Friday, April 30, 2010

Beltane


I will enter my lover’s soul

through the caverns of her eyes,

deep pools of blackness, gazing inward ---

this is the precipice and the lip of the abyss,

the nothing

(can I face that darkness, that black hole,

bermuda triangle changing matter

and consciousness?)


I drank blood at her throat,

In trust, she offered her throat to me.

I could not stop kissing her.

Sacred Mother –

weaned on her milk, I drank her blood.

She has always given me life.


My fingers ache to touch her skin,

this long life lived within the aura

of her breath.

Even the air must quiver, taut between us,

like the string of a drawn bow –

o lady!

where will the arrow fall?

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

hollow bone

for m


Sometimes you have to stop the Music
and step into the Stillness -
Breath the only sound
a Harmony of Spirit joined with Life Force
Animated by the Terror and Ecstasy
of emergence from the womb
the first fragile cry
announcing this Incarnation to the Universe

No more,
the silent muffled world inside the Waters
The dissonance of the heavens
comes un-muted to the tiny shell-like ear
Roaring like the Ocean, like the Storm
Howling winds, the cacophony of the naked Stars
Surrounding encasing
Numbing
The gossamer skin of the Soul

Cries of Love and Desolation
radiate from the core of Remembered Light
There Songs also are born
Tones belling sighing keening
from that Deepest place

And Breath, the reed,
gives Voice
as from a carved bone whistle
to those Songs of Loss and Yearning
Songs of Joy and Praise
for All That Is



Sunday, April 18, 2010

Sunset Strip

“Rack up, Moselle!” the guard hollered from the end of the corridor. Moselle stepped back into the cell we shared just as the electric doors slammed shut. Nine-thirty: lights out at Sybil Brand Institute for Women. Moselle was an old white lady, awaiting trial for getting drunk and shooting up the sheriff’s car. Luckily, he wasn’t in it at the time.

My best friend, Landru, was two cells down, bunked with a little blonde girl covered in jailhouse tatts, who shot her boyfriend and the woman she caught him in bed with. “Lan! Lan!”, I half whispered, half yelled. “Shut up! Ya wanna get us all in trouble, ya stupid little bitch?” came from the cell between us. If I put my face in the lowest corner of the bars, I could just see Lan’s silver blonde hair and the “V” she made with her fingers, when she saw me. She had eaten two tabs of acid, when the cops came to the rat-hole motel where we were staying and arrested us for distribution of narcotics. She was probably tripping her brains out!

We weren’t runaways. I was 18 and Lan would be 18 next month. Thrown out by our parents, we decided to hitchhike to California, by way of New York City. We worked the streets of New York, panhandling and working in massage parlors, to save the money to get to Cali, at night trolling the truck stops, looking for a ride out of the city, headed west.

Lan wouldn’t work the massage parlors, even though the money was better, because she didn’t want to strip for the clients. You didn’t have to, but the tips were bigger, if you did. She was a whiz at panhandling, though; I never saw anyone who could talk someone out of their money like Lan! On a frosty night in late January, we finally found a driver who agreed to hide us in the cab of his truck and take us as far as Pennsylvania.

The plains were windswept and frigid this time of year and we did a lot of hitching in the cafeterias of truck stops, drinking coffee and stopping truckers over and over, till we found someone willing to take us the next leg. Including the time we spent in jails for vagrancy, in Chambersburg, PA, Weatherford, OK, and Amarillo, TX, we were on the road for three weeks. A soldier who was shipping out to Nam the next day finally dropped us on the corner of Sunset and Vine, handed us each $20 and a carton of cigarettes, said “Pray for me” and drove away.

We crashed at the Free Church and panhandled for food, but the streets of Hollywood were a lot less forgiving than New York. The take for a whole day, for both of us, was only a few dollars. We lived on candy, chips, and soda, because it was cheap. Within a week, we were completely broke and everything except the clothes we were wearing had been stolen. And I had scurvy.

My gums were bleeding and my mouth was so full of sores, I could hardly talk. Lan made me go to the Free Clinic, but they just said I needed Vitamin C and sent us on our way. “Don’t worry, Ran!” Lan said. “Look around us. Orange trees, grapefruit trees, lemon trees! Vitamin C for the taking!” The fruit was not ripe. Even an orange tasted as sour as a lemon, and it burned! God! How it burned!

The next day Black Teddy took us to Denny’s for dinner and invited us to join his stable of women. The look in Lan’s eye wasn’t to be ignored, though I was tempted, because the money sounded good. But Lan is the smart one, and I went along with her this time. Black Teddy said “Ya’ll’ll come lookin’ for me soon, no jive!”

Within a few days though, we met Cowboy and Laughing John, who brought us to a hole-in-the-wall apartment they shared with a guy named Bear and a bunch of street kids and runaways. We became part of a crew that went out during the day panhandling, stealing, tricking, and brought all the money home to share. We ate well for the first time in weeks, and there was always excellent dope. Until we got evicted. Which is how we ended up in that rat-hole motel.

“Hawaiian Woodrose; it’s totally legal,” Cowboy told us. “I can get an unlimited supply. We’ll sell it until we save enough to get a cabin in the hills. Fuck Hollywood! We can grow our own organic food and dope. We’re paid up here for a week, so let’s get out and make it happen!” At that moment, the sound of sirens pierced the air and police swarmed into our room. The owner had taken our money and then called the cops!

“If it’s legal, the lab will tell us,” a disbelieving officer said. “But it’s Friday and the lab won’t be open till Monday, so you all are looking at the weekend in jail, at least.”

I was still burning with humiliation, after being strip searched, and my fingers were bleeding because they made me file my nails down to the quick. Lan and I pretended to be lovers, protection in jail against bulldaggers and other pervs. Landru read Tarot and told fortunes. Everyone was in so awe of her, they left me alone. And Hawaiian Woodrose was legal, so on Monday they had to let us go.

The cops dropped us off back on the Strip. “What do we do now?” I looked to Lan. “Come on!” she said. “Last week, I met a guy named Tex. He said he’d take us out to a place called Spahn Ranch, to stay on a commune started by someone he knows. Manson, I think his name was, Charlie Manson”.


Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Life in Oz

This is a hard love to be in

Like a roller coaster on the terrifying pitch

Downward

But at least then you know

Where you’ll end up


My heart breaks a little

Every day

Because I am not delusional

It must have been as it was

It is what it is

Que sera, sera, like the old song says


I love someone who took me at my word

To Demand Much of me

Not believe me naïve or innocent

To treat me as a Woman, not a Girl

And that Woman, his Meet


Inherited from my Mothers and Mothers and Mothers

This Hollywood Dream of Happily Ever After

When ten thousand years

Have shown the work the struggles the failures

The pain and loss of Loving


And yet this Love is Inspiration!

So Erotic!

So Exquisitely Unsatisfying!

Why would I ever want to Settle

For mere happiness?


There is that emptiness

Nights of deep Midnight Blue

Mornings of unfilled arms

Vacant side of the bed

His scent, his warmth, just a Dream

This is where the Strength and Power come in

Except I feel so small and insignificant at times

Like Dorothy in Oz


Spirit guttering

Like candle flame in the wind

Flaring twisting almost winking out

Fed by Memory and Imagination

And his inconstant attention

He will not let me slip away


Though I pull, though I pull,

He senses the tightening

Moving away

And sings to me his songs of Love

Calls to me in Dreams

Caught again in his silken web

I am lost


Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

Will I ever be Home and Comfortable

Again?

His face in human guise

Looking down at me with his soul

In his eyes?


You know there is no Going Home

Here in Oz

We create our own Colours


Monday, April 12, 2010

Hecate

for Karyn 4/8/10

Come to me
My springtime lads
Make music on my bones
Celebrate this Awesome Greening
with your Blood
and with your Essence
between the beats, between the tones

Come to me, my lusty lads
and lasses
Play your fire-lit games
At dawning, dew will swell you
Like blossoms on the vine
Aching to open to my kiss
Through you am I reborn

Come little ones
Unfold from Winter
Spread your wings and Come to me!
Soft flesh, like fruit
Sweet newborn Wonder
Honey upon my lips portends
This perfect Mystery

Come to me
you of hard-travelled roads!
Come to me
whose Breath has not yet gone
from Time!
Who sparkle in new meadow grass
like memories!
O spirits of the Ancients
Come to me!

Whirling in the Sacred Dance
We contract into negative space
Explode!
Ignite Divine and Powerful Love!

All Colour and Light are born of Darkness
All Sound the Music of the Soul
The expanse between the Worlds is Holy
We are the endless flow


Sunday, April 11, 2010

i have been a river

i have been a river
twisting in and out
of the embraces of the shore
(an ocean
teasing the sand with her tongue
and though her body seethes and roars
she ever runs away)
when i only wanted to be
a waterfall,
pouring myself into you
ceaselessly

and we have played
the dizzy games of birds
circling, darting,
never really touching
(lain in sweet long grasses
discoursing
on the changing shapes of clouds)
when i would simply have fallen,
wetly silver,
on the foliage of you,
adorned you in green splendour
of the morning


Thursday, April 1, 2010

Laundry Day

The door wasn’t locked. In fact, it wasn’t even closed, as Ellen discovered when she kicked it hard with her foot, hoping to get one of the kids to come open it for her. It swung open, creaking eerily, into the empty foyer. The silence that followed was palpable. An apartment where three children live is never silent.

Ellen crossed the foyer cautiously, still carrying the heavily loaded basket of clean, folded clothes. The quiet grew, becoming a living thing that seemed to swallow everything, consuming birdsong, engine noise from the road outside, even the sound of her breath. A sharp gasp at the sight that met her eyes momentarily punctured that bubble of silence.

The living room was a disaster. The desk had been rifled through, papers and knick-knacks scattered about, a lamp knocked over, the TV, the computer and even the wooden box containing her mother’s wedding silver, gone! Wires hung from the wall like mindless tentacles, disconnected from the appliances they served. And, OH GOD! the sturdy body of Jesse, her 9 year old son, was lying half on, half off the couch, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. He seemed shrunken somehow, and his pale skin had a bluish tinge.

In shock, she turned to her right; her daughter, Miriela, aged 11, sprawled on the dining room floor, beneath an overturned chair, blood pooled beneath her head from a hideous gash above her left eye. Farther on, in the hallway, was her youngest, Christopher, hardly more than a baby, perhaps caught in the act of running from his assailant. He lay all askew, crumpled like a marionette dropped by a careless child, one little shoe cast off, resting on it’s side near his body.

As if in a daze, she walked slowly down the hall towards the bedrooms. Christopher almost seemed to twitch as she passed by, but she appeared to be in some altered state, oblivious to the children or to any of her surroundings. Ellen set the basket down on the bed. The silence lengthened.

Then, incredibly, there was the sound of humming, a minor key, no-name tune, and drawers being opened and closed, as the clothes were put away.

From the dining room, came a loud Thud! and a staccato of footsteps. Miriela ran from the room, her face dripping with Vampire Gore.

“Darn it, Chrissy! I TOLD you she’d guess if you didn’t keep perfectly still!”“I did, M’wela! I didn’t move at all, not even a tip of my toe!”

A smaller Thump!, this time from the living room, and here came Jesse yelling, “You did too, Chris! You’re such a baby!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Before the pummeling started, Ellen peered around the corner from the bedroom door. “It was much better than last year, when y’all put salt in the sugar bowl and sugar in the salt shaker! Though, it was worth something to see your father’s face, when he took a sip of his coffee.” She laughed at the memory. “Now, you children clean up this mess and put those things back where they belong, before Daddy gets home! I swear; I don’t even know how you managed to get Nana’s silver down from the sideboard or carry those heavy things. You are all very lucky nothing got broken!”

Chorus: “Awwwwww, Mom!” The children rumbled together, down the hall towards the bathroom, to wash their faces. Miriela was a genius with make up.

“Safe.....until next April,” Ellen sighed, turning back to the bedroom, to finish putting away the laundry.