Archive for Poetry

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

Posted in Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Crossing the Abyss, Dancing in Dreamland, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Escape Velocity, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sentience, Sex, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Talking Monkeys with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 1, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

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.

 

My Muses

Posted in Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Collaboration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Goddess, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Liason Between Parties, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sentience, Share The Love, Sorcery, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 20, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

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.

 

Almost Nothing

Posted in Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Escape Velocity, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Sentience, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Uroboros, Vision Quest, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

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.

Casa Nostra

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Synchronicity, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

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.

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.

(Our House).

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.

Apologia

Posted in Acknowledgement, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Keep Coming Back, Liason Between Parties, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Id, Thorn Tree in the Garden with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

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 would 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.

How I Found Happiness through Lowered Expectations

Posted in gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Much Too Good For Children, No Expectations, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 21, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

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.

 

What have You Done with My Goddess?

Posted in adversity, Appreciation, Dancing in Dreamland, Goddess, Greatest Sorrow, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Keep Coming Back, Liason, Love, NSFW, Poetry, Torch Song with tags , , on July 14, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

*****

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
.
.
.
.
¿?

This poem was 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

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