still.
Everything since has been
The unfolding of that moment.
You give Life.
You are Life.
You give Love.
You are Love.
You are
the Goddess.

*****************************************************************

The Church of Reason

The Church of Reason
What is it?

The diametric opposition of

circumstances beyond our control,

that one should live

so another may die?

One may eat

so another

may find new meanings in the Last Supper?

(Guess who’s coming to dinner?)

You.

(Guess what’s for dinner?)

You.

What is it?

Truth?

Go eat your Truth

some hungry morning.

The Lords of the Church of Reason

all too often

find themselves

Smart,

So others may be found Ignorant.

We claim to love the Truth.

The Church of Reason only teaches facts,

and although

it espouses Thought Unconsummated,

Memory is the well-worn lessor concubine,

paramour

to a Queen,

the familiar and obvious

eclipsing the radiant unknown.

Is not The Way.

It does not teach The Way.

It does not love The Way.

The Church of Reason is a prison of addictions

from which you must free yourself

to be worthy,

yet still wise.

Love and Logic

Romance and Reason

A midnight marriage

The Ritual Dance

The Ways of Majic

Science gives us what we think we need to think.

Religion gives us what we need to think we want.

Knowledge surpasses all.

Knowledge of facts a tool,

Knowledge of Experience the means

justifying the end.

Data

is not Information.

Information

is not Knowledge.

Knowledge

is not Truth.

Truth

is not Wisdom.

Wisdom

is not Beauty.

Beauty

is not Love.

Love

is not Music.

Music

is not Data.

Enlightenment

is not The Everlasting Kiss.

*****************************************************************

Spring Dream

Spring rolls in like mist on a lake.

Dawn belongs to the Spring.

The renewal of Life

to awake from long hibernation.

It’s all a dream

of waking from a dream

where sleeping is all that we knew.

Spring is a cat stalking the first robin of the season.

Spring is skinny-dipping on a Nooner.

Impulse impaled on a ritual

electric, yet primeval,

Romance confounding all Reason.

Vibrant intensity balancing cool hues of pastel

Caution giving way to Compulsion,

Heaven infiltrating Hell.

It’s all a dream…it’s only a dream

that smart lives forbid us to tell.

Spring is as moist as the forbidden honey of a passionate tryst

consummated going home from a funeral…

A cry of joyous outrage

railing against tedious Death.

Spring is the most recent

loss of Innocence,

naughty, and yet still naïve.

Stolen kisses on a warm afternoon.

The days we most love to remember.

It’s all a dream.

The lewdest of dreams

from which we do not wish

to awaken.

We spring to action

and come to Life.

The fountain of life is but a spring.

The clock would stop

but for its ever-taught

spring, and

Hope springs defiantly eternal

as a song springs to our lips.

Spring isn’t as much a season

as it is new eyes

with which we view

our same old wintry lives.

It’s all a dream of dream within a dream.

If you’re lucky

you’ll never awaken.

Sculpture
Sculpture (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Double Dream of Spring
The Double Dream of Spring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A still from the skinny dipping scene.

*****************************************************************

The Mouse Eats Cat-Food, But the Cat-Bowl is Broken

(Inspired by the words of Seung Sahn)

A street-peddler shouts,

announcing his arrival.

Inside the house

a child cries.

His mother hears them both,

and gathers coins.

She calls out to the peddler.

Money becomes Candy.

Candy becomes Money.

The child’s tears were Salty,

But the Candy is Sweet.

A quarter is still twenty-five cents.

*****************************************************************

Redemption/ADDICTION

A voice spoke to me from out of a dream.

“She is your Salvation.

She is your Redemption.

If you can show her the True Path

you will find Happiness.”

Because I believed I needed

Redemption,

I desired the Knowledge

to find the True Path.

Because I sought to attain

Salvation,

I struggled to attain

Enlightenment.

And because I desired

her love,

I found myself forever

seeking her Approval

and Favor in vain.

Without Sin,

there is no need for

Salvation.

Without Guilt,

no need for

Redemption.

Free of the bondage that has made prisoners of us both.

If I seek Approval and Favor,

I empower her rejections.

In so doing, I enslave her

to her own desires for Power.

She loves me,

She loves me not.

The dog runs after the bone

long after the arrow has passed downtown.

Do not try to hit the Moon with a stick.

In the Spring,

when the Rains come,

the grass grows everywhere

all by itself.

What is Love?

Already you know.

It is just like this.

*****************************************************************

NOTHING

Knowing how to teach by not speaking,

sometimes non-actions speak louder

than no words at all.

Sometimes silence is mightier than the pen.

A frog jumps into a still pond.

The sound drowns out the words

of all the Bodhisattvas

and all the Buddhas.

Full to the top with emptiness,

Words are a mustache on the Buddha.

If you find yourself trying to conduct a chorus of pigs,

walk away.

The pigs may never thank you for it,

But they will be happier,

And so will you.

*****************************************************************

Unfinished Business

Goodbye?…I’ll Leave the light On….

If we should never meet or speak again,

I would not sadly think

of days and nights

unspent together,

but rather fondly reminisce

Who we Were

and what we meant

to each other.

And how we felt

when souls first touch,

long before our lips or bodies meet,

and everything was new and fresh.

We searched for understanding,

acknowledgement, and appreciation,

finding it

in each other’s eyes.

We came together

in Innocence.

We started as friends.

We ended as lovers.

If we must go our separate ways,

Take comfort in what we knew and who we were.

It is yours alone

to keep.

No one can take that from you,

Not even me.

********************************************************************************

How I Found Happiness through Lowered Expectations

“There is no need for attainment with nothing to attain.”

(Seung Sahn)

*****

When Dreams become Expectations

we set aside Gratitude to be replaced with Envy.

When wishes and desires

become tyrants

we become slaves to Suffering,

held down by the chains of covetousness

pulling us beneath the waters of Despair,

too blinded by Greed to recognize

the lifeboat of Opportunity

awaiting only

recognition and acknowledgement.

A dream without a plan

is a sparrow’s fart

in a hurricane,

but a dream with a plan

is a goal

that is both patient and tireless

and willing to accept

course corrections

like a sailboat tacking into the wind.

“You’re not the Man I thought you were…”

said she.

“Then open your heart to love the Man I am”

he said.

“…or love me not at all,

if it should bring you sorrow,

for I am a living, mutable changing being,

not trophy to be hung upon your wall.”

*****

Even as the moon shall wax and wane

according to her nature

if we should grow apart

gratitude provides the cadence

and patience sets the meter

as acceptance

awaits

the return of

our song.

All is impermanence.

Impermanence is all.

The Uroboros

reminds us we shall meet again.

The Phoenix

teaches us how.

To learn to enjoy Nothing

when we realize

that in having nothing,

we have Nothing in common

except the gratitude

that no one can take from us

for knowing the joy

of the seemingly

random coincidence

of having collided in the first place

with no expectations

in the midst of nothing in particular

where Nothing is everywhere.

In that moment we are rich

in our abundance of Nothing.

Be like the Willow

or swim with the tide.

Do not curse

the waters that carry you away

as you swim so hard against the tide,

only to drown

before you have the opportunity

to wash upon my shore again,

or me to yours.

It matters not

which way or how.

The sting of the pangs of nostalgia

that causes us to sigh

and shed a tear

for that which once was

reminds us of its beauty

so we can recognize it once again.

As we gratefully and patiently

welcome its return

if it should be,

and teach us how to be

in that timeless state of grace

that is ours

without asking.

Without demands.

Without expectations.

In the meantime.

*****************************************************************

Apologia

Even if you aren’t reading this,

…this moment,

…these words…

this testament

is for all of you,

as well as for each of you…

the heroines

of all my never-ending

torch songs.

Perhaps I wasn’t your best friend after all,

but not for nothing…

you can’t say I didn’t try.

I’m a weaver of dreams,

a conjuror of spells,

but I fear that

the realities

I brought you

did not live up

to the Great Expectations

I inspired

until I had thoroughly

disappointed

the Dickens out of you.

“I’m sorry”

I say

“Is there nothing I can do?”

I ask

as you sadly shake your head (“no”).

(Also not for nothing)

as a small part of me dies

inside.

This is what I do

time and again.

‘til you’d think

I’d grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so very,

very…very weary

of letting you down again.

I didn’t want to be that guy…

after all…

I was the guy who taught you

Grand Theft Auto

(and not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or

fishing, or

smuggling,

or diving

or hunting

or running guns

or forbidden contraband

across state lines,

screwing

like cats in heat

at turnpike rest stops,

driving too many hours

with too little sleep

were it not for

“better living through chemistry”.

You were the first to jump right in with me

scoring,

or eating

or snorting

or smoking

or shooting

or vaporizing

whatever magic

helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalklines

to do the Devil’s bidding

like it was a game of (hip-) hop-scotch;

when copping a feel

or stolen kisses

still took

our breath away.

I was the guy

your parents

warned you about

even after they found me

charming, witty

and bright,

because they didn’t know

I was that other guy…

Of course that was

a big part

of the appeal….

I was the Serpent in the Garden

and you were my

Primordial Eve.

You became my

co-conspirator.

You followed me to

sleazy clubs

in basements

underground

or

practice houses

in bad neighborhoods,

a haunted house

way out in the country

next to a cemetery

where

no one else would live

or warehouse districts

or

wherever I could find a place

to play guitar

so loud you thought your

eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks

afterward,

where we would hold out

like outlaws

day and night.

You went with me

to pistol ranges,

rifle ranges,

and dojos,

living in houses

filled with

guns and ammo

(not the magazine….),

the walls of entire rooms

lined with amplifiers to the ceiling,

guarded by dangerous-looking dogs

who loved you

almost as much as me

and

would have killed for you

just as you would have for me

or I for you

even when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story

and there was a knife and a gun

in every drawer

and under each pillow.

We slept in tents,

on floors

in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments

overlooking the bay

that we could never afford

were it not for the

generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together.

We made porn together

and everything we did

was either Art or Music.

We painted everything in sight.

We sketched and photographed

each other

while we played and sang

with such conviction

I don’t know how

our hearts didn’t burst.

We learned to dance

the Apocalypso

on the razor’s edge

‘til dawn

and got up and did it

all over again.

We drove way too fast

through downtown traffic

any time of day

whichever way we were going,

or late at night

along the beach

or up on the Interstate,

illuminated by

flamingo-pink

sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways

overlooking Biscayne Bay

just long enough

to remind each other of who we were

and just where we were

just then.

When every moment alive together

was a miracle.

We fucked on the perimeter road

around MIA

with the planes

maybe a hundred feet

above our heads,

engines screaming

and one eye

looking out for cops

with nothing better to do

than to wish

they could have been us.

No matter where we went

or what we did

it seemed like

I could talk my way

into or out of

anywhere or anything

and charm the birds

from out of the trees,

particularly

if it meant staying out of jail

…or worse

(and most especially if I thought

it might impress you.)

But most of all,

I let every one of you down

in one way or another.

…so many memories

of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it all out later….

I played grasshopper to your ant

well into our winter of discontent.

It didn’t turn out

happily ever after…

it never has

and probably never will,

for me or you….

Maybe it never does.

I just hope you can look back

and remember

those few golden moments we shared

with the same fondness,

with the same lack of reservations

we shared back then

before we gave a thought

to how it all might end,

because it was the beginnings

and everything

in between

that made it all worthwhile

for me…

and each ending too beautifully

poignantly sad

to just be forgotten

back when I was just me

and you were just you

before we ever thought about tomorrow….

If I had the chance

to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

It just took me too long to realize

that just not being

a bad person

didn’t

necessarily

make me

a very good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

Quite a few did some of it with me.

A few did most of it with me.

Who can say they did all of it,

and gave their all

with all of me?

(You know who you are,

n’est-ce pas?)

Just you…

Because before there was you and me,

Darlin’

each one of the others

saw something special

to show me about myself

that took me higher,

‘tho some cut me low

before they were thru.

But I cannot deny

each one didn’t teach me

a thing or two

I hadn’t yet learned

so that maybe

it wouldn’t happen

the same way

to me and you.

So here we are now

just you and just me

and those wantonly

willing hostages

whomever

we take

as we continue

together

until

The End.

*****************************************************************

Rumors of my Death are Somewhat Exaggerated

In the midst of chaos

my quest continues.

If all things return to the One

to where does the One return?

?

?

?

Zero

*****************************************************************

How to Breathe Underwater

You were perched on your rock

when I came upon you,

ready to dive

into the water,

skinny-dipping

in the late mid-morning.

The sun had evaporated the morning dew

and the air was heavy with vapor.

You tried to cover your nakedness

at first

but I was not

the kind of gentleman to look away

once I had already recognized you first.

You seemed to sense that it was I

and your shoulders drooped

as your hands fell away

from your tender parts

with a soft, sweet sigh

and you smiled that smile

I hadn’t seen

in too many lifetimes to recall.

We later named that rock Reality.

I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone there

that day.

I thought it was my special place

alone.

You blushed and giggled

as you looked over your shoulder,

then winked

and dove right under.

I stripped and followed you right in.

I found you waiting for me there

very deep in the pond,

halfway to the bottom

where the water was still clear

and the sun shone down

illuminating us both,

our eyes open wide and

your smile so broad…

When we touched,

we kissed for so long

that you started to gasp

and struggle

to reach the surface,

clearly panicked…

afraid for your life.

I smiled and said

“What’s your hurry, my dear?”

“This is our dream you know…”

“Only a dream?”

you asked, almost tearfully.

“It’s all a dream of a dream

within a dream…

Now breathe in

and realize your true power.

After this we can fly

like Peter and Wendy

as naked as jaybirds

until we are dry…”

“…But only a dream?”

you repeated again,

(and this time I really thought you would cry…)

“What do you mean

only a dream?”

“Reality is for people who can’t handle

Romance.”

“You can live in fear

of what might happen

and chances are

nothing will.”

“Nothing at all…”

“Ever.”

Swim with me.

Dream we are dolphins

until you learn to dream

of breathing underwater.

Fly with me.

Do not be afraid.

It isn’t the fall that hurts

it’s the sudden stop

at the end of the dream

we never want to end.

Stand on the edge of the volcano,

or swing on the swing

at the end of the world

with me.

We can jump

or fly away as we choose.

We can do the Ghost Dance together in Dreamland

until the detonation

sweeps us all away.

*****************************************************************

Gratitude Revisited

This morning,

I bathed…

in gratitude.

This morning

I

bathed in

gratitude.

This morning

I

bathed

in gratitude.

(This

morning

I

bathed

in

gratitude.)

I have

more hot water than I can ever use.

It was

cleaner than

what most of the rest of the world

drinks.

As much as I want

for as long as I want.

No need to build a fire.

No water to carry.

In as much privacy as I desire

(…or not)

No bugs,

No muck,

No rocks,

No algae,

No broken glass,

No leeches,

No flaccid condoms

hanging in branches

or washed up on the shoreline.

No eels to swim up my piss-hole.

No hillbilly voyeurs,

nor Peking Toms.

(As much as I love Nature,

with my imagination

“Mother Nature

has the ultimate potential to be

A Real Mother-Fucker.”)

And as much as I love her,

she always makes me stay

on my guard…

or face the possible consequences,

of her decisions.

There were soaps, perfumes

and emollients

of my choice.

and

hot water

in which I was not afraid to sit

(by placing my bottom on its’….).

No fear.

All my preoccupations

are

now

partially suspended

in time

and

this abundance

of hot, steamy water.

And gratitude.

*****************************************************************

We are All Here for a Reason.

Of course,

in the universal sense

this is always true,

but herein I refer to my

Cabin in the Woods,

a trailer park of Lost Souls

far enough off the beaten path

to render solitude,

anonymity,

or perhaps even forgiveness

to all who enter here.

***

Commercial fishermen

who drink a little too much

for their former spouse’s liking,

with restraining orders

and children they can no longer visit.

Here,

everyone is somebody else’s

ex-something-or-other.

Recycled hopes and dreams

and

households financed

by disability checks

and structured settlements,

where rainbow children

of every shade and hue

play in the yard

with lovingly devoted

pit-bull dogs

beside a car on blocks

that Mama’s boyfriend

is gonna fix someday

after he gets up

from his nap.

***

Disabled Viet Nam veterans

with hidden wounds that

will never heal,

tattoos and scars

or maybe a limp,

nightmares

that never end,

and that

thousand-yard stare

that betrays the pain

they never willingly show.

***

Widows and spinsters

who live for their flower gardens

and cats

to replace the children

who never call or visit,

the husband who died

or ran away,

or the gentleman caller

that never showed up.

***

Divorcee’s

whose husbands

fucked

their best friend,

their sister,

or even

their daughter

or who couldn’t

stand to be left alone

when their husbands

went to work too long

while the cable was off.

***

Rock stars who fell to earth.

Fallen Angels

with burnt wings.

Porn actresses

from the

Nineties

who knew Ron Jeremy

on more than a first-name basis,

and have the videos to prove it.

…and so much love to give…

(if you can pierce their armor)

their hearts

melt like butter in the sun

if you simply befriend them

without agenda

or guile,

because they’ve heard it all before,

and they’ve done it all before

in the name of fame and fortune,

but just for once,

if they could do it all over again

for Love,

they’d

do it all over you.

***

Enough Ink on skin

between them all

to write

War and Peace

in longhand.

There’s a story

for every tattoo

and all the time in the world

to tell each one of them,

with nothing better to do.

***

Their combined tears

could drown the

Lake of Fire,

and yet they still prefer to laugh,

and gladly share

their Nothingness,

their time,

their weed

or booze

or dope

or bodies

like philanthropic millionaires.

***

Misery doesn’t just

love company,

it thrives on it

and makes them stronger

than

most of the privileged

crybabies

I knew

in better times

and more prosperous days.

***

This place

where I have landed

is more like

a campground

for refugees

driven from their

homelands

by

“the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune…”

who refuse to die

and can’t really seem to win,

but continue to try.

(That’s what the Lotto is for.)

***

The walls are so thin

on these foil-covered

cardboard boxes we call

home;

there can be no secrets

between us,

but no shortage

of excuses,

denials

or lies

told mostly for our own benefit

as we wander

on the tar-clad paths

between

these aluminum tents

like spaced-out

space-age Indians

with permanent

reservations

in temporary domiciles.

***

Home is where

the Art is.

Life is what

you make

of what you get.

And Love

is everywhere,

running like a river

of blood

in the streets

flowing

from all the broken hearts

that have ever lived

or ever will.

*****************************************************************

Balderdash?

Those who describe their excuses

as reasonable

usually find

Reason

almost as impossible

to attain

as their chances of

satisfaction or future success

as they drown in an abundance

of excuses

devoid of Reason.

*****************************************************************

Almost Nothing

Once

it seemed like

nothing was ever good enough,

and I suffered greatly

in the midst of plenty.

Experience

has taught me

that Almost Nothing

is more than enough

if you surround yourself

with gratitude.

*****************************************************************

Dharma for a Friend: お待ちください 忍耐、お願い

You seek the Ultimate Truth.

Instead you discover the

Ultimate Void.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

This is truth

but it is not the Ultimate Truth.

Form is Form,

Emptiness is Emptiness.

Form is Emptiness,

Emptiness is Form.

No Form,

No Emptiness.

Only

The Void.

What comes next?

Madness and Magic.

Trade back your Reason for Instinct.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

A dog howls at the moon.

The sound drowns out

All the voices of all the Buddhas.

Patience please.

忍耐、お願い

Your words speak volumes

of questions seeking answer.

The earth beneath your feet

bleeds with each step you take.

You feel the pain as I feel yours.

Everything is just like this.

See yourself

as the main character

in the novel of your life

as you have written it,

as you are

in all your unselfconsciousness.

See yourself outside your ego.

Stand naked before yourself

Protecting nothing.

Defending nothing.

Justifying nothing.

Ashamed of nothing.

Embarrassed by nothing.

Embrace your self-imagined imperfections,

just as you are.

Forgive yourself of everything.

You must stand outside yourself to do this.

As you do,

ask yourself

“Who am I now?”

“Who is asking this question?”

No words can describe your understanding.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

Patience Please.

忍耐、お願い

As you stand in Dreamland

you see the detonation.

You feel the blast

as everything you knew

is blown away

by the Crown of Destruction.

In the stillness

of the void

before the backrush

of Nothing Special,

suddenly you see

everything

is exactly

as it is.

I am doing the

Ghost Dance

for you

in Dreamland.

Life Returns

all by itself.

Baraka Bashad.

*****************************************************************

(as of March, 2014)

The Iron Dragon Voice Recognition Project

Recently I began attempting to utilize the speech recognition function of my computer to dictate text.
This is completely new ground for me, and I was fascinated.

This is the Iron Dragon Project result:

*****
True on and all,

Too true 2

be true.

This is going to be eight to two attached

and the howl for the old ones who weren’t.

Iron dragons can be humans

who buy in bulk and buy one another.

Lately he’d been feeling

like an imaginary dinosaur

so out of date that he couldn’t even scare

a five-year old girl.

(Let’s face it…

after Pixar,

how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm

after they’ve seen

Monsters Inc.?)

Thank you.

***

And you and you might be wrong

if you were among the One

that will allow them to believe

this can be done to learn more than one,

or the dragon in the garden may be a man…

is he our own only hope

that can help our town?

Take anything on the day

and it still leaves us poor

and unrecognizable

to my original text

(which is pretty good for a Mayan.)

***

Tensions thee into my mission

and an avid listen

to become one with the machine

which

in their words

might become a bump on a node

in their worlds;

a bogey on the radar

or give a madman time to ship,

were she to tell it all.

***

Dick you.

(that was thank-you, btw)

…mad that really only you

have been equally

compensated

and that early on

you’re more on the money

on the back F.U.N. and Y

(“funny”)

than all the rest

that ever were.

***

And so it goes from where it ends.

Hula room deliveries

buried on an

old fairgrounds

captured

in a faded photograph.

You don’t know how

to interpret the butt of a joke,

meaning something early on

that makes

me so horney….

And let’s let poor

caveman Ug alone,

(let alone the Ug woman)

and her ugly Ug boots,

and the older elder too

and that old lady who

laughed

when laugh launched luna.

***

Run one thing on

to

try something on

fun fun fun

as a loan on laughter

in a letter that said

fun is dead

and you can’t play on

fun fun fun alone,

but the challenge to him was that this

…this the…

…this Italian leather dealer

in each letter on a letter

adds up.

…the AIM’s not even close…

but this

intention

could have made a difference,

(…but it didn’t.)

***

I’m not having loved all of this and more.

I’m not loving this.

If you would treat me

as an acute writers group

…maybe God already knew…

if so,

then dial me up

but

you have no clue…

No one meant that as a car wreck, children.

No!…

(I was saying that was a correct assumption…)

And by her now this is goodbye for now…

Logo and you finally

get right question.

Goodbye?

(Something there is that does not love auto-correct dictation)

*****************************************************************

And then I Saw Myself

One morning

traveling along the road to work

I saw a man

pushing two shopping carts

connected along the top

by two

2X4’s

held together

with bungee cords.

It was quite an ingenious affair

with about three feet

separating the two carts

allowing him to hang

clothes and other items

that were covered with garbage bags

from the boards

in the space

between

the carts.

***

Judging from his tan

and the way he was dressed

I suspected

that even if he had a

specific destination

it was not a permanent one.

I thought

how peculiar

to still try to hold onto

so much

with no place to keep it all.

Both the carts were

filled with bags

full of items

protected from the rain

and the elements.

I suspected

it must have been difficult

to choose

between

what to keep

and take with him

and what to leave

as he set out

on this journey

to nowhere

in particular.

***

We were traveling so fast

the first time I saw him

that I only had time to notice him

before he was far behind us.

Several days later,

I passed him again.

This time I slowed down

so as to allow me

an opportunity

to take his picture

with his bizarre

caravan.

As I did, he turned to face me.

…and then I saw myself….

*****************************************************************

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

*****************************************************************

Guerilla Tracks

My world is filled with ghosts

and demons

of past lives

that were lived only a few years ago.

Every song has a chronology

a timeline

a place in time

the connecting ties

are so thin

they can rarely be seen.

My life has been

an on-going film

for years now.

The last few years

have been pretty crappy

in some ways,

and yet I am always given

to recalling

a high, fine

moment

when I felt so alive

that the other

crashes

and heartbreaks

were inaudible

compared to the crushes

and heartbeats

of any of those

lost years.

***

Every painting

every sculpture,

every film

reminds me not only

of times within this present life

a half a lifetime ago,

but somehow

whisks me away

to foreign lands and

times I can only vaguely recall

given that they were

occurring many years

before I was born.

***

The ancient Ones

are with me now

as I sit alone

when you are gone.

As I stare at the screen

they rush up to the sides of me

sometimes even peeking in

around the corners

of my glasses

or standing quietly

in the shadows

on the periphery

of my vision,

choosing to move only to breathe

just enough to make sure I notice them.

I feel a weightless hand

upon my shoulder,

and we both sigh.

I wonder

“Who is it now?

This time?”

I am not afraid

any longer,

and I can now breathe

while they are in the room.

So many years

I recoiled from

our mutual

recognition…

…afraid.

“Of what?”

I ask myself

only to realize

my worst terror

is from withinside

of me.

***

I gasp within

as I realize

how much

is gone.

A dim engram

tucked deep away

in my psyche.

And I breathe deeply

and I am there.

For a moment.

***

Sleep calls seductively

to me.

For once,

I am ready to embrace the dreams.

*****************************************************************

Midnight at Noon and Morning at Midnight

Just as the moon

blocks the radiation

of our closest star

and

we are plunged into darkness,

so also do we obscure

the view

of

our baby sister

the moon‘til we cannot see

her face

at all,

leaving us

in

mo(u)rning at midnight.

*****

As we eclipse each other

we are either left

blind

or alone.

What is cryptic and occult now

only increases desire

for illumination

as tension and temptation

compound and confront

time with impatience.

*****

If I open my mouth

to explain what this means,

I spoil

your joy

of discovery,

even if it is as plain

as the reflection of your own face

in my eyes by the light of the moon.

*****************************************************************

She Wants to be The Other Woman

(There is an old Italian proverb that asks: If your wife and your mistress are both drowning at the same time and you can only save one, which one do you save?
The answer is your wife…because your mistress will understand.)
*****

She said
she wants to be
the other woman…
the one I yearn to see
when I can slip away
for a clandestine rendezvous.
Furtive hours
of stolen kisses
that must remain our secret
between we two.
The one who gets excited
to know I’m seeing her.
Mia Cumare.
Mia Innamorata.
Mia Fidanzata.
*****

I said
“I guess that means
that you won’t be telling me
how we should spend our money
or argue how to raise
our children
or forbid me to buy a motorcycle
if I should choose.”
“It also means
you can’t wake up
in bed with me
each morning,
or sleep in late on
Sundays long past noon
or be seen together
in public places,
or watch our children
accepting awards at school.”
But my dear
such is not the case.
You already know.
You understand.
In our perfect world
together
in our
House beside the Sea
you get to be
The Other Woman
as you may please
and still come home to me
or
better still
to share
another man
another woman
perhaps their spouses, too…
The circle grows
but remains unbroken…
unflinching fidelity
no lies
no excuses
no regrets
or apologies
required.
And yet it all begins
and ends
with
Me and You.

*****************************************************************

Requiem for a Kiss

That first time

when our lips first met

it seemed as if

they would stay

together,

smashed between us

forever.

Stuck on each other

like love-bugs

on a windshield.

*****

We undressed each other

with lips pressed,

smeared,

wet and

wanton

as if the electricity that powered

our mutual seduction

was conducted solely through our mouths,

lips and tongues

so that we dared not break contact

or loose continuity.

*****

Once engaged and coupled,

our mouths explored

each other’s

neck,

ears,

and face.

Eyes closed,

then

eyes half-opened,

dreamily exploring

the visual landscape

of this new frontier

we had conquered

and claimed

together.

Then eyes wide open

staring deeply,

falling through

each other’s pupils

that engulfed each other

as we jumped

into the volcano,

vaporized;

falling and burrowing

ever deeper

down the rabbit hole

with no way back

and no desire to find

our way home backwards

as we knew this was

exactly where we wanted to be,

forever falling.

*****

I miss

that kiss.

*****

We’ve been down that way

a few times since,

but there can be only one

first time.

Nuestro primer beso.

私たちの最初のキス

Notre premier baiser.

Il nostro primo bacio.

. הנשיקה הראשונה שלנו

لدينا أول قبله

наш первый поцелуй

(Our First Kiss.)

Now is the time to discover

all the new places

in each of us

we’ve overlooked

for too long.

Dare to be.

Dare to acknowledge.

Dare to accept.

Dare to provoke

all the others we can be

into action;

into being

from out of banishment

and hibernation

from

out of the light and into the darkness.

and out of the darkness into the light

Phantom lovers we can be

to someone we have never

known before

‘though we have been there

all along.

*****

A million new

First Kisses

dwell inside of each of us

if we but set aside

the paradigms of clichés

we have

spun together

and trust

we shall always

meet again

as us,

only different.

My forever lover.

My forever friend.

*****************************************************************

What have You Done with My Goddess?

Dull eyes staring back at me
Misplaced anger
and my own misdirected self-pity…
Who was hiding
in this shell,
this empty house?
…this tired, bitter imposter?
I pray she can forgive me
for not recognizing
the face of my own widow.
A Goddess mourning
the passing of her own Hero,
forever plagued by the ghost of
Yesterday’s Greatest Love.

A minion of years….

Yesterday’s Bitter Ashes,

The sweet honey of Love and Passion

and the mixed emotions

of realized dreams,

great hopes

and

Devastating Regrets.
*****

Come with me.

Take my hand again in Love and Faith.

Remember what was…

never forget….

Let yourself feel the anguish

and acknowledge what we have lost.

Let it inspire us again.

To live each day

as the resurrected idols

of each other’s Idols.

Rekindle the fires…

Breathe life back into each other.

Reanimate The Dream.

*****

Yesterday we found and lost each other,

as well as ourselves….

I remember the joy we felt

the first time I gazed into your eyes

and chose to ignore the foreboding…

knowing my life

would never be the same.

Knowing that our destiny could not be ignored,

Hoping it was all a dream

from which we never would awake.

*****
We are old souls that have lost our way,

our selves,

and each other.

Rediscover today, My Goddess.

Your Hero awaits his Idol.

Take my hand and walk with me

together into tomorrow

and…

Never Forget

Yesterday.

*****************************************************************

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

You are my goddess yesterday,

today and tomorrow.

Alone, I hear my own heartbeat.

Can you?

It is the knocking

that I pray that you hear

at the door to your soul,

begging to come back inside…

forever wanting to come inside….

Miami’s yesterdays

wash away

my daily preoccupations

like a summer monsoon,

laying bare

the memories

of years gone by.

Sweet memories of what was

and bitter tears of regret

for a million missed opportunities

to have lived better todays back then.

A hurricane of emotions

blowing away the doldrums of horse latitudes of inertia.

Too many todays taken for granted…

Too many yesterdays

of apathy,

complacency

and boredom,

borne of mind-numbing fatigue

spawned from forgotten exhilaration…

that each of the first days

that seemed like they would never end.

Anticipating every day,

just to wake up next to my Goddess

with the realization that our love

was not a dream;

that my Goddess was real,

and she was mine and I was hers.

God and Goddess were alive

and magic was afoot.

T
o
o

M
a
n
y

L
o
s
t

Y
e
a
r
s
.
.
.
.
¿?

These poems were written long ago, before Suki and I rediscovered each
other.
I found this poem after believing it to be forever lost. I should have known better…it was written almost a decade ago in the midst of a reawakening I was experiencing while quartered with my flight crew in Miami Shores at the Marriot Courtyards.
We had been grounded for the last five days first for maintenance, then for weather, when I had this epiphany and it wrecked me completely.
It was written for Suki. It took a long time for her to take it to heart, but she kept it just the same. There came a time when she experienced a sort of spiritual death and this made her gasp her first new breaths.
Shortly afterward I started writing what was to become Dancing in Dreamland. It took me eight years to write it and another year before she would read the first words of the completed manuscript, and about five days to stop crying after she did.
We have both been breathing a lot better ever since.
It is a call to arms to resuscitate a lost lover in order to resuscitate a lost love.
XO,
Chazz

*****************************************************************

end of July, 2014

Casa Nostra

I died in your arms that night,

and buried myself deeply

between your thighs

as

we fucked like it was our last night on earth

even though I’ve lived like

I thought

I would never die.

Our life together

has been a moveable feast

I call

Casa Nostra.
(Our House)

In a lifetime of searching

I’ve found

Meaning in Love

and Purpose

in knowing

and sharing

whatever

I can experience,

learn,

and feel,

wherever

it all shall lead me.

And when it is finished,

scatter my ashes

over

The Villa Chez Dreamland

but keep Love alive en Casa Nostra.

As we hang suspended in time and space

(to-get-her)

in that one thin moment

as we dance upon the razor’s edge

our mortality suddenly seems so much less tragic

as

our infinite intimate synchronicity

washes over us

reminding us once again

of all that which is eternal in each of us

as well as both of us.

In My Perfect World.

Casa Nostra.

En Casa Nostra

we give without regard to what we get

but we take

to serve as vessels

for the giving

from those we love

as well as those

who cannot give back

so as to give to

the Universe,

that place where

even miracles are mundane.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected

by our fearlessness

because

We may feel pain.

We may share pain,

but we do not fear

being hurt

because we trust

and we believe

that this too will

give us the strength

we need

to follow our hearts

to the Palace of Wisodm

and be prepared

to receive

Enlightenment,

Epiphany,

and boundless Joy.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected.

Our enemies may hurt us

but they probably

can’t kill us,

but if they kill us

they probably

won’t eat us

but if they eat us

they make us one with

those who would

because

they cannot destroy us.

En Casa Nostra

we take no prisoners,

preferring instead

to accept the surrender

of willing hostages

as extended family.

Casa Nostra;

a mansion with no walls

large enough to hold

a universe

in a house as intimate

as two bodies

attempting to occupy

one space

or

to become as

one beating heart.

One Mind.

A place where

you can see yourself

reflected in the eyes

of your eternal beloved

as we Bow to the Divine

in each other

and as adults,

nurture the eternal child

in each of us

as our children teach us

the importance

of all the things we forgot

as we grew up

en Casa Nostra.

It starts and ends with our

Gang of Three

*****************************************************************

I Stare into the Fire

Late January.

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

*****************************************************************

My Muses

Our souls breathe the same air

somewhere

outside of time and space

resonating

as we breathe out

we inspire each other

as we breathe in

provocative exhalations

evoking visions and dreams,

wonderment and admirations

that just seem to fit so well.

As each pronouncement

of the ideal

of the other

mirrors our own aspirations.

If you can imagine it

you can make it happen.

To hear you describe it

is to desire to be that man

who inspires you

to be that woman.

To read your thoughts

is to feel

your soul

breathing your words into my ear.

Each of you

nurture, heal and inspire

the very best of me,

inspiring me

to do the same for you.

Indulgences

of spirit and flesh

are exchanged

as fluently

as

passing from one hand to the other.

Breathless humours and vapors

of our common consciousness

in mutual resusitation.

*****************************************************************

He/She

He was cryptic mysticism
moving with graceful swagger
between preoccupations,
distractions,
and excesses.
She was gentically programmed self-doubt
cowering beneath
delicious layers
of warmth, sensuality,
mischief, lust and humor,
afraid of the day
he would discover
her dark secret.
Their co-dpendancy was as strong as their love.
Trying to move in a million directions at once
he was as one paralyzed.
She, appearing motionless
as if she never moved,
yet imperceptably
incrementally constantly in motion,
evolving and healing
as she went through
each day…
until the next
Fall from Grace….
He was taught by both rote
and circumstance
that in order to save one life,
one may be forced to
take others.
…and although he had saved so many
he always felt
like he owed so much more.
She, like so many others
was either deep in the troughs
of her emotions,
formerly vibrant and breath taking,
or riding beautiful waves
on high crests
of brilliance and enthusiasm.
Were they really
just two flawed, Lost Souls
whose sharp,
jagged edges
often fit so well together?
or one,
completed
each by the other?
…And what about all those other
jagged edges,
their complimentary angles
unfilled?
There were plenty on both of them.

He enjoyed playing the Devil’s Advocate,
the promoter of the Perverse,
a snake oil salesman,
and
the Serpent in the Garden
because she always felt he was
speaking to only her
whenever
the subject came up
as it always did
eventually…
about those
other unfilled
jagged edges….
She enjoyed being
seduced into doing something
she already wanted,
and always tried to
prolong the Seduction
as long as she could.
A long time ago,
it seemed
like nothing was good enough
to suit him.
Now it seemed like almost nothing
was good enough
after all….
and that suited him just fine.
The less you need,
the easier it
becomes to find gratitude
everywhere you look.
He awoke every morning
proclaiming himself
the luckiest man he knew.
And he believed in his heart
that he was right
because he knew
she would do everything
in her power
to prove him right.
…And he did exactly the same thing for her.
…On the Good days….

*****************************************************************

end of March, 2015

All Things Return to the One

All Things Return to the One.

He would aspire to be

Master of the Universe.

She is already

the source of all creation.

His story is History.

Her story is Progeny.

He is One.

She is Zero.

But even

the One

returns

to Zero.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

4/29/2015

*****************************************************************

Namasté नमस्ते

I bow to the divine within you.

In humbling ourselves

we are exalted.

Without desire.

There is no need

to strive for

Achievement

with

nothing to attain.

Just this.

Only this.

You could ask a dog

about the moon,

or simply howl for yourself.

****************************************************************

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

What kind of God would do this thing?

An angry, lonely God perhaps,

but

I think it must be one quite small,

(that Heaven or that God)

where neither animals nor disbelievers

are allowed to go.

Do you think

you are only being tested

here on Earth

to decide if you should go

to Heaven?

or to Hell?

Heaven is right here.

Right now.

Because there’s no place I’d rather be,

between Gratitude and Acceptance

at the crossroads of

Life and Sex

in rural

Ecstasy,

deep into

Love County….

Call Her what you want,

I am but God’s Reflection

on the surface

of a pond so still

you can

pick it up

with the

antlers of a mouse,

(…if only you know how…)

to carry with you

in your heart.

No matter where you go.

*****************************************************************

Step into the Light

Step into the Light

Anonymity is its own punishment

in its very safety.

Time to step back out into the light

of controversy and notariety.

Notariety is not fame

but

Dharma coupled to Action

is compelled to attract attention to itself.

The controversy is theirs.

Action attracts action.

Too much time spent locked

inside the pink house

of many doors

is no test

of anything except solitude.

Time to be alive again

to feel joy as well as passion

through conviction.

How do I find the words

to enable me to envision the elusive,

the esoteric,

the occult,

the indescribable,

the transcendental?

What will trigger a recognition of a feeling?.

No matter how universal

it may seem

it is purely

subjective.

What is common and endemic

to our nature

allows us to recognize

whatever narrow slice

of enlightenment or bliss

that we are experiencing

in our own private present moments.

Be now here

instead of

Nowhere.

The inner peace of one lone soul

is world-wide

for that one soul

whose perfection is contageous.

Namasté

नमस्ते

*****************************************************************

I still get Hungry…

I still get Hungry…
I enjoy being Hungry…
because
I also enjoy being Satiated…
…to consume….
…to be consumed….
I love Anticipation.
But most of all,
I want
for you to want me.
The question remains
“How much Drama
will this Dharma cost?”
“How much must we pay to play?”
I understand
that suffering follows
all desires.
But as long as
I know the price
and still desire to
Joyously
pursue Joy,
as even the arrow
pursues the intention
one cannot willfully
eschue
pleasure before it is sated.
Only then can you step aside
of your desires.
It is only then
that we proclaim
our noblest of intentions
nonetheless
inspired by an altogether otherwise
sort of fire
now alight in our chests
which once smoldered
in our nether-most regions.

I like also to feel
the rumble in my stomach
as hunger
overwhelms
all other desires
or intentions,
and I become the Hunter
and the Hunted
by choice of will, or passion,
or instinct
and strength.
I choose to live.
I choose to love…
no easy fairy-tale
puppy-love
as fragile
as a wood-nymph’s wing,
No…
this is tough and leather-clad
Love
astride
our engines of pleasure
sparked by impulse,
horsepower fueled by desire
compelled by instinct
injecting lust
supercharged with anticipation
undaunted by fear.
Poised and ready
for a
high-speed run
along the beach at night,
every lamp on high beam
penetrating the darkness
and the smell of Ocean in our hair.

As long as I still
enjoy the twenty-story
elevator shaft drop
just as much as
that accelerating ascent
that always preceedes it,
I’ll surf the waves
as best I can.
Until then…
until serenity
surplants enthusiasm,
…perhaps
some other time,
perhaps then….
when I no longer
enjoy being hungry.

As five hundred
lifetimes
come and go
in the batting of an eyelash,
we’ll meet again,
and if we don’t turn out
to be just as ignorant
and foolish
as we are now
it will be a miracle
to be celebrated
Here and Now
just as if we already had.
Let’s face it…
we both desearve it
just by wanting it
enough to pay the price.
Bound by Desire
a prisonser of Passion,
Every Hungry Woman
dreams
of the whipping-post.
Every Slave
loves
the collar.
Tomorrow’s Bodhisattva,
बोधिसत्त्व
is
Today’s
Post-Neo Dharma-Bum.

Namasté
नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent
05/30/2015

*****************************************************************

Who Am I? (revisited)

Who Am I? (revisited)
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
All is Impermanence.
All is Folly.
Even the coming and goings
are an illusion
created within the mind.
No inside.
No outside.
No mind.
Before ideas,
before thoughts,
before words
there is only this.
Just this.
Only this.

Just like this.

Who am I?

What is the Truth?
Twice daily
water flows
in and out of the lagoon
where fish swim.
Is this the only truth?
You already know.
Before thoughts,
before words,
put everything down.
The comings and goings,
Inside and outside,
All is illusion,
All is Impermanence.
Dancing in a dream of the past.
Dancing in a dream of the future.
I ride the three-hundred-mile-per-hour train
in the ever-present
never-present
present moment.
I look outside and all is a blur
but inside the car only I move.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is my one true face
before my parents were born?
I am the truth of one mind.
Of clear mind
Of no mind.
So simple and perfect
staring back at you
as you gaze into the mirror,
yet if you
speak one word
to describe it
you shatter the stillness
that drowns out all the words and wisdom
of all the great teachers.
Already you know.

The truth is on the tongues of every blade of grass
singing harmonies
to the wind in the pines
and waterfalls,
the sounds of lovers
or the din of traffic
and industrial motor noise alike.
More eloquent than words,
more profound than all wisdom.
Seeking the truth or enlightenment
through thoughts or words
is like trying to hit the moon with a stick,
like a dog that chases its own tail,
that wouldn’t know what to do with it.
even if it should catch it.
If you open your mouth to speak
you are only another talking monkey.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is the true way?
North
South
East
or West,
all paths come back upon themselves
if only you travel far enough.
If all things return to the One
where does the One return?
Zero.
The sound of the wind in the pines
and the crashing of the waves
upon the shore
are singing
a song of Selfless Love
as shadows grow longer
while the sun moves westward.
See your one true face in mine.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am All.
I am One.
I am Nothing.
The sound of frogs
singing at night
comes in through my window.
So simple.
So true.
How did I not hear it
for so long?
Listen.
Smile.
Give.
Love.

All the wisdom
of all possible worlds
is within you now
if you will but listen.
Everything you need
you already have.
Everything you need to be
you already are.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
Be here now.
Be nowhere.
Be now here.

Birds swim through oceans of fire,
while stone angels fly
and
fish dance
to songs
sung by
the rocks
as mansions of sand
crumble in the sky.
Just this.
Only this.
Just like this.

Who are We?
I am I
You are You.
I am You.
You are Me.
We are One.
We are All.
We Are Nothing.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
05/22/2015

*****************************************************************

This represents the sum total of everything I have published on WordPress.

Songs of Love from the Bottom of the Ocean, Within the Asylum or Inside the Armory

…(This post was inspired by several of my favorite bloggers…I trust you to know who you are…fellow bloggers who share this love affair with words, thoughts, meanings, and ideas. Chances are if you even think I am referring to you, I probably am, because you have inspired me in one way or another and I want to thank you all for it.) 😉

This Thing We Do with Words:
(the reprise)

We build bridges

from island to island

one word, one stone at a time.

We build monuments and temples

to Love and Lust,

Adventure and Power.

We can spin webs of intrigue

like giant subterranean spiders

with words artfully applied

and patterns beautiful to see

as Love seduces Logic

and Romance beguiles all Reason.

And tell tall tales

of days of old

of arts arcane and esoteric,

from ransom notes to love letters

charters, pacts and treaties.

A poem, a love letter and a plea for rescue,

a note wrapped up in a bottle,

flung into a sea of humanity,

awaiting reply

from my private island of exile

to you.

We can wax eloquently and long,

or we can get write down

and dirty.

Isn’t it such a beautiful thing

that we can do?

…this thing we do with words?

…free to be whatever we wish to be,

or be whatever you wish we were.

(I can be very flexible that way, you know)

Anonymous sex with words

spewed from invisible mouths

by mysterious lips and tongues

in a bathhouse of like-minded

wordsmiths.

When you touch me

I create you

in the most flatteringly imaginative ways

in my own image

and never worry about overstepping either’s bounds

because honey,

If you only knew what things I do

To and With each other with words,

and in our minds,

in real life,

it might be hard

to ever stopping slapping my face.

But in This Life,

trusting in the fact that whatever it is

I will cheer you on,

and vise-versa

Mon Cheri.

You have Carte Blanche

Chez mois….

(And trust me, I doubt that it violates any rules I know…)

but then again,

that pretty much leaves you free

to be with me as you please,

Madame Weasel…

meet Mister Weasel.

In my mind, your bottom is perfect

in your mind, every part is just right.

And everything is exactly the

the way we like it,

In My Perfect World.

While we do this thing we do with each other

with words.

We can touch each other so intimately

in such private places

deep within our psyches

with visions of forbidden acts

too emotionally dangerous

to allow,

except within our deepest

recesses

kept locked away in a dirty basement

beneath a haunted house

inside (y)our soul(s).

It’s Better Than Sex

only because it really isn’t,

but imagining what it Is in each other’s minds

each according to our own inferences

means that at least fifty percent

of what we get

is what we bring to this picnic.

Because there’s always more

inside this thing we do with words.

Mass media meets social networking

begetting Art

in a mad orgy of

words and thoughts

both sacred and profane.

Noble and Lofty

meats

Down and Dirty.

Spiritual and Ethereal

do a minuet

with

Finite and Practical,

making Voyeurs into Voyagers

and Fellow Travelers

of us all.

This thing we do with words,

My F(r))iend

allows us to span continents, universes

and alternate realities

in an instant that is less than an instant

that arrives before it leaves

and never stops coming

(or cumming).

This thing we do with words

spoken with love

will one day

teach us to love our enemies

once we realize

We all are one.

So even if you say

“FUCK YOU!”

I can either take it as a compliment,

an enticement,

or just smile like I do when I watch a

monkey jacking off at the zoo.

We all are One.

So thanks for the handjob.

We can praise or we can criticize,

condone, condom or condemn.

We can teach, touch, (p)reach and multiply

and be bountiful

and all it costs

is the price of baring your soul

and opening your eyes and your mind

and inviting me in,

be I vampire

or Pilgrim

fallen angel,

or

grateful worshipper,

or referee

for that fight you’ve been having

with yourself in your mind.

I am here for you

my friend

my brother

my sister

my mother

my father

my mentor

my co-conspirator,

fellow prankster

and lover.

I love this thing we do with words…

If I had to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

*****************************************************************

Justa Juxtaposition
Scratch & Sniff
Snatch & Sniff
Snatch & Stiff
Blissed.

Sounds by Charlie Mingus
While performing Cunnilingus
You worshipping my Dingus
Come Inside and Cum Inside.
A liter of Tequila and
A bucketful of Oysters
To make us both quite boisterous
All I require is You.

Kush, Cocaine and Fellatio
Will get you by no matter
where you go.
It’s no accident they call it Blow
But it’s better when you Suck.

*****************************************************************

Final Confessions, Rants, Lost Rights, Last Rites and Wrongs

And so he witnesses Trauma,
as he heals their trauma,
and in so doing, suffers trauma,
and also inflicts trauma, all of which affect him
in different ways that are also the same;
and those effects resonate among themselves,
regenerating sums, and differences,
as well as products of their interface;
heterodynes and overtones alike.
Eventually, the effects become overwhelming
…a symphony of broadband noise
resonating and harmonizing within itself within our beings.
Perception is the Mother of Harmonization.
Recognition is the Father.
Their children are the players.
Improvisation is the Dirty Cousin with secrets to share,
(like the knowledge of Good and Evil
…and Jazz.)
Music is the Family that Plays Together.

*****************************************************************

My Angel

Angel of Mercy

Angel of Death

Sweet Angel gonna carry me

across That River

To the Other Side.

I’m in no hurry,

but don’t feel no Fear.

I know your face

I seen you before.

You told me back then

If I make you come again

You’re gonna have to make me go

but you’ll be taking me there with you

and I don’t blame you at all,

It’s just your job

it’s not your fault

your job is tough

but you make it look

so easy

All you have to do is smile.

Give me the Nod and Wink

I’ll offer you my arm

As we walk away in style.

*****************************************************************

Torch Song

When I met you,
my eyes were already
Wide Open,
which probably explains
Why
I was so Blinded
by All the Stars….

********************************************************************************

My Oldest Friend

My Oldest Friend is the youngest person I know.
“Running Mates”, some people would call us.
Partners (often in crime)
in every endeavor for as long as I can remember,
we were co-conspirators
in every Dirty Deed I have ever done
or been “falsely accused”
since the beginning of Time.
Taught me shape-shifting
before I was five years old
and “relative invisibility”
shortly after that.
Went on every excursion I ever took
from Astral Travel To Acid Trip
from Santeria to Salvation.

Most of my other friends are afraid of him
and warned me that
our acquaintance was conjured in Hell.
You can see the terror in their eyes.
So enigmatic that they cannot even tell
if “he” is male or female…
(When he talks to me, he sounds like Eddie Griffin…)
and he always has enough Havana Cohiba’s
for both of us
…and Dark Rum
from a bottle so old
it was hand-blown…
it has a cork that he pulls out with his teeth
and it always looks about half-full.

“Mista Chazz…”
he calls me
through a smile
full of long pearly-white shark teeth
as the smile becomes a grin
just a red cunt-hair’s breadth short of a sneer,
“We sure do strike sparks everywhere we go.
I wish they would let me
take an assistant,
but MANAGEMENT sez no…
such a pity, but no matter,
I go everywhere you go
just because I like ya;
I go everywhere else because I have to;
…even when you was a baby
you were never afraid of me
even though your folks
couldn’t see me
…funny thing, like that, ain’t it?
Maybe they’ll let you be my assistant
when it’s Your Time.”

I remember feeling him walking on my shadow
that night in Pompano
as we walked through that apartment building
police everywhere…
around the pool…
chalk line around the stains
that hadn’t even dried yet…
cops hanging out on the stairs
smoking cigarettes
like all the big stuff was over…
the bust was over…
now it’s paperwork
and reports and debriefings…
cops just milking the job…
walked right in with me
to that apartment
on the other side of the building…
a half-dozen detectives standing around
shooting the shit about the shooting…
just walked right in and bought a forty-piece
like it was fucking bubble-gum
right under their noses
and walked right back out…
Holding…
just like that.
He’s always there with me
every place I never should have been.

As I get older
I know there will come a time
when MANAGEMENT will insist…
retirement time…
My Friend will come
to take me to the other side…
he says that what we don’t realize
is that for the first six months
you can’t stop laughing
just looking back on it all
especially The Fear.

He says that as long as I can keep up
then we’re cool
because I amuse him
and I sense a certain detached admiration…
he says I make the time he spends on this side fun…
for now.

This may be the longest introduction
for The One Who Needs No Introduction.
He is the Harvester
the Guy with the Clam Rake…
the Butterfly Net…
the Spear, the Lasso, or the Scythe…
we have been friends
since before my parents were born.

Some time back
I started to realize
that my friend was with me
even when I didn’t realize it
’cause did that shape-shifting thing again
and caught me by surprise
by coming to me as a woman…
knew I wouldn’t be cool with that…
couldn’t feature it…
(especially thinking back on some of the things we did)
…but really, that was my fault
because I made Everything
in My Own Image….

Somebody like that
doesn’t really need a body of their own
when they can just act
through the others that come to you
from what seems like out of nowhere…
and now here.

So I told My Friend
that when it was My Time
to please come to me as a woman…
she doesn’t even have to be beautiful…
soulful will do just fine…
It’s just not my nature to Surrender…
willingly, except to a woman…
something which I have been doing
since before the first time
I was ejected from the Garden.

This Is Nobody’s First Rodeo…
but for the ones who haven’t realized it yet
it might as well be…
everything that has or ever will happen
is happening right now…
Always…
My Friend and I
have been doing this ever since
always
and Your Time
is Always Just Around the Corner.
Every Day is Judgment Day.

*****************************************************************

I Reach Out to Touch You

My words reach out to touch you
in places
No flesh can ever penetrate.
My heart sings songs
whose notes seek
the most moist and pink
recesses of your soul.
My passions fly to you
on wings of every kind,
Fashioned of whimsy
and gentle affection
to hover high above you,
awaiting their moment, to
impale themselves deeply
into the most inaccessible crevices
of your Mind,
furrowing ever deeper
ever wetter, seeking
the origin of your
hidden desires,
dripping nectar of WonderLust
and oil of Onan.
That my words inquisitively violate
your ears like my fingers
tickling your lobes
As I feel the lips of your brain
wrap themselves around
me.
Searching for that
Sweet Spot…
Deep inside
Your Psyche.
In a Place before Words.
Before Ideas.
Before Thought.
Just This,
Only This.
Our Hearts Touch.
Our spirits mingle
and explore each other
like children playing Doctor.
Wherever we can hide.
Whenever we can steal the time.
When we are apart
I go to those secret places
we’ve known.
Those affectionately curious
dirty places that know not of shame,
or guilt, or Sin or Regret.

*****************************************************************

The Warm-Up Act for the Aristocrats (…or Low-Brow High-Diving)

I had to push an oyster through a coin slot

to go on my favorite ride,

The Monkey with Two Backs.

The boardwalk was teeming

with inquisitors that night,

but I had a little Time to Kill

before we went onstage.

The sign said

You have to be THIS BIG

to go on this ride,

which should have been no problem,

until I learned I had to stand up

to qualify.

We did

The Monkey Dance

Like there was No Tomorrow

and for all I knew that night,

there was none,

and if there hadn’t been

I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

By the time I got inside the theater

My friends were already

Performing like Porn Stars.

I stood there gawking behind her

as she bent over

leaning forward

on her knees,

swallowing

the Anaconda.

Her face was turned away from me,

but her blind eye

winked knowingly,

inviting me

to come inside,

like a starfish

doing jumping-jacks.

Mister Weasel’s French cousin

Monsieur Huis’elle was

Patiently awaiting

A nod, a wink

and a flash of pink

From Madame Huis’elle

(she is no mere Mademoiselle, to be sure)

to mount Jacob’s ladder

and climb

the Tower of Babel

to perch on the platform,

wings spread

like an Anhinga,

as I launched myself into the rafters,

poised for the longest of instants

hanging in midair,

I imagined I was

diving out of a midnight-black sky

so full of stars you couldn’t count them all

in a hundred centuries,

straight down

into a single clam

naked

Laid Wide-Open,

and slathered with salty butter

on two half-shells.

Ta-Dah!

(she was delicious).

*****************************************************************

Pandora’s Box

Pandora’s Box

We were children when first we opened Pandora’s Box,

Precocious, Curious, Unselfconscious,

and Unsuspecting.

We had already learned

How to fashion

make-believe armor

from Sarcasm and Cynicism

to cover hearts

Too tender

for their own

Good.

I remember the morning you stood outside my window

asking if I could come out and play.

The sunshine lit your smiling face like

Heaven,

and I had a new friend who made me laugh

and long for adventures yet undiscovered.

We found Pandora’s Box down in the basement

One rainy day in January,

but we took it up to the attic

to try to find a way to pry open the lid.

The instant we started

the most amazing, blinding light came pouring out

Like a nuclear blast

Bathing us in cool fire.

We were so excited

and couldn’t wait to discover more.

As we threw open the lid

the room was filled with Angels and Wizards,

Majic and Mischief, Dragons and Drama.

and the Music was from another world,

familiar, but unrecognizable

It mesmerized us both

until we were hypnotized

in a trace from which we thought there was

no escape

because we sought none.

When we opened Pandora’s Box

we created such a ruckus

that we were banned from both the basement and the attic

But once that majic had been let out

there was no way to get it all back in.

It just refused to go.

Something there is that does not wish it so

To be confined or limited

or be told NO.

But as much as I miss the box,

I miss our friendship more.

*****************************************************************

If it’s Love that You’re Running From, There can be no Hiding Place….

(Peter Tosh said that, because eventually all manifestations and phenomena seek resolution, or a moment of stasis, and Love is no exception…you can run but you can’t hide…because Love can be unrelenting. And infinitely patient.)

(Patience enables us to see beyond what is now, to focus on what could be….)

“…And your Problems, are no one else’s problems.

They’re only yours to Face…”

Yet it is Love that unites us wherever we go

no matter what we do.

“So if you’ll just put your hand in mine
we’re gonna leave all our troubles behind”

In our hearts we can do no wrong,

we face no shame;

we know no guilt

“We’re gonna walk and don’t look back”

*****************************************************************

This is More

I would miss a cool ocean breeze on my face,

or the warmth of the sun.

I would miss tequila

or the sweet smell of Kush.

I would miss oysters,

Naked, Wet, and glistening,

awaiting My Desire.

I would miss those high-speed

runs along the beach

Going much too fast,

with the top down at night.

I would miss Romance confounding

All Reason,

Or Love Seducing Logic.

I would miss the moon,

or the feel of the night air in Summer.

But This is More.

My heart aches for you.

And nothing else

can make it better.

*****************************************************************

L’Huitre

There she lay

Splayed open upon two half-shells,

My bi-Polar Bivalve

Naked and glistening

Sans even her pearl.

It is she who is

the gem of the ocean.

As I kneel before her,

Savoring the delicious aroma

Of her salty juices

reminiscent

Of the sea

from which she was borne

Overlaid upon

A sweet musk

Like no other.

My mouth aches

To taste her.

My lips long

To kiss her,

And my tongue

Desires to speak to her

In her native language

في مكان حيث أن الكلمات لا معنى لها،

(In a place where words have no meaning,)

But purpose is meaning.

We share an eternity

in a moment

within eternity.

Expressing our Mutual Admiration.

Upon her shell

she is Aphrodite.

and

I am an appreciative

Gourmand.

*****************************************************************

Dialogues

Sunday morning, I found myself stuck so badly it hurt…

I felt adrift to nowhere in particular,

and even the Now Here felt like No where…

Nowhere.

Out of Nowhere

a song bird perched

upon my shoulder.

She whispered a cautious introduction

and engaged me with questions

that were also answers.

Inspiration.

To Inspire

Is to breathe in.

Sometimes

To breathe life back in.

Gratitude.

*****************************************************************

Your Birthday

08/04/13

Long before you became the mother of our children,
our eyes met, our souls touched, my heart melted,
our worlds collided, and time stood still.
Everything since has been
The unfolding of that moment.
You give Life.
You are Life.
You give Love.
You are Love.
You are
the Goddess.

*****************************************************************

The Church of Reason

The Church of Reason
What is it?

The diametric opposition of

circumstances beyond our control,

that one should live

so another may die?

One may eat

so another

may find new meanings in the Last Supper?

(Guess who’s coming to dinner?)

You.

(Guess what’s for dinner?)

You.

What is it?

Truth?

Go eat your Truth

some hungry morning.

The Lords of the Church of Reason

all too often

find themselves

Smart,

So others may be found Ignorant.

We claim to love the Truth.

The Church of Reason only teaches facts,

and although

it espouses Thought Unconsummated,

Memory is the well-worn lessor concubine,

paramour

to a Queen,

the familiar and obvious

eclipsing the radiant unknown.

Is not The Way.

It does not teach The Way.

It does not love The Way.

The Church of Reason is a prison of addictions

from which you must free yourself

to be worthy,

yet still wise.

Love and Logic

Romance and Reason

A midnight marriage

The Ritual Dance

The Ways of Majic

Science gives us what we think we need to think.

Religion gives us what we need to think we want.

Knowledge surpasses all.

Knowledge of facts a tool,

Knowledge of Experience the means

justifying the end.

Data

is not Information.

Information

is not Knowledge.

Knowledge

is not Truth.

Truth

is not Wisdom.

Wisdom

is not Beauty.

Beauty

is not Love.

Love

is not Music.

Music

is not Data.

Enlightenment

is not The Everlasting Kiss.

*****************************************************************

Spring Dream

Spring rolls in like mist on a lake.

Dawn belongs to the Spring.

The renewal of Life

to awake from long hibernation.

It’s all a dream

of waking from a dream

where sleeping is all that we knew.

Spring is a cat stalking the first robin of the season.

Spring is skinny-dipping on a Nooner.

Impulse impaled on a ritual

electric, yet primeval,

Romance confounding all Reason.

Vibrant intensity balancing cool hues of pastel

Caution giving way to Compulsion,

Heaven infiltrating Hell.

It’s all a dream…it’s only a dream

that smart lives forbid us to tell.

Spring is as moist as the forbidden honey of a passionate tryst

consummated going home from a funeral…

A cry of joyous outrage

railing against tedious Death.

Spring is the most recent

loss of Innocence,

naughty, and yet still naïve.

Stolen kisses on a warm afternoon.

The days we most love to remember.

It’s all a dream.

The lewdest of dreams

from which we do not wish

to awaken.

We spring to action

and come to Life.

The fountain of life is but a spring.

The clock would stop

but for its ever-taught spring, and

Hope springs defiantly eternal

as a song springs to our lips.

Spring isn’t as much a season

as it is new eyes

with which we view

our same old wintry lives.

It’s all a dream of dream within a dream.

If you’re lucky

you’ll never awaken.

Sculpture
Sculpture (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Double Dream of Spring
The Double Dream of Spring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A still from the skinny dipping scene.

*****************************************************************

The Mouse Eats Cat-Food, But the Cat-Bowl is Broken

(Inspired by the words of Seung Sahn)

A street-peddler shouts,

announcing his arrival.

Inside the house

a child cries.

His mother hears them both,

and gathers coins.

She calls out to the peddler.

Money becomes Candy.

Candy becomes Money.

The child’s tears were Salty,

But the Candy is Sweet.

A quarter is still twenty-five cents.

*****************************************************************

Redemption/ADDICTION

A voice spoke to me from out of a dream.

“She is your Salvation.

She is your Redemption.

If you can show her the True Path

you will find Happiness.”

Because I believed I needed

Redemption,

I desired the Knowledge

to find the True Path.

Because I sought to attain

Salvation,

I struggled to attain

Enlightenment.

And because I desired

her love,

I found myself forever

seeking her Approval

and Favor in vain.

Without Sin,

there is no need for

Salvation.

Without Guilt,

no need for

Redemption.

Free of the bondage that has made prisoners of us both.

If I seek Approval and Favor,

I empower her rejections.

In so doing, I enslave her

to her own desires for Power.

She loves me,

She loves me not.

The dog runs after the bone

long after the arrow has passed downtown.

Do not try to hit the Moon with a stick.

In the Spring,

when the Rains come,

the grass grows everywhere

all by itself.

What is Love?

Already you know.

It is just like this.

*****************************************************************

NOTHING

Knowing how to teach by not speaking,

sometimes non-actions speak louder

than no words at all.

Sometimes silence is mightier than the pen.

A frog jumps into a still pond.

The sound drowns out the words

of all the Bodhisattvas

and all the Buddhas.

Full to the top with emptiness,

Words are a mustache on the Buddha.

If you find yourself trying to conduct a chorus of pigs,

walk away.

The pigs may never thank you for it,

But they will be happier,

And so will you.

*****************************************************************

Unfinished Business

Goodbye?…I’ll Leave the light On….

If we should never meet or speak again,

I would not sadly think

of days and nights

unspent together,

but rather fondly reminisce

Who we Were

and what we meant

to each other.

And how we felt

when souls first touch,

long before our lips or bodies meet,

and everything was new and fresh.

We searched for understanding,

acknowledgement, and appreciation,

finding it

in each other’s eyes.

We came together

in Innocence.

We started as friends.

We ended as lovers.

If we must go our separate ways,

Take comfort in what we knew and who we were.

It is yours alone

to keep.

No one can take that from you,

Not even me.

********************************************************************************

How I Found Happiness through Lowered Expectations

“There is no need for attainment with nothing to attain.”

(Seung Sahn)

*****

When Dreams become Expectations

we set aside Gratitude to be replaced with Envy.

When wishes and desires

become tyrants

we become slaves to Suffering,

held down by the chains of covetousness

pulling us beneath the waters of Despair,

too blinded by Greed to recognize

the lifeboat of Opportunity

awaiting only

recognition and acknowledgement.

A dream without a plan

is a sparrow’s fart

in a hurricane,

but a dream with a plan

is a goal

that is both patient and tireless

and willing to accept

course corrections

like a sailboat tacking into the wind.

“You’re not the Man I thought you were…”

said she.

“Then open your heart to love the Man I am”

he said.

“…or love me not at all,

if it should bring you sorrow,

for I am a living, mutable changing being,

not trophy to be hung upon your wall.”

*****

Even as the moon shall wax and wane

according to her nature

if we should grow apart

gratitude provides the cadence

and patience sets the meter

as acceptance

awaits

the return of

our song.

All is impermanence.

Impermanence is all.

The Uroboros

reminds us we shall meet again.

The Phoenix

teaches us how.

To learn to enjoy Nothing

when we realize

that in having nothing,

we have Nothing in common

except the gratitude

that no one can take from us

for knowing the joy

of the seemingly

random coincidence

of having collided in the first place

with no expectations

in the midst of nothing in particular

where Nothing is everywhere.

In that moment we are rich

in our abundance of Nothing.

Be like the Willow

or swim with the tide.

Do not curse

the waters that carry you away

as you swim so hard against the tide,

only to drown

before you have the opportunity

to wash upon my shore again,

or me to yours.

It matters not

which way or how.

The sting of the pangs of nostalgia

that causes us to sigh

and shed a tear

for that which once was

reminds us of its beauty

so we can recognize it once again.

As we gratefully and patiently

welcome its return

if it should be,

and teach us how to be

in that timeless state of grace

that is ours

without asking.

Without demands.

Without expectations.

In the meantime.

*****************************************************************

Apologia

Even if you aren’t reading this,

…this moment,

…these words…

this testament

is for all of you,

as well as for each of you…

the heroines

of all my never-ending

torch songs.

Perhaps I wasn’t your best friend after all,

but not for nothing…

you can’t say I didn’t try.

I’m a weaver of dreams,

a conjuror of spells,

but I fear that

the realities

I brought you

did not live up

to the Great Expectations

I inspired

until I had thoroughly

disappointed

the Dickens out of you.

“I’m sorry”

I say

“Is there nothing I can do?”

I ask

as you sadly shake your head (“no”).

(Also not for nothing)

as a small part of me dies

inside.

This is what I do

time and again.

‘til you’d think

I’d grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so very,

very…very weary

of letting you down again.

I didn’t want to be that guy…

after all…

I was the guy who taught you

Grand Theft Auto

(and not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or

fishing, or

smuggling,

or diving

or hunting

or running guns

or forbidden contraband

across state lines,

screwing

like cats in heat

at turnpike rest stops,

driving too many hours

with too little sleep

were it not for

“better living through chemistry”.

You were the first to jump right in with me

scoring,

or eating

or snorting

or smoking

or shooting

or vaporizing

whatever magic

helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalklines

to do the Devil’s bidding

like it was a game of (hip-) hop-scotch;

when copping a feel

or stolen kisses

still took

our breath away.

I was the guy

your parents

warned you about

even after they found me

charming, witty

and bright,

because they didn’t know

I was that other guy…

Of course that was

a big part

of the appeal….

I was the Serpent in the Garden

and you were my

Primordial Eve.

You became my

co-conspirator.

You followed me to

sleazy clubs

in basements

underground

or

practice houses

in bad neighborhoods,

a haunted house

way out in the country

next to a cemetery

where

no one else would live

or warehouse districts

or

wherever I could find a place

to play guitar

so loud you thought your

eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks

afterward,

where we would hold out

like outlaws

day and night.

You went with me

to pistol ranges,

rifle ranges,

and dojos,

living in houses

filled with

guns and ammo

(not the magazine….),

the walls of entire rooms

lined with amplifiers to the ceiling,

guarded by dangerous-looking dogs

who loved you

almost as much as me

and

would have killed for you

just as you would have for me

or I for you

even when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story

and there was a knife and a gun

in every drawer

and under each pillow.

We slept in tents,

on floors

in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments

overlooking the bay

that we could never afford

were it not for the

generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together.

We made porn together

and everything we did

was either Art or Music.

We painted everything in sight.

We sketched and photographed

each other

while we played and sang

with such conviction

I don’t know how

our hearts didn’t burst.

We learned to dance

the Apocalypso

on the razor’s edge

‘til dawn

and got up and did it

all over again.

We drove way too fast

through downtown traffic

any time of day

whichever way we were going,

or late at night

along the beach

or up on the Interstate,

illuminated by

flamingo-pink

sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways

overlooking Biscayne Bay

just long enough

to remind each other of who we were

and just where we were

just then.

When every moment alive together

was a miracle.

We fucked on the perimeter road

around MIA

with the planes

maybe a hundred feet

above our heads,

engines screaming

and one eye

looking out for cops

with nothing better to do

than to wish

they could have been us.

No matter where we went

or what we did

it seemed like

I could talk my way

into or out of

anywhere or anything

and charm the birds

from out of the trees,

particularly

if it meant staying out of jail

…or worse

(and most especially if I thought

it might impress you.)

But most of all,

I let every one of you down

in one way or another.

…so many memories

of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it all out later….

I played grasshopper to your ant

well into our winter of discontent.

It didn’t turn out

happily ever after…

it never has

and probably never will,

for me or you….

Maybe it never does.

I just hope you can look back

and remember

those few golden moments we shared

with the same fondness,

with the same lack of reservations

we shared back then

before we gave a thought

to how it all might end,

because it was the beginnings

and everything

in between

that made it all worthwhile

for me…

and each ending too beautifully

poignantly sad

to just be forgotten

back when I was just me

and you were just you

before we ever thought about tomorrow….

If I had the chance

to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

It just took me too long to realize

that just not being

a bad person

didn’t

necessarily

make me

a very good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

Quite a few did some of it with me.

A few did most of it with me.

Who can say they did all of it,

and gave their all

with all of me?

(You know who you are,

n’est-ce pas?)

Just you…

Because before there was you and me,

Darlin’

each one of the others

saw something special

to show me about myself

that took me higher,

‘tho some cut me low

before they were thru.

But I cannot deny

each one didn’t teach me

a thing or two

I hadn’t yet learned

so that maybe

it wouldn’t happen

the same way

to me and you.

So here we are now

just you and just me

and those wantonly

willing hostages

whomever

we take

as we continue

together

until

The End.

*****************************************************************

Rumors of my Death are Somewhat Exaggerated

In the midst of chaos

my quest continues.

If all things return to the One

to where does the One return?

?

?

?

Zero

*****************************************************************

How to Breathe Underwater

You were perched on your rock

when I came upon you,

ready to dive

into the water,

skinny-dipping

in the late mid-morning.

The sun had evaporated the morning dew

and the air was heavy with vapor.

You tried to cover your nakedness

at first

but I was not

the kind of gentleman to look away

once I had already recognized you first.

You seemed to sense that it was I

and your shoulders drooped

as your hands fell away

from your tender parts

with a soft, sweet sigh

and you smiled that smile

I hadn’t seen

in too many lifetimes to recall.

We later named that rock Reality.

I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone there

that day.

I thought it was my special place

alone.

You blushed and giggled

as you looked over your shoulder,

then winked

and dove right under.

I stripped and followed you right in.

I found you waiting for me there

very deep in the pond,

halfway to the bottom

where the water was still clear

and the sun shone down

illuminating us both,

our eyes open wide and

your smile so broad…

When we touched,

we kissed for so long

that you started to gasp

and struggle

to reach the surface,

clearly panicked…

afraid for your life.

I smiled and said

“What’s your hurry, my dear?”

“This is our dream you know…”

“Only a dream?”

you asked, almost tearfully.

“It’s all a dream of a dream

within a dream…

Now breathe in

and realize your true power.

After this we can fly

like Peter and Wendy

as naked as jaybirds

until we are dry…”

“…But only a dream?”

you repeated again,

(and this time I really thought you would cry…)

“What do you mean

only a dream?”

“Reality is for people who can’t handle

Romance.”

“You can live in fear

of what might happen

and chances are

nothing will.”

“Nothing at all…”

“Ever.”

Swim with me.

Dream we are dolphins

until you learn to dream

of breathing underwater.

Fly with me.

Do not be afraid.

It isn’t the fall that hurts

it’s the sudden stop

at the end of the dream

we never want to end.

Stand on the edge of the volcano,

or swing on the swing

at the end of the world

with me.

We can jump

or fly away as we choose.

We can do the Ghost Dance together in Dreamland

until the detonation

sweeps us all away.

*****************************************************************

Gratitude Revisited

This morning,

I bathed…

in gratitude.

This morning

I

bathed in

gratitude.

This morning

I

bathed

in gratitude.

(This

morning

I

bathed

in

gratitude.)

I have

more hot water than I can ever use.

It was

cleaner than

what most of the rest of the world

drinks.

As much as I want

for as long as I want.

No need to build a fire.

No water to carry.

In as much privacy as I desire

(…or not)

No bugs,

No muck,

No rocks,

No algae,

No broken glass,

No leeches,

No flaccid condoms

hanging in branches

or washed up on the shoreline.

No eels to swim up my piss-hole.

No hillbilly voyeurs,

nor Peking Toms.

(As much as I love Nature,

with my imagination

“Mother Nature

has the ultimate potential to be

A Real Mother-Fucker.”)

And as much as I love her,

she always makes me stay

on my guard…

or face the possible consequences,

of her decisions.

There were soaps, perfumes

and emollients

of my choice.

and

hot water

in which I was not afraid to sit

(by placing my bottom on its’….).

No fear.

All my preoccupations

are

now

partially suspended

in time

and

this abundance

of hot, steamy water.

And gratitude.

*****************************************************************

We are All Here for a Reason.

Of course,

in the universal sense

this is always true,

but herein I refer to my

Cabin in the Woods,

a trailer park of Lost Souls

far enough off the beaten path

to render solitude,

anonymity,

or perhaps even forgiveness

to all who enter here.

***

Commercial fishermen

who drink a little too much

for their former spouse’s liking,

with restraining orders

and children they can no longer visit.

Here,

everyone is somebody else’s

ex-something-or-other.

Recycled hopes and dreams

and

households financed

by disability checks

and structured settlements,

where rainbow children

of every shade and hue

play in the yard

with lovingly devoted

pit-bull dogs

beside a car on blocks

that Mama’s boyfriend

is gonna fix someday

after he gets up

from his nap.

***

Disabled Viet Nam veterans

with hidden wounds that

will never heal,

tattoos and scars

or maybe a limp,

nightmares

that never end,

and that

thousand-yard stare

that betrays the pain

they never willingly show.

***

Widows and spinsters

who live for their flower gardens

and cats

to replace the children

who never call or visit,

the husband who died

or ran away,

or the gentleman caller

that never showed up.

***

Divorcee’s

whose husbands

fucked

their best friend,

their sister,

or even

their daughter

or who couldn’t

stand to be left alone

when their husbands

went to work too long

while the cable was off.

***

Rock stars who fell to earth.

Fallen Angels

with burnt wings.

Porn actresses

from the

Nineties

who knew Ron Jeremy

on more than a first-name basis,

and have the videos to prove it.

…and so much love to give…

(if you can pierce their armor)

their hearts

melt like butter in the sun

if you simply befriend them

without agenda

or guile,

because they’ve heard it all before,

and they’ve done it all before

in the name of fame and fortune,

but just for once,

if they could do it all over again

for Love,

they’d

do it all over you.

***

Enough Ink on skin

between them all

to write

War and Peace

in longhand.

There’s a story

for every tattoo

and all the time in the world

to tell each one of them,

with nothing better to do.

***

Their combined tears

could drown the

Lake of Fire,

and yet they still prefer to laugh,

and gladly share

their Nothingness,

their time,

their weed

or booze

or dope

or bodies

like philanthropic millionaires.

***

Misery doesn’t just

love company,

it thrives on it

and makes them stronger

than

most of the privileged

crybabies

I knew

in better times

and more prosperous days.

***

This place

where I have landed

is more like

a campground

for refugees

driven from their

homelands

by

“the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune…”

who refuse to die

and can’t really seem to win,

but continue to try.

(That’s what the Lotto is for.)

***

The walls are so thin

on these foil-covered

cardboard boxes we call

home;

there can be no secrets

between us,

but no shortage

of excuses,

denials

or lies

told mostly for our own benefit

as we wander

on the tar-clad paths

between

these aluminum tents

like spaced-out

space-age Indians

with permanent

reservations

in temporary domiciles.

***

Home is where

the Art is.

Life is what

you make

of what you get.

And Love

is everywhere,

running like a river

of blood

in the streets

flowing

from all the broken hearts

that have ever lived

or ever will.

*****************************************************************

Balderdash?

Those who describe their excuses

as reasonable

usually find

Reason

almost as impossible

to attain

as their chances of

satisfaction or future success

as they drown in an abundance

of excuses

devoid of Reason.

*****************************************************************

Almost Nothing

Once

it seemed like

nothing was ever good enough,

and I suffered greatly

in the midst of plenty.

Experience

has taught me

that Almost Nothing

is more than enough

if you surround yourself

with gratitude.

*****************************************************************

Dharma for a Friend: お待ちください 忍耐、お願い

You seek the Ultimate Truth.

Instead you discover the

Ultimate Void.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

This is truth

but it is not the Ultimate Truth.

Form is Form,

Emptiness is Emptiness.

Form is Emptiness,

Emptiness is Form.

No Form,

No Emptiness.

Only

The Void.

What comes next?

Madness and Magic.

Trade back your Reason for Instinct.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

A dog howls at the moon.

The sound drowns out

All the voices of all the Buddhas.

Patience please.

忍耐、お願い

Your words speak volumes

of questions seeking answer.

The earth beneath your feet

bleeds with each step you take.

You feel the pain as I feel yours.

Everything is just like this.

See yourself

as the main character

in the novel of your life

as you have written it,

as you are

in all your unselfconsciousness.

See yourself outside your ego.

Stand naked before yourself

Protecting nothing.

Defending nothing.

Justifying nothing.

Ashamed of nothing.

Embarrassed by nothing.

Embrace your self-imagined imperfections,

just as you are.

Forgive yourself of everything.

You must stand outside yourself to do this.

As you do,

ask yourself

“Who am I now?”

“Who is asking this question?”

No words can describe your understanding.

Matte Kudasai.

、お待ちください

Patience Please.

忍耐、お願い

As you stand in Dreamland

you see the detonation.

You feel the blast

as everything you knew

is blown away

by the Crown of Destruction.

In the stillness

of the void

before the backrush

of Nothing Special,

suddenly you see

everything

is exactly

as it is.

I am doing the

Ghost Dance

for you

in Dreamland.

Life Returns

all by itself.

Baraka Bashad.

*****************************************************************

(as of March, 2014)

The Iron Dragon Voice Recognition Project

Recently I began attempting to utilize the speech recognition function of my computer to dictate text.
This is completely new ground for me, and I was fascinated.

This is the Iron Dragon Project result:

*****
True on and all,

Too true 2

be true.

This is going to be eight to two attached

and the howl for the old ones who weren’t.

Iron dragons can be humans

who buy in bulk and buy one another.

Lately he’d been feeling

like an imaginary dinosaur

so out of date that he couldn’t even scare

a five-year old girl.

(Let’s face it…

after Pixar,

how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm

after they’ve seen

Monsters Inc.?)

Thank you.

***

And you and you might be wrong

if you were among the One

that will allow them to believe

this can be done to learn more than one,

or the dragon in the garden may be a man…

is he our own only hope

that can help our town?

Take anything on the day

and it still leaves us poor

and unrecognizable

to my original text

(which is pretty good for a Mayan.)

***

Tensions thee into my mission

and an avid listen

to become one with the machine

which

in their words

might become a bump on a node

in their worlds;

a bogey on the radar

or give a madman time to ship,

were she to tell it all.

***

Dick you.

(that was thank-you, btw)

…mad that really only you

have been equally

compensated

and that early on

you’re more on the money

on the back F.U.N. and Y

(“funny”)

than all the rest

that ever were.

***

And so it goes from where it ends.

Hula room deliveries

buried on an

old fairgrounds

captured

in a faded photograph.

You don’t know how

to interpret the butt of a joke,

meaning something early on

that makes

me so horney….

And let’s let poor

caveman Ug alone,

(let alone the Ug woman)

and her ugly Ug boots,

and the older elder too

and that old lady who

laughed

when laugh launched luna.

***

Run one thing on

to

try something on

fun fun fun

as a loan on laughter

in a letter that said

fun is dead

and you can’t play on

fun fun fun alone,

but the challenge to him was that this

…this the…

…this Italian leather dealer

in each letter on a letter

adds up.

…the AIM’s not even close…

but this

intention

could have made a difference,

(…but it didn’t.)

***

I’m not having loved all of this and more.

I’m not loving this.

If you would treat me

as an acute writers group

…maybe God already knew…

if so,

then dial me up

but

you have no clue…

No one meant that as a car wreck, children.

No!…

(I was saying that was a correct assumption…)

And by her now this is goodbye for now…

Logo and you finally

get right question.

Goodbye?

(Something there is that does not love auto-correct dictation)

*****************************************************************

And then I Saw Myself

One morning

traveling along the road to work

I saw a man

pushing two shopping carts

connected along the top

by two

2X4’s

held together

with bungee cords.

It was quite an ingenious affair

with about three feet

separating the two carts

allowing him to hang

clothes and other items

that were covered with garbage bags

from the boards

in the space

between

the carts.

***

Judging from his tan

and the way he was dressed

I suspected

that even if he had a

specific destination

it was not a permanent one.

I thought

how peculiar

to still try to hold onto

so much

with no place to keep it all.

Both the carts were

filled with bags

full of items

protected from the rain

and the elements.

I suspected

it must have been difficult

to choose

between

what to keep

and take with him

and what to leave

as he set out

on this journey

to nowhere

in particular.

***

We were traveling so fast

the first time I saw him

that I only had time to notice him

before he was far behind us.

Several days later,

I passed him again.

This time I slowed down

so as to allow me

an opportunity

to take his picture

with his bizarre

caravan.

As I did, he turned to face me.

…and then I saw myself….

*****************************************************************

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

*****************************************************************

Guerilla Tracks

My world is filled with ghosts

and demons

of past lives

that were lived only a few years ago.

Every song has a chronology

a timeline

a place in time

the connecting ties

are so thin

they can rarely be seen.

My life has been

an on-going film

for years now.

The last few years

have been pretty crappy

in some ways,

and yet I am always given

to recalling

a high, fine

moment

when I felt so alive

that the other

crashes

and heartbreaks

were inaudible

compared to the crushes

and heartbeats

of any of those

lost years.

***

Every painting

every sculpture,

every film

reminds me not only

of times within this present life

a half a lifetime ago,

but somehow

whisks me away

to foreign lands and

times I can only vaguely recall

given that they were

occurring many years

before I was born.

***

The ancient Ones

are with me now

as I sit alone

when you are gone.

As I stare at the screen

they rush up to the sides of me

sometimes even peeking in

around the corners

of my glasses

or standing quietly

in the shadows

on the periphery

of my vision,

choosing to move only to breathe

just enough to make sure I notice them.

I feel a weightless hand

upon my shoulder,

and we both sigh.

I wonder

“Who is it now?

This time?”

I am not afraid

any longer,

and I can now breathe

while they are in the room.

So many years

I recoiled from

our mutual

recognition…

…afraid.

“Of what?”

I ask myself

only to realize

my worst terror

is from withinside

of me.

***

I gasp within

as I realize

how much

is gone.

A dim engram

tucked deep away

in my psyche.

And I breathe deeply

and I am there.

For a moment.

***

Sleep calls seductively

to me.

For once,

I am ready to embrace the dreams.

*****************************************************************

Midnight at Noon and Morning at Midnight

Just as the moon

blocks the radiation

of our closest star

and

we are plunged into darkness,

so also do we obscure

the view

of

our baby sister

the moon‘til we cannot see

her face

at all,

leaving us

in

mo(u)rning at midnight.

*****

As we eclipse each other

we are either left

blind

or alone.

What is cryptic and occult now

only increases desire

for illumination

as tension and temptation

compound and confront

time with impatience.

*****

If I open my mouth

to explain what this means,

I spoil

your joy

of discovery,

even if it is as plain

as the reflection of your own face

in my eyes by the light of the moon.

*****************************************************************

She Wants to be The Other Woman

(There is an old Italian proverb that asks: If your wife and your mistress are both drowning at the same time and you can only save one, which one do you save?
The answer is your wife…because your mistress will understand.)
*****

She said
she wants to be
the other woman…
the one I yearn to see
when I can slip away
for a clandestine rendezvous.
Furtive hours
of stolen kisses
that must remain our secret
between we two.
The one who gets excited
to know I’m seeing her.
Mia Cumare.
Mia Innamorata.
Mia Fidanzata.
*****

I said
“I guess that means
that you won’t be telling me
how we should spend our money
or argue how to raise
our children
or forbid me to buy a motorcycle
if I should choose.”
“It also means
you can’t wake up
in bed with me
each morning,
or sleep in late on
Sundays long past noon
or be seen together
in public places,
or watch our children
accepting awards at school.”
But my dear
such is not the case.
You already know.
You understand.
In our perfect world
together
in our
House beside the Sea
you get to be
The Other Woman
as you may please
and still come home to me
or
better still
to share
another man
another woman
perhaps their spouses, too…
The circle grows
but remains unbroken…
unflinching fidelity
no lies
no excuses
no regrets
or apologies
required.
And yet it all begins
and ends
with
Me and You.

*****************************************************************

Requiem for a Kiss

That first time

when our lips first met

it seemed as if

they would stay

together,

smashed between us

forever.

Stuck on each other

like love-bugs

on a windshield.

*****

We undressed each other

with lips pressed,

smeared,

wet and

wanton

as if the electricity that powered

our mutual seduction

was conducted solely through our mouths,

lips and tongues

so that we dared not break contact

or loose continuity.

*****

Once engaged and coupled,

our mouths explored

each other’s

neck,

ears,

and face.

Eyes closed,

then

eyes half-opened,

dreamily exploring

the visual landscape

of this new frontier

we had conquered

and claimed

together.

Then eyes wide open

staring deeply,

falling through

each other’s pupils

that engulfed each other

as we jumped

into the volcano,

vaporized;

falling and burrowing

ever deeper

down the rabbit hole

with no way back

and no desire to find

our way home backwards

as we knew this was

exactly where we wanted to be,

forever falling.

*****

I miss

that kiss.

*****

We’ve been down that way

a few times since,

but there can be only one

first time.

Nuestro primer beso.

私たちの最初のキス

Notre premier baiser.

Il nostro primo bacio.

. הנשיקה הראשונה שלנו

لدينا أول قبله

наш первый поцелуй

(Our First Kiss.)

Now is the time to discover

all the new places

in each of us

we’ve overlooked

for too long.

Dare to be.

Dare to acknowledge.

Dare to accept.

Dare to provoke

all the others we can be

into action;

into being

from out of banishment

and hibernation

from

out of the light and into the darkness.

and out of the darkness into the light

Phantom lovers we can be

to someone we have never

known before

‘though we have been there

all along.

*****

A million new

First Kisses

dwell inside of each of us

if we but set aside

the paradigms of clichés

we have

spun together

and trust

we shall always

meet again

as us,

only different.

My forever lover.

My forever friend.

*****************************************************************

What have You Done with My Goddess?

Dull eyes staring back at me
Misplaced anger
and my own misdirected self-pity…
Who was hiding
in this shell,
this empty house?
…this tired, bitter imposter?
I pray she can forgive me
for not recognizing
the face of my own widow.
A Goddess mourning
the passing of her own Hero,
forever plagued by the ghost of
Yesterday’s Greatest Love.

A minion of years….

Yesterday’s Bitter Ashes,

The sweet honey of Love and Passion

and the mixed emotions

of realized dreams,

great hopes

and

Devastating Regrets.
*****

Come with me.

Take my hand again in Love and Faith.

Remember what was…

never forget….

Let yourself feel the anguish

and acknowledge what we have lost.

Let it inspire us again.

To live each day

as the resurrected idols

of each other’s Idols.

Rekindle the fires…

Breathe life back into each other.

Reanimate The Dream.

*****

Yesterday we found and lost each other,

as well as ourselves….

I remember the joy we felt

the first time I gazed into your eyes

and chose to ignore the foreboding…

knowing my life

would never be the same.

Knowing that our destiny could not be ignored,

Hoping it was all a dream

from which we never would awake.

*****
We are old souls that have lost our way,

our selves,

and each other.

Rediscover today, My Goddess.

Your Hero awaits his Idol.

Take my hand and walk with me

together into tomorrow

and…

Never Forget

Yesterday.

*****************************************************************

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

You are my goddess yesterday,

today and tomorrow.

Alone, I hear my own heartbeat.

Can you?

It is the knocking

that I pray that you hear

at the door to your soul,

begging to come back inside…

forever wanting to come inside….

Miami’s yesterdays

wash away

my daily preoccupations

like a summer monsoon,

laying bare

the memories

of years gone by.

Sweet memories of what was

and bitter tears of regret

for a million missed opportunities

to have lived better todays back then.

A hurricane of emotions

blowing away the doldrums of horse latitudes of inertia.

Too many todays taken for granted…

Too many yesterdays

of apathy,

complacency

and boredom,

borne of mind-numbing fatigue

spawned from forgotten exhilaration…

that each of the first days

that seemed like they would never end.

Anticipating every day,

just to wake up next to my Goddess

with the realization that our love

was not a dream;

that my Goddess was real,

and she was mine and I was hers.

God and Goddess were alive

and magic was afoot.

T
o
o

M
a
n
y

L
o
s
t

Y
e
a
r
s
.
.
.
.
¿?

These poems were written long ago, before Suki and I rediscovered each
other.
I found this poem after believing it to be forever lost. I should have known better…it was written almost a decade ago in the midst of a reawakening I was experiencing while quartered with my flight crew in Miami Shores at the Marriot Courtyards.
We had been grounded for the last five days first for maintenance, then for weather, when I had this epiphany and it wrecked me completely.
It was written for Suki. It took a long time for her to take it to heart, but she kept it just the same. There came a time when she experienced a sort of spiritual death and this made her gasp her first new breaths.
Shortly afterward I started writing what was to become Dancing in Dreamland. It took me eight years to write it and another year before she would read the first words of the completed manuscript, and about five days to stop crying after she did.
We have both been breathing a lot better ever since.
It is a call to arms to resuscitate a lost lover in order to resuscitate a lost love.
XO,
Chazz

*****************************************************************

end of July, 2014

Casa Nostra

I died in your arms that night,

and buried myself deeply

between your thighs

as

we fucked like it was our last night on earth

even though I’ve lived like

I thought

I would never die.

Our life together

has been a moveable feast

I call

Casa Nostra.
(Our House)

In a lifetime of searching

I’ve found

Meaning in Love

and Purpose

in knowing

and sharing

whatever

I can experience,

learn,

and feel,

wherever

it all shall lead me.

And when it is finished,

scatter my ashes

over

The Villa Chez Dreamland

but keep Love alive en Casa Nostra.

As we hang suspended in time and space

(to-get-her)

in that one thin moment

as we dance upon the razor’s edge

our mortality suddenly seems so much less tragic

as

our infinite intimate synchronicity

washes over us

reminding us once again

of all that which is eternal in each of us

as well as both of us.

In My Perfect World.

Casa Nostra.

En Casa Nostra

we give without regard to what we get

but we take

to serve as vessels

for the giving

from those we love

as well as those

who cannot give back

so as to give to

the Universe,

that place where

even miracles are mundane.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected

by our fearlessness

because

We may feel pain.

We may share pain,

but we do not fear

being hurt

because we trust

and we believe

that this too will

give us the strength

we need

to follow our hearts

to the Palace of Wisodm

and be prepared

to receive

Enlightenment,

Epiphany,

and boundless Joy.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected.

Our enemies may hurt us

but they probably

can’t kill us,

but if they kill us

they probably

won’t eat us

but if they eat us

they make us one with

those who would

because

they cannot destroy us.

En Casa Nostra

we take no prisoners,

preferring instead

to accept the surrender

of willing hostages

as extended family.

Casa Nostra;

a mansion with no walls

large enough to hold

a universe

in a house as intimate

as two bodies

attempting to occupy

one space

or

to become as

one beating heart.

One Mind.

A place where

you can see yourself

reflected in the eyes

of your eternal beloved

as we Bow to the Divine

in each other

and as adults,

nurture the eternal child

in each of us

as our children teach us

the importance

of all the things we forgot

as we grew up

en Casa Nostra.

It starts and ends with our

Gang of Three

*****************************************************************

I Stare into the Fire

Late January.

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

*****************************************************************

My Muses

Our souls breathe the same air

somewhere

outside of time and space

resonating

as we breathe out

we inspire each other

as we breathe in

provocative exhalations

evoking visions and dreams,

wonderment and admirations

that just seem to fit so well.

As each pronouncement

of the ideal

of the other

mirrors our own aspirations.

If you can imagine it

you can make it happen.

To hear you describe it

is to desire to be that man

who inspires you

to be that woman.

To read your thoughts

is to feel

your soul

breathing your words into my ear.

Each of you

nurture, heal and inspire

the very best of me,

inspiring me

to do the same for you.

Indulgences

of spirit and flesh

are exchanged

as fluently

as

passing from one hand to the other.

Breathless humours and vapors

of our common consciousness

in mutual resusitation.

*****************************************************************

He/She

He was cryptic mysticism
moving with graceful swagger
between preoccupations,
distractions,
and excesses.
She was gentically programmed self-doubt
cowering beneath
delicious layers
of warmth, sensuality,
mischief, lust and humor,
afraid of the day
he would discover
her dark secret.
Their co-dpendancy was as strong as their love.
Trying to move in a million directions at once
he was as one paralyzed.
She, appearing motionless
as if she never moved,
yet imperceptably
incrementally constantly in motion,
evolving and healing
as she went through
each day…
until the next
Fall from Grace….
He was taught by both rote
and circumstance
that in order to save one life,
one may be forced to
take others.
…and although he had saved so many
he always felt
like he owed so much more.
She, like so many others
was either deep in the troughs
of her emotions,
formerly vibrant and breath taking,
or riding beautiful waves
on high crests
of brilliance and enthusiasm.
Were they really
just two flawed, Lost Souls
whose sharp,
jagged edges
often fit so well together?
or one,
completed
each by the other?
…And what about all those other
jagged edges,
their complimentary angles
unfilled?
There were plenty on both of them.

He enjoyed playing the Devil’s Advocate,
the promoter of the Perverse,
a snake oil salesman,
and
the Serpent in the Garden
because she always felt he was
speaking to only her
whenever
the subject came up
as it always did
eventually…
about those
other unfilled
jagged edges….
She enjoyed being
seduced into doing something
she already wanted,
and always tried to
prolong the Seduction
as long as she could.
A long time ago,
it seemed
like nothing was good enough
to suit him.
Now it seemed like almost nothing
was good enough
after all….
and that suited him just fine.
The less you need,
the easier it
becomes to find gratitude
everywhere you look.
He awoke every morning
proclaiming himself
the luckiest man he knew.
And he believed in his heart
that he was right
because he knew
she would do everything
in her power
to prove him right.
…And he did exactly the same thing for her.
…On the Good days….

*****************************************************************

end of March, 2015

All Things Return to the One

All Things Return to the One.

He would aspire to be

Master of the Universe.

She is already

the source of all creation.

His story is History.

Her story is Progeny.

He is One.

She is Zero.

But even

the One

returns

to Zero.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

4/29/2015

*****************************************************************

Namasté नमस्ते

I bow to the divine within you.

In humbling ourselves

we are exalted.

Without desire.

There is no need

to strive for

Achievement

with

nothing to attain.

Just this.

Only this.

You could ask a dog

about the moon,

or simply howl for yourself.

****************************************************************

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

What kind of God would do this thing?

An angry, lonely God perhaps,

but

I think it must be one quite small,

(that Heaven or that God)

where neither animals nor disbelievers

are allowed to go.

Do you think

you are only being tested

here on Earth

to decide if you should go

to Heaven?

or to Hell?

Heaven is right here.

Right now.

Because there’s no place I’d rather be,

between Gratitude and Acceptance

at the crossroads of

Life and Sex

in rural

Ecstasy,

deep into

Love County….

Call Her what you want,

I am but God’s Reflection

on the surface

of a pond so still

you can

pick it up

with the

antlers of a mouse,

(…if only you know how…)

to carry with you

in your heart.

No matter where you go.

*****************************************************************

Step into the Light

Step into the Light

Anonymity is its own punishment

in its very safety.

Time to step back out into the light

of controversy and notariety.

Notariety is not fame

but

Dharma coupled to Action

is compelled to attract attention to itself.

The controversy is theirs.

Action attracts action.

Too much time spent locked

inside the pink house

of many doors

is no test

of anything except solitude.

Time to be alive again

to feel joy as well as passion

through conviction.

How do I find the words

to enable me to envision the elusive,

the esoteric,

the occult,

the indescribable,

the transcendental?

What will trigger a recognition of a feeling?.

No matter how universal

it may seem

it is purely

subjective.

What is common and endemic

to our nature

allows us to recognize

whatever narrow slice

of enlightenment or bliss

that we are experiencing

in our own private present moments.

Be now here

instead of

Nowhere.

The inner peace of one lone soul

is world-wide

for that one soul

whose perfection is contageous.

Namasté

नमस्ते

*****************************************************************

I still get Hungry…

I still get Hungry…
I enjoy being Hungry…
because
I also enjoy being Satiated…
…to consume….
…to be consumed….
I love Anticipation.
But most of all,
I want
for you to want me.
The question remains
“How much Drama
will this Dharma cost?”
“How much must we pay to play?”
I understand
that suffering follows
all desires.
But as long as
I know the price
and still desire to
Joyously
pursue Joy,
as even the arrow
pursues the intention
one cannot willfully
eschue
pleasure before it is sated.
Only then can you step aside
of your desires.
It is only then
that we proclaim
our noblest of intentions
nonetheless
inspired by an altogether otherwise
sort of fire
now alight in our chests
which once smoldered
in our nether-most regions.

I like also to feel
the rumble in my stomach
as hunger
overwhelms
all other desires
or intentions,
and I become the Hunter
and the Hunted
by choice of will, or passion,
or instinct
and strength.
I choose to live.
I choose to love…
no easy fairy-tale
puppy-love
as fragile
as a wood-nymph’s wing,
No…
this is tough and leather-clad
Love
astride
our engines of pleasure
sparked by impulse,
horsepower fueled by desire
compelled by instinct
injecting lust
supercharged with anticipation
undaunted by fear.
Poised and ready
for a
high-speed run
along the beach at night,
every lamp on high beam
penetrating the darkness
and the smell of Ocean in our hair.

As long as I still
enjoy the twenty-story
elevator shaft drop
just as much as
that accelerating ascent
that always preceedes it,
I’ll surf the waves
as best I can.
Until then…
until serenity
surplants enthusiasm,
…perhaps
some other time,
perhaps then….
when I no longer
enjoy being hungry.

As five hundred
lifetimes
come and go
in the batting of an eyelash,
we’ll meet again,
and if we don’t turn out
to be just as ignorant
and foolish
as we are now
it will be a miracle
to be celebrated
Here and Now
just as if we already had.
Let’s face it…
we both desearve it
just by wanting it
enough to pay the price.
Bound by Desire
a prisonser of Passion,
Every Hungry Woman
dreams
of the whipping-post.
Every Slave
loves
the collar.
Tomorrow’s Bodhisattva,
बोधिसत्त्व
is
Today’s
Post-Neo Dharma-Bum.

Namasté
नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent
05/30/2015

*****************************************************************

Who Am I? (revisited)

Who Am I? (revisited)
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
All is Impermanence.
All is Folly.
Even the coming and goings
are an illusion
created within the mind.
No inside.
No outside.
No mind.
Before ideas,
before thoughts,
before words
there is only this.
Just this.
Only this.

Just like this.

Who am I?

What is the Truth?
Twice daily
water flows
in and out of the lagoon
where fish swim.
Is this the only truth?
You already know.
Before thoughts,
before words,
put everything down.
The comings and goings,
Inside and outside,
All is illusion,
All is Impermanence.
Dancing in a dream of the past.
Dancing in a dream of the future.
I ride the three-hundred-mile-per-hour train
in the ever-present
never-present
present moment.
I look outside and all is a blur
but inside the car only I move.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is my one true face
before my parents were born?
I am the truth of one mind.
Of clear mind
Of no mind.
So simple and perfect
staring back at you
as you gaze into the mirror,
yet if you
speak one word
to describe it
you shatter the stillness
that drowns out all the words and wisdom
of all the great teachers.
Already you know.

The truth is on the tongues of every blade of grass
singing harmonies
to the wind in the pines
and waterfalls,
the sounds of lovers
or the din of traffic
and industrial motor noise alike.
More eloquent than words,
more profound than all wisdom.
Seeking the truth or enlightenment
through thoughts or words
is like trying to hit the moon with a stick,
like a dog that chases its own tail,
that wouldn’t know what to do with it.
even if it should catch it.
If you open your mouth to speak
you are only another talking monkey.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.

What is the true way?
North
South
East
or West,
all paths come back upon themselves
if only you travel far enough.
If all things return to the One
where does the One return?
Zero.
The sound of the wind in the pines
and the crashing of the waves
upon the shore
are singing
a song of Selfless Love
as shadows grow longer
while the sun moves westward.
See your one true face in mine.

Who am I?
I am I.
I am You.
I am All.
I am One.
I am Nothing.
The sound of frogs
singing at night
comes in through my window.
So simple.
So true.
How did I not hear it
for so long?
Listen.
Smile.
Give.
Love.

All the wisdom
of all possible worlds
is within you now
if you will but listen.
Everything you need
you already have.
Everything you need to be
you already are.
I am I.
I am You.
I am One.
I am All.
I am Nothing.
Be here now.
Be nowhere.
Be now here.

Birds swim through oceans of fire,
while stone angels fly
and
fish dance
to songs
sung by
the rocks
as mansions of sand
crumble in the sky.
Just this.
Only this.
Just like this.

Who are We?
I am I
You are You.
I am You.
You are Me.
We are One.
We are All.
We Are Nothing.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
05/22/2015

*****************************************************************

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