Pain delivery solitude

what is this fear, this common denominator with us? oil on top of water, brilliant colors divided into flamable rings, morse code tapped out by a wooden shoe disconnected from its mate when high water flooded the closet, then subsided. what i watch for i watch for because i've seen it before and my faith is not so strong every day, my attempt to set aside this relatively simple question gives it legs, allows it to grow hair and fangs, so i ask it now openly and plainly at least to myself, perhaps to you, perhaps to someone else who will hear it without the shiney barbless hook for catch and release, we have learned to be defenseless and kind, we continue to move through miracles, but there is also pain. and today this fear that as my brutality subsides, is tamed by my work, by our trusting, by my choices to reveal this new frontier of tenderness, then somehow it will end in solitude, our choices will diverge, those regions of habit will claim the day, the fear trys on a variety of flicker-cladding to convince me that looking in the mirror is pointless, but that is where i'm heading, into that transparent glassy room with the darkness of my soul giving reflections an infinite number of responses in all directions, a cube or a sphere with magnetic force strong enough to suspend me, yet feel the earth's gravity, extending in all directions, somehow there is a delivery system that will work today, work towards grief, compassion, mercy, grace and love.

Opera blast galvinate (deciphered)

emergence from bad habit, this root-like fellow lost in his vanity whose keen and deadly governance shackles his soul-self, thick-tongued and silent, strutting but inclined to fall over, willing sexual union without orgasm in a field of nettles, taking his light lunch with holiness of mind, we wander about in dirty sheep's wool and supressing our struggle, plain glossy silk suspending our oath, the dry friction coupling, i declare openly a priestly lack of will power while the small cattle nod agreement, this forty-fold sensualist, redouled for passing along the summer-to-winter pasture trail beaten down by a stag, thick-lipped and related by blood.

see original post here:
http://raininghorse.blogspot.com/2007/02/opera-blast-galvinate.html

More on karezza

http://www.reuniting.info/wisdom/stockham_karezza

Yellow pickles reward

when stepping into simple yellow pickle reward, my common in-law found his grounding sword, purchased in arcs resplendent hair unfurling on portion on burning whale oil fountain, his quickly-spent inheritance grew moss while rolling down tamalpais mountain, during after during before there was none left there were no more, blackening sky was set aright its fiery glow delivering pincushions through the night, and more combination left jabs and right hooks than ali sents and foreman tooks, poughkeepsie pride brimming over the amber glass of coronation leaving stains of juice and reason, america was born again in tears through a quietly still canal whose walls were sleeping for winter's season, "as the days grow longer the cold grows stronger" his companion whispered from the northwestern shore of a lake whose name he had forgotten but would always be revisited, her inquisitive tongue dancing round her smiling lips and eyes so bright in wink and teasing, these softest moments drive in curves and switchbacks through those hills of spirits blessing, who played that mordent both directions never knowing which and never guessing.

Honor thy sequence

change chase its crafty worldtorn supplemental income, dragging apartment dwelling distances across summer screen sun worship, tell it tall tale, tribal functionary topping animal swelling spleen, wonderfire spilling willing participants over thundering sacraficial drumming tonal ringing round extemporaneous places falling into ashen sunken drink of drying blood secured through temple hammer, during after rain in wallow bison crawl down canyon roaring creek in owl expression night hunter dervish complication, hold in common hand untold rejoicing built in cold deep fascination, thine is glory foggy tamborine distracted flailing cards reshuffled birds deflocked inseperate hyperlonging noodle copper feather fanning all it wanted, skeletal roundabout voice hollow interspersed doing light pastoral dance collision.

Solid extensions, air we breathe

there are saddles between hills easy to access in a days walk where trilobites litter the surface of the ground, reminders of when this land was seafloor, untelevised courage now taking refuge as more tests are conducted and determination becomes the watchword, let these challenges stack upon each other like layers of limestone in little elk creek canyon, the yellow gates, the red gates, the white gates, lost on sectarian roads by legal restrictions placed around this peripheral destination, all moments lead to your wise direction, breaking wild turkey bones with me again, another meal in the long grass when evening approaches, breeze kicks up, dervishes place their bets on whose back will grace the earth and whose will be suspended in the sky, or will our tumbling flight yield no pattern, will our compositional grace factor out all opposition and prematurely lift us, ascent into black hill haven through some gap in time, which creatures are these who stand before the raft, such a small lake and yet the wind has disturbed its surface beyond any capability of reading your reflection, you stand still now, coming into your own image in a bath of silver, lightened registrants along the shore flanking you, ready to take that dive when nothing else seems to matter, we all join with you now, there is no break in unity, no loss of focus on this regal prize, your life is a cup of gold filled with essential blood, your hands hold the body of christ, share it among us, let us feel the weight and curry your favor, dance with our hearts beating your purpose, we will, we want and we will, be your foundation, your four walls, your roof and windows, you have everything you need in this family, all in love, all in truth, another season is turning, that key is in your hand.

Lucky 13

my daughter kore turned 13 on friday, we had a nice visit sunday morning, the giving of gifts and breakfast with her brother and mom. very relaxed, and she truly appreciates all of the things that are given to her, takes care of her life in a way that shows great inner strength. the momentum we are gaining by seeing each other once or twice a week, a sense of peace and understanding, deep grooves of intuition being played by the diamond needle of time, its clear when its best to leave, transitions are comfortable, no sense of desperation or competitive pushing towards the goal. we are all aging gracefully and in the grace of recovery.

Vintage frog, trails of glory

when saxaphones wailed and drummers drummed, when caligraphic regenerative displays of amphibious swashbuckling lie in state next to celebrity gorgonzola, when herbaceous motown dreadlocks tumble down the back of business week creationism drillers crying out for their tanktop tulips by the side of the bay, when rangers risk their carbon dating lives for implicated legal restructuring driven down down down into the wrong side of town and holed up with a sled dog team two tankards to the wind, when marvelous greetings cream the inside of a cruller baked before you were born in ovens stone and silver by an effervescent tea drinking eye winking kitchen sinking jpg linking lama loving grease crackling horse headed woman on a morning watch with james agee headstones hovering outside the window, when military marchers captivate eliminate rotate gyrate and postulate on the direction we die when we fly by in hamilton sky during recess put to the test ample in your dress crafty wafty tell it to the rafty given all those options by their commander in chief on his last legs raking coal over shallow graves in abject powerhungry bonebighting gristlehyping dinty moore hide and seek in temperature growing climate dams be tearing us all of us tearing us open to let the river run the salmon spawn the omelets turn out onto warm plates in the morning.

Don Hazeltine show March 1st

don is a very longtime friend and a truly gifted painter. here are the details from don's website:

"If you have your 2007 calendar, then you can mark First Thursday, March 1st, 2007, 6pm.
The Tashiro/Kaplan Building, 306 S. Washington, just east of Pioneer Square in Seattle, has a corridor space on it's second floor which connects several artist's studios. These studios are open on First Thursday Art Walks. The corridor space itself is also used as an exhibition area, which is called the Corridor Gallery. Here is a link with more information about the venue.
I will have work on the walls of the Corridor Gallery for the month of March. The space is well-lit, with room to view the work. There are a number of other galleries in the building, and a lot of art to see. I hope to see you there!"

and a link to his site: www.donhazeltine.com

Let the cynics crowd together

but i am finding a sweet celebration of love this valentines day that i'm grateful for. with my children, my mother, my sweetheart... all of the shining streets of rain, the clients who won't call me back and the ones who say they found another application for their purposes, my friends who need support and who support me, whether in matters of love, commerce, health, ignition timing, puzzle coordination, sleep and agriculture, verses, shoe polishing, driving miss daisy, all along the watchtower, cooking with rocks on the beach, dancing senselessly backward in time and space, falling into the river of mathematics, tearing down the walls or building them back up with mortar and bricks, for this and every moment that has passed or will follow.

so photograph that anvil, blend your favorite oils and spread them thin along the back of your beloved, burst open at the seams, let a song drink you and digest you, cap that gusher with a monument of grassy knoll, dodge that bullet and pluck it from the sky with your frog's tongue laughter, blink twice if you know this one, detect a virus and send it back where it came from, pronounce the name of god any way you like, boldly go where no man has gone before, drive your horse and brush the mane of your motorbike, let the big bad wolf have a sleep by the fire, rage against the machine, play gypsy with me once again, love is a good thing.

"You are at war"

lyrics from the song written in 1979

raising the water

spilling it on your knees

hoping you would not freeze

you started your day

crawling to england

over the irish soil

fighting a war of tears

that crowded your eyes

you are a princess

i am a prison fool

they will not let me live

but you are at war

gold hair beneath me

memory of your smile

captive but all the while

i know that i'm free

playing the beggar

you are within the walls

suddenly someone calls

i know that its you

tear down the fortress

ride on the wind tonight

we do not have to fight

the forces of love

Opera blast galvinate

eclosion from mistech, this radiciform coxcomb whose vorpal androcracy gyves, pachyglossal and tacent, branking but walty, willing karezza in urticaceous fields, taking nacket with sanctinimity, we obambulate in dag and delitescent luctation, lutestring suspending our juramentum, the xerotripsis binate, i nuncupate a sacerdotal dysbulia while kyloe homologate, this quadragintesimal fleshling, ingeminated for transhumant abature, labrose and parentelic.

Early morning rain

"In the early morning rain

With a dollar in my hand

With an achin in my heart

And my pockets full of sand

Im a long way from home

And I miss my loved ones so

In the early morning rain

With no place to go"

(Gordon Lightfoot)

the restless beast within, tossing and turning, recognition of the gift of life and how it has or has not been recognized, the gift of creativity and the strength of his beastly body, how they have or have not been acknowledged and what prayers of gratitude have or have not been lifted, today is new, this moment is new, and within this day and this early morning moment the gratitude flows and the prayers are sent up, but with that is the acknowledgement of the face turned away from the light, the decline into invulnerability, calculation, denial of intuition, stilling the small voice inside of conscience, how many thousands of times and ways has this been my choice, my beastly human choice, for i am a soul in an animal's body, and the instinctual grace of the animal and the soaring reaches and depths of the soul are not in competition or disharmony when they are allowed full play, held up to the light, like the earth and sky, the water the fire the conversation flows in all directions, and i am grateful and bleeding off my shame through darkness and pain, feeling the weight of those years and releasing that weight in the same breath, perhaps not my last dark night of the soul, nor my first, but certainly this was one.

Vacance appellation

hooray hooray we're going to chez shea for valentines day! and the portugal trip is getting closer as well. life is beautiful.

Twelve days

renewed in a cap and gown when graduation day, frothy, coordinated through distant relatives passed beneath the archway garnished, redent, unpopular with their cheering, cracked open when silver clouds fell heavily into the middle of your standing ovation, this campfire cause regains the hill by toasting marshmallows, willing therapeutic rivers to run sideways, breaking straws to different lengths and drawing them from my fist to determine whose advance warning shall be heeded, whose magic buttons shall be dusted and sewn onto whose lapels, will it be jerusalem or constantinople, artichoke or apple, when peeling ceiling painting of an ancient virgin stalls the walking tour for a moment of silent grief, that wonderful smell of plaster cooling until year-long shadows beneath eyes of mother mary fall to rest again, everything is dropping in for a cup of tea this afternoon, all and everyone, the guirdjeff shaven head cabalistic opportunity knocking axillary voltage through lines of copper between seven major eastern rivers on twelve days when blessings congretated, a small tribe of words, eyes closed and arms encircled, dragging toes in red dust as silent prayers, regaining the stage for an encore while the audience drains the last dregs of summer from their tanning bags, sharpening the wooden blade against the soles of their shoes, bleeding the air from their ripening flask, this goat's milk will be cheese when our journey has ended, or at least taken a pause, and we will eat, my friend, we will eat together again.

Grazing my temple

"Well, I lived with a child of snow

When I was a soldier

And I fought every man for her

Until the nights grew colder."

(Leonard Cohen)

when i was a soldier a bullet grazed my temple, thrown from across the river by a boy who pointed his weapon without thought of consequences, knocked me down but did not kill me, grappled with my brother who threw him into the water and broke his staff, later in the day when i awoke my grandmother's face was above me offering comfort, it was the first time but not the last, for a few year's later i would be knocked down again, unconcious again, and again she would be there when i awoke, and this time i would think she was an angel and that i had died and gone to heaven, and i would ask her if this was what had happened, and she would chuckle, yes chuckle is the word that best describes the sound she made when she laughed, so soft, round and inward, jolly, deep-seated, slightly grevious, like a sigh of resignation, and then again i would go back to war, this time without a horse, wheezing in the open field my chest torn open by my addiction, my shame of how my leg would swing out when i ran blistering the palms of my hands, the laughter of the farm girls, my attempt to writhe in the ashes of poetry, the smell of pig farms and model airplane cement, the cigarettes i stole from my father, the girl down the street who danced for us in the tree house, my naive clumsy attempts at sex, i was a soldier in the army of resistance to war, a black armband on my jean jacket, the american flag sewn upside down onto the pocket, my father's rage balanced precariously on my shoulder as i walked the hallways of school, exhausted and nervous, skinny and weaponless, trailing clouds of glory with sunsheen and miraculous freezing, and again a stone, a strike at my head, nearly tearing off my ear, alone by the creek now with my younger brother, standing behind me where the weapon recently left his hand, untying my love for him and laying it by the stream, deerhide with blood, service berries staining my fingers, red cliffs rising to the east, you were there and you are with me now.

Urban stargazing and clean linens

but now we fantail thistles, lifting and dusting every conceivable corner of rudimentary columnar stationmasters, eagle streamers on slab turning voice over wind-regions toward a swath of moon so wide and yellow that i wince, stop all breathing, start up the chainsaw hologram, walking past slowly as it gazes back into my eyes, vents blowing cold air down around my chair, this sun-tiered sad habit growls at the foot of my chair, waiting for me to step toward the door, i must make a deposit and seven calls to keep a roof above my head, i am frightened today and trembling, what does it take to make music fall downhill, help me dance, craving for spirit so immediate and carnivorous that knowledge blasts open a bandier of shame and pushes forward into the amethyst street, murky and waning, step by step so as not to pause.

Then tell us

what you want, what you will, where the envelope was sealed and how many slips of silver are within, files, delicate interrogations in laundry-room widow-seats, the gap between two stars, commercial interruption vanishing into combine wheat and chaff, the sand in the soda, transformers blowing out when the surge hires on too many cattle for dead breeders to stomach at the centurions ball, veil lichen growing in granite recognition, how many colors do you need and in which fabrics, down which hatches, by whose estimation, under which circumstances. i knew you when and you never told us, never made that connection so simple and worthy of honor, did not deputize thin salad-bowl ranger hair cut boys to buck the trends, it was drip marketing, the campaign to end all campaigns, who were your warriors then and who will they be tomorrow, i tremble at the gate with bare legs.

Surfeit bargainville

this law demands we consume fickle requisitions bouncing telemetrically between fashion, village blackwater, pills on hills, imploding regional mix and match hop festivals, divisive institutions placed before empty cartons of loud hannah bang bang night music, military solutions dampened by hellish scans pushed between rife and rivelet, that commmon denominator so in love with death's patchy wallop, my here and now have crept across concrete swimming pools emptied for winter's freeze, a gaping western breeze tagged to forage scraps of garbage, send them wheeling and plastered against the windshield of brazen mammoth underdeveloped charismatic lies, if you knew my now like i knew me now you would know me when i was known to whether we knew it or not, sell it upstairs grandma moses, keep it clean johnny washing machine, tell it like it is jazzy mazzy fazzy fizz, don't take any wooden nickels bonnie clyde jekel hyde lettuce mustard ketchup pickles, be yourself tiny elf, beg to differ homily fomily romily flipper, how entertaining to be called out onto the carpet and breadbasketed down the stairs, busting the railing, mentally checking into small dimensions of panic, held aloft at arms length the darling baby boy he was, now vanishing in a cloud of ether, twelve eleven ten nine eight seven six five four three two one, bye bye!