The Lord is My Shepherd, I shall not Want?

“When those who found this skeleton attempted to disengage it from that which it held in its grasp, it crumbled to dust.” ― Victor Hugo

 

            Sandra Ramos

 

When for ages the wind swept years away, there remained little of the life of the hermit, a stir past the window reminded eternity that mortality has its limits. Another flicker of movement that proved a harsh statement against all the laws of nature that screamed to be true. There’s always an exception, always an intervention by the divine laws which are generally ignored by the empiricists knowing they cannot tame the wild west of the spiritual. Though the house is dimmed by age, and windows covered in dust, sagging in their own way from age, life refuses to die. He holds on, battered and calloused from the struggle of living, refusing to crawl under the comforting sheets of the deep unknown. Something has died however, his passion has suffered the mortal wound. When it’s all said and done, am I alive if love is dead? And if so, what good is it?

The Wind – Fellowship of the wind –

“It’s the questions we can’t answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he’ll look for his own answers.”

– Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man’s Fear

 

I could feel the strength of the wind.

Fresh, dark, mystical wind.

On the shadowed side of the steep mountains,
clouds hovering, the wind teasing,
making smoke tails.

Strange feeling, exhilarating yet,
peaceful, almost entrancing,
the wind in my hair.

Smells, fresh, moist, sounds of a tree,
a falling comrade in the green forest,
all carried by the wind.

How is it that I fit in this mystery?
How is it I’m taken by this wind?
Like a seed carried away from my past,

by an ever present but constantly changing wind,

Dropping me pleasantly down

to finish my here and now.

Brother wind and I take flight.

Also published in Broowaha

First published in Opinions Of Eye

10022011

Cold water, Dry run – Heal the wounds of yesterday –

“Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.”  – C. JoyBell C.

Trying hard to find water in a dry land. A parched, dry, burning throat tortures me. My lips, peel like mud flakes baked by the noon heat. Life was here, now, only the memory of life conveyed in the carved, hard mud of me, a dry lake. Then a soft wind blows, the temperature drops slowly, a coolness invades, and the clouds gather promising a new thing is on its way. Soft drops escape at first, slowly building a faceless mob. Each drop makes a mark, dimpling the ground. The little craters overflow and begin to form a growing conglomeration of streaming water alliances, gathering momentum and finding their way to the thirsty lake, filling the deepest cracks first.

 

Notice the deepest cracks are the ones first filled with the life-giving water. Likewise, notice how the deepest hurts are the first healed when the fulfillment of your hearts desire comes to pass. It’s a beautiful to see life restored. There is a fulfillment in hope and contentment after suffering. It feels so good, like cold water after a hot run.

Also published in Broowaha

First published in Opinions Of Eye

08172011

Her-icane

“If people were rain I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane.”  
– John Green, Looking for Alaska 

The hurricane was coming.
 No more wondering, no more warning.

 

Grabbing the tools to put up the ply, 
I began to work, an eye on the sky

 

Nail after nail, I secured what was mine, 
my loose ends are bound with white twine

 

Wind tugs my sweaty hair now, 
as horizontal drops begin to pound

 

Forgetting one thing in all the hurry, 
the open front door in rain now blurry

 

Rampaging through my unprotected gate, 
the raging storm expresses all of it’s hate

 

It’s all over with damage everywhere, 
all of my belongings strewn around there

 

I could have prevented this wind that blew, 
had I stopped myself from loving you

02082012

Seeing A Thought

“I realize there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” ― Jeffrey McDaniel

harryvarelis

Seeing a thought, though it long past
How your touch and kiss, both would last
The wind in the trees, of my looking mind
Washed the slate clean, with the rain of time
Flitting rare bird, that affection of yours
I crawl through, the closing doors
Seeing a thought, though I longed it so
Touching the dreams, I let you go.

01292012

 

Leaving – The Death of Love

“With my last breath, I’ll exhale my love for you. I hope it’s a cold day, so you can see what you meant to me.
” 

– Jarod Kintz, This is the best book I’ve ever written, and it still sucks

 

radikal

I gave love the last burst of my precious energy, 
hoping to revive her before she passed on to the light. 
No shock on earth could ever start her heart again, 
growing cold as stone before my eyes. 
The hardness creeps in like darkness at sunset, 
first intriguing and beautiful, but then, a cold wind 
blows from the darkness, night is coming. 
One last chance I gave love, I started a fire in her, 
using all the dead things I had in me as fuel. 
Nevertheless, she refused to breathe. 
Now I feel her life ebbing from my soul. 
Her presence evaporating from my heart. 
Left with the cracked parched earth of my soul, 
thirsty for wetness, she refuses to live. 
Have you ever felt someone leaving your soul?

Have you ever felt someone leaving your soul?

Also published in Broowaha

She Sings

“Dance your pain, sing your sorrows, because there is nothing else tomorrow.”
― Santosh Kalwar
 

She beckons one, she caresses you from afar.
You can’t see her, she knows you
You can’t hold her, never in your arms 

Hearing her singing in the trees, their leaves rustling her name 

Now you want her, feeling her desire
Now you long for her, feeling her power
Now you look for her, hour after hour 

Hearing her singing in the wind, the breeze whispering her name

You know she will fool you, she will give you great pleasure
You know she will hurt you, she will give you great escape
You know she will lie to you, she will give you great fantasy 

Hearing her singing in the storm, the thunder shouting her name
 

Left with nothing but what the struggle brings
Love wins once again, who’s next? 

She sings….. 

Also published in: Broowaha

12262011 

Conductivity

“Don’t only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets, for it and knowledge can raise men to the divine.”
― Ludwig van Beethoven

conductivity – Physiology: The conductibility of a structure, especially the ability of a nerve to transmit a wave of excitation.

 

Sex. Simple yet far reaching, the thing an entity that saved my life. When, from the cold water of torture, imposed by pious and selfish parents who were none of mine, I thought I embraced death, it rescued me to find solace in pleasure and left me desiring one thing:

“Just hold me, dammit.”

I feel her skin, alive with little raised bumps of electric excitement, her whole body flush  following my rough fondling of her curved silken form. I’m a voluptuary, my addiction to hedonism born not from the experience of sex, but by the absence of pain that occurs when I drive my fingers into her, seeing her writhe with pleasure, making me a master of the forbidden divine, the whole of our experience being wrapped in the coddling clothes of sadness. What’s it like to take a woman? To ravish her senses before the nakedness appears and we are left with the remnants of pleasure? A grand symphony, composed by a deaf Beethoven of sensual explorations. Like Beethoven, with a deeper sense, a sixth sense, I perform my feats of conductivity with the excitement of promise, like the cool wind and smell of rain before the storm. Sex is my slave and I make her perform on women, instructed by things that excel the imagination. Who would think the evil forced on me would find creative expression in the many and varied spiritual exchanges with women, both imagined and feigned, consuming and exclusive.

“Just hold me, damn it.”

The chorus of women far and near, as with a thirsty hunger they lay their bodies down before the coldness of physical experience, echoes in my cry, a cry that goes unheeded to this day:

“Just hold me, damn it.”

The orgasms that I give freely in this trick or treat drama are merely candy to lure you to the vulnerability of touch without sex. I want you to hold me in the long after hours glow of cigarettes, tossed sheets, and stained memories of nights passed away with so many strangers, cold and staring, all longing for more than what sex has to offer.

“Just hold me, damn it”

The Possession of Jay Be

“I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise 

victoria ann-marie

You weren’t supposed to be there gliding and playing

with the twirl and spin of music dancing and hiding

playfully dodging the inquisition of mind.

Beside the crazy love of fools I’m drinking and dreaming

pouring lasting shots of you in the spinning and flowing

gracefully shaking your skirt in the chill of eve.

I thought to measure long the soul of leaving and fawning

by shear force of the mystical wind forcing and holding

tenderly with gypsy delight you possesses me.

Blossom – Rebirth of a lover

“What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.” 

– Kobayashi Issa, Poems 

“A fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought –But no, a butterfly.” 

– Arakida Moritake, Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology 

crazyformusic

Lightness, adrift but within my grasp always. 
Your like the blossoms of a tree, brushed off by the wind, 
yet still you belong to me, 
though we are apart. 
We are intertwined souls, mated by nature and God. 
Soon I shall lift you back up, 
from my roots you will be reborn 
to forever be one with me.
Your my bloom my love, this tree will always sustain you. 
I long for you to be on my branches once again, 
the whole of nature in agreement with the union. 
Oh how naked am I, my lover! 
How my branches sway at the sight of you! 
Come clothe me with your fragrant beauty, 
and let us be whole again!

08042011