Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Archive for January, 2015

Ix

Traveling

dream
vision
doesn’t really matter

it’s turned my head
inside out
again

and I am running

bare feet flat tamping
tamp
tamp
tamp
against the jungle floor

counterpointing
the heave
of my breaths

while the slap of leaves
the whip of branches
stings against
sweat-soaked skin

I am not running
from something
I am not running
to something

I am just running

the push too strong
the wealth of heat
so overwhelming
that all the creatures
have gone silent

terrified witnesses
to my passage

the scent of their fear
is intoxicating

if my lungs were not bursting
I would laugh

but they are
so I huff
feeling the burn

huff
huff
huff

tamp
tamp
tamp

Elation builds
a deep well of boling liquid
a hot spring made
of my own blood
bubbling over
as I reach the river’s source

a cliff extending
out into space
shielding the roar
of the cataract below

Momentum
casts me out
without pause
out
over

yet

the only impact
is to the jungle floor
on both banks of the river

four legs left
four legs right

tamptamp
tamptamp
tamptamp
tamptamp

bunching striding flowing
racing
sister selves
one golden
spattered with rosettes
dark dappled shadows
one black
the rosettes
shimmering patterns
like burned velvet
limbs supple and long

running
running

running

and I would laugh

but I don’t know how
any longer

jaguar09

(c) RCGA 2015

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Hoop Snakes

There is a place where aether moves
a fog around the legless soul,
and whispers stories best forgot:
some cracked, some broken, and some whole.

Your ears will strain to hear each word;
your mind will wrap around each phrase.

Hallucinations manifest
bright sudden, causing stuporous daze.

There are just things you shouldn’t know
and still be walking on this plane;
things gently hushed from infant lips
by angels, when we’re born again.

Reason demands we keep aloof,
yet still we venture to the mist,
our curiousity unbound
by tales too tempting to resist.

Your voice will shape some ancient rime
you did not know you ever knew,

and somewhere far across the fog,
another voice will answer you.

Hoop-Snake-on-the-Dunes
(c) RCGA 2015

Magdalene

My family said
He’ll never amount
to anything…

a carpenter
from Nazareth

running around
with a bunch of
fishermen

having those
happenings
where everyone
and I mean everyone
is welcome;

and those rumors
about his mother,

Oy!

But I have an education
and my own money

so screw
the naysayers.

I like Him
even though
He’s a little skinny
and needs taking care of;

He has charisma
and a brilliant mind.

Anybody can see that

but He also
has an indefinable something
a quiet power
that holds Him steady
even when things are
going to Sheol in a hand basket
all around Him.

I respect that.

How many men do you know
who can walk on water?

Oh, a lot of them
think they can

just like a lot of them
think I’m slumming
with the radicals
and I’ll get over it.

They just don’t…

I can’t explain it.

When He talks to me
it’s as if
He puts the words
right into my head
and my heart
catches fire.

That freak who holds
the purse strings
for His followers
is a right asshole

not for trying to tell me
what to do…

that’s just being a man;

but for not comprehending
what He’s all about.

This kind of war
won’t be won with chariots
or spears
or even revolution.

This is a delicate thing
fought inside each soul
between darkness and light
one person at a time.

He is the oil
that keeps the lamps burning.
He is the fire
that makes the lamps bright.

He is probably
too dangerous to live.

Why shouldn’t I offer Him
the anointing He deserves
just because others
can’t see how
the most magnificent kings
come bearing peace?

The woman with the alabaster jar

The woman with the alabaster jar

(c) RCGA 2015

Gamecock

When you swaggered up
shoulders
pushed back

you stank of nostalgia
and too much cologne

Oh, yes
I remember you

I have a
very
keen
memory

You are still in fine feather
for a fowl
I suppose

But I think maybe
you have forgotten
something

at least some finer details

Mr. Rooster

There are birds

and then there are Birds

Not every one flocks
together

and as a matter
of particular
clarification

Mr. Rooster

I am not now
nor have I ever been

a hen.

gamecock-rooster-mirror

(c) RCGA 2015

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