Shedding Death

Behold the sacred source of life. In birth

The brand-new baby sheds its mother, drinks

Its life and growth from her--she is the door

Through which we enter, open life to life.

Life sheds the dead--from life life comes--

From death all life remains--both feed us all

And make the way for life eternally

To live--the serpent sheds death on the ground.

The cavern of the underworld leads down

To death and darkness, out to light and life--

The source of creativity, creation,

We enter to the ever-changing moon.

The seed that's shed onto the ground will shed

Its coat when watered by the moon's clear tears--

Then, trembling, the shoot spears the sky and spreads

Its roots into the soil--leaves grasp the sun.

This constant change unchanges everything

And entropy negentropies the world--

The key unlocking beauty into life

Renewed opens the door through its shed skin.

The Triumph of Mercury

When Dionysus marched into the East
He met with Isis to unite the East

Apollo stayed at home in Rome, the West
Looked on, appalled that Bacchus left the West

In decadence drunk Dionysus's feast
We've seen to weaken all those in the East

And golden reason, virtue stood the test
That war had woven all throughout the West

Yet, no one understood the fluid beast,
The Proteus who's river of the East

While from the boot the people deemed the best
Deep rivers full of blood shed in the West

The satyrs on the islands have not ceased
To dance in orgy dreams throughout the East

The Muses make the rhythms of the blest
And sculpt their golden means throughout the West

The Maenads should be feared when they're released
They'll rend and rip and rive across the East

There's none august enough to wear the crest
So long rejected by men in the West

And wealth's complexified, slowly increased
As dawn is spreading all throughout the East

Now Hermes will interpret all the East
And synthesize it with the weary West

To Dance Among the Gods

The clouds have made a ladder to the moon.
I must depart if I'm to get there soon--
I hear the loon, the sound of sorrow sad
Against the hoots and howls that make me glad
I push against the fad that keeps me tied
To when I'm all too often at--I bide
My time and hide too little and too much--
I use the craggy mountain as a crutch
As fingers clutch the wispy rungs that rise
As snow-topped iron--there, the loon still cries
While I'm the one who flies, the lunatic
Who listens to the moon, the voice a prick
In time's quick tick that seems so slow to you--
I'm forced to find the beautiful and true,
The morals as they grew, the just--those four
Are me, as every poet knows--the door
The poet opens you implore he close--
You hate the life, the light the poet chose--
And as he grows--I grow--to face the fight
To dive to nature and to rise in flight
To be as gods, delight in rising up
To orbit with the moon and fill our cup
And sup on gold ambrosia in the shade
Among our equals, dreams who slowly fade.

Barking Dogs

The woods induce a sudden panic
No man-made cliffs titanic
Above the concrete trails the lunatic
Is running from--no brick
Enclosure, home or building could contain
The rose that blooms from pain--
No thorny thicket could contain the ruddy rose
That bursts in beauty but one bard
Could dare deliver, rhythms hanging hard--
The north wind blows
The virgin from the concrete cliff
Into a different riff--
Horse beats are heard--their children cry
In whinnies which the wind gives wings--a wry
Response from cynics whose lame barks
Scare only larks
Already learning these are lies that lie within a cage
Declares the current mangy age
Of stagnant health that's death's true dream
Where passed-out drunks all seem
As kings within the carnival--mere fools
Elected as the true king's tools,
The scapegoats, satyrs at the end of play
Who end their day
As butterflies upon the wind
Who fly into the afterlife for all who sinned.

Borders

The earth is populated across her weary face
For men have always wandered with hope from place to place,
Their wives and even children are all they often brought--
They look for open spaces where new life can be wrought.

From Africa mankind has spread, equator to the poles,
No matter where they've settled down they've met their mighty goals--
From fishermen to farmers and architects to saints
We never have ceased moving--our future's what each paints.

We paint the landscape future with ever-winding roads
On which we're always traveling with all our dreams and loads--
But often there's resistance when leaving or when there,
But that has never kept us from going anywhere.

The soul of man must wander--that is the natural law,
And those who would oppose it live with a tragic flaw--
They hate the best that's in mankind, and people who would hate
Want to destroy all beauty and dissolve our human fate. 

The Slow Death of the Death of Kings

There was a time when kings were killed--a year
Was all some had before the ritual
Brought down their reign in death--so who could fear
Such as would find their end in royal cull?

From those who heard the voice of spirits sing
And learned the language of the sky and stars
Emerged a slight reprieve--to kings they'd bring
Unnumbered years, then ritual death (or Mars).

An annual rite when fools would reign, the high
Would be brought low, the royals paupers made
And homeless made into the king who'd die
A scapegoat's death, the kin denied the blade.

The poets, hearing Dionysus, told
The tales of kings who fell--their audience
Would see the actors act, the parts unfold
To show the death on stage, a fiction fence.

The shamans and the poets lost their voice,
And all that now remains are kings who reign--
No death, no ritual reminder--choice
The only threat to break the iron chain.

Finding Happiness

I see deep beauty everywhere, in everything
And thus I've found true happiness--of it I sing.

Become as Little Children

"Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of God."

"The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you."

From out of apes you humans immatured--
Yes, you, for I have immatured as well,
My neurotribe and I--we have endured
Much mockery--as children we still dwell.

The genes that made the man from swinging ape,
That slowed development to make more room,
They are responsible for human shape
And mind, and the long journey to the tomb.

And yet these genes are many more in me,
It seems, and immatured me to autistic,
To image-, pattern-thinking--those who flee
Those most like me deny the realistic.

The realistic truth is we've evolved
And are evolving still--nothing's resolved.

Against All Hate

Behold, the vicious misanthrope,
The hater of the differences in skin,
The hater of the differences in kin,
The hater of what others would believe,
The hater who would hate without reprieve.

Behold, the vicious misanthrope,
The hater of the greatness man achieves--
When faced with man-made beauty only grieves--
The hater of the makers and the wealthy,
Who's only happy when you are unhealthy.

Behold, the vicious misanthrope,
Who sees man as a plague upon the earth,
Denying humans have inherent worth,
Repulsed at all mankind has built--
Who wants us to dissolve in shame and guilt.

The ones who want us full of guilt and shame,
Inventing reasons humans are to blame--
From poverty to wealth and exploitation
To laziness, defenders of the nation--
This is the vicious misanthrope.

The nihilist denying life has meaning,
That value, values are a lie--those leaning
On nothing for support would dare deny
All beauty, justice, truth--say they're a lie--
This is the vicious misanthrope.

You lovers of mankind, the rich and poor,
The individual--open the door
Of greatness, creativity and life--
Deny life's haters, creators of all strife--
Oppose the vicious misanthrope!

The Wages of Life

You dare to eat the pomegranate seed?
A single seed will keep you bound to death
And life will disappear on earth--you'll feed
On frozen ashes taking your last breath.

You dare to eat the pomegranate fruit?
The serpent spirals up the limb to speak
A fact that's false--the truth upon the lute
Will have to find its voice among the meek.

We pass the blame and overhead the sun
Will pass to torch the garden--now the plan
Can play itself to bear new fruit--don't shun
The game instilled since time and space began.

The cycle finds its life upon its break
To spiral 'til creation is awake.

Perfect

You made today a perfect day
And all I had to do was wake by you--
You're like the flowers, birds in May,
The fresh, deep smell of early morning dew.

You made this week a perfect week
And all you had to do was be by me--
The blackest clouds can't make life bleak--
When life's too hot, you are my shady tree.

You made this year a perfect year
And all you had to do was hold my hand--
In all life's storms I have no fear
Because I know beside me you will stand.

You made this life a perfect life
And all we had to do was fall in love--
Yes, when you chose to be my wife
My heart would blossom like a spring foxglove. 

Honey

In Heaven from the mountains flows sweet milk
That fills the valleys with their opal silk
That quenches every thirst--yes, gone the thirst
For water, knowledge, wisdom--you will burst
As an exploding star with all you'll know
And understand, and yet you'll surely grow
With love and joy--and you shall bow and nod
As you join, head-to-head, the form of God.

Pythagorean Logic

The soul, we know, is sacred breath--
The soul's a butterfly
That sets to flight upon your death
Air-chaos as you die.

Don't eat a thing that has a soul--
It's bound to give you gas
Because that soul will have the goal
Of coming out your ass.

And that's a shameful place to be--
Ask shame, for she went in,
Though when love enters, she will flee,
The same as our souls' kin.

So vegans, do not eat the bean--
Their souls you will release
In music-making quite obscene
That never seems to cease.

First Person

What character are you in your own story?
Are you the hero? Victim? Prostitute
Or nun? A healer? Poet? Seeking glory?
Creating wealth, or are you destitute?

A shaman, like myself, just seeks to heal
In rhythmic words and myths, to bring the true
Into the light and shadow to reveal
The beauty of it all, make ancient new.

Whose tales have you accepted as your own?
Have you the courage needed now to edit,
Revise your story--falling, you've now flown--
And to the makers, doers give due credit.

We are the stories we believe, the lies
We tell ourselves, source of all joys and sighs.

From Yang to Yin and Back Again

The Goddess reigned in ancient days of stone,
When caverns were the temples to her soul
And sacrifice was made to bless the hunt
And ask the herds forgiveness for our toll.

The God and Goddess rose to reign together,
Proliferating into spirits, sprites,
More gods and goddesses of place and weather,
Emotions, actions, all the mind's delights.

The Goddess got demoted to become
God's mother, mother of mankind, serpent-
Seduced--the masculine emerging from
The desert and demanding we repent.

The God emerges, fully masculine
And motherless--the goal is to protect
The women from the world of men--the sin
Is failing to be bold, make gold, reflect.

Lip-service to the Goddess while the God
Is granted fullest reign and many goals
Are all that's worthy just elevates the rod
Of Hermes, justifying sexist trolls.

Affirm the feminine in freedom, fill
Yourself with all her virtues--Goddess true
To who she is should never feel the chill
Of merely manly virtues are her due.

The masculine and feminine must reign
With equity and we must look upon
Their virtues as on par to make us sane
Like sun-filled lunacy at break of dawn.

Alive in Memory

We are dissolved in every little death
That dissipates our energies into
Each other and the world--the cosmic breath
Ensouls the swimming, crawling things, and you.

And in a flash of light our life begins--
The shadows deepen, make distinct the dawn--
Our aims will not improve without our sins--
Yes, when will no one notice that you're gone?

We know the poem makes the subject live--
The object is to keep each soul alive
In minds and in that way their minds will give
Long life like that Achilles chose to strive.

Each death becomes a little death in art,
For when you enter it, you don't depart.

Harmony

The poem tells you what you are afraid
To know--and that is your discomfort. Verse
Transformed into the Way, made myth, won't fade
From mind--disturbing rest you think a curse.

You manly men, embrace your feminine--
The cold, moist moon that casts your shadow--find
Your Hermes, Aphrodite and begin
Your transformation to their child, unwind.

You women, too, embrace your masculine--
The hot, dry sun that casts your light--bind
Yourself to Mars and Aphrodite--sin
Is failing to embrace their child, their mind.

But balance does not make us negatives
Of who we're born to be--we need an eye
Belonging to the other so she lives
Within the him, and him in her, won't die.

Employ your taste, employ your sight, and listen
To what the ether says and smell the earth,
So cold and dry--upon the grass will glisten
Dew drops reflecting what we're truly worth.

Angel Flight

A flock of ducks, of geese, of swans ascend
From off my brow--I bow beneath the moon
That lights the willow by the pool---I mend
My soul into the Earth---the golden noon
Lies far upon the other side---I lift
My eyes up to the soaring swans whose wings
Will lift me through the night to my great gift---
The lead swan sweet of Leda softly sings
As over war-burned ruins we all soar---
The knights take up their place to guard my flight
From my coal cave onto the sandy shore
That shimmers diamond in the cold moonlight---
The messengers have come in swirling breath
To wing me wiser from my time with death.

Birth, Love, Death, Rebirth

A third of life in death, the winter cold
Comes from a pomegranate seed, the taste
Too much a red temptation--just ask Eve--
Persephone had laid the land to waste.

Yes, death is in the world and we've been thrown
From off the heights of Eden, and we fell
Until our deaths devour all we've loved
Lined on the executioner's stone wall.

The fruit of death, blood-of-Adonis-sprung--
Fruit of abundance and fertility--
The red globe bursts against the wall and spreads
The seeds to bless the home and family.

The seeds of death on Eve's and Adam's lips--
The fruit of life in Jesus's, Mary's hands--
The crown upon the poet-singer's head
Is how the blood moon fruit spread through the lands.

Persephone and Hades, twisted serpents
In double helix carried by the soul
Who carries souls to death--the merchant's wings
Lift through the skies to each soul's final goal.

The serpent twisted through the earth-tree's roots,
The serpent twisting in the eagle's claws,
The serpent twisting words so subtly
Will fall, has fallen shedding nature's laws.

The serpent bears the pomegranate crown
To gown the virgin lunar bride in fig--
Reborn into the bridegroom, as the son
Of man who, seeking, 'round the roots will dig.

Disturbed, the one-eyed eagle will lift up
From off the top-most branch and disappear
Into the sun, returning as the wren
Who flits among the serpents without fear.

The tree is felled, its wood is sawed and planed
And raised into a wall, the windows hung
With curtains red and pomegranate-trimmed--
A room where words are written and re-sung.

The wise will spend a third of life within
This room of holy wood, the book-filled den
Of nature's shattered seeds and learn at last
To love the the subtle song of the king wren.

Living Classicism

I traveled once to Greece, the ancient land
Of tragedy, philosophy, the gods--
And there, beneath the plane tree I would stand,
Escape Apollo's heat, take Plato's nods.

In Athens in the paths of Socrates
I walked--agora and the marketplace
Today where women sell their wares. I'd seize
The very air, the ancient time and space.

In Naxos where Apollo's gate still stands,
Where Zeus hid Dionysus in a cave,
I ate in mountaintop cafes, my hands
Felt marble mountains--Naxos I still crave.

In Delphi where the oracles would speak
Apollo's prophesies in vents now sealed--
I stood within the theater to  peak
At what great Dionysus once revealed.

In Thassos where the ancient Greeks had sailed
From Naxos, Dionysus first set shoot--
A dining archeologist regaled
Me with the findings of this ancient root.

I lived in Greece a month, and there I found
An understanding of the things I'd read--
And having traveled I have found the ground
That grows the sweet figs that keep me well-fed.