Tuesday, December 18, 2012

suffer the children

i remember a quiet kid
a soft-spoken young man
sitting by the door
as if waiting to escape
to drift like smoke into the atmosphere
disperse unremarked
into the oblivion of years

no one knew him
least of all his mom
he liked it that way
life unfolded
sufficient unto the day
but, o!
sometimes he must have felt

or is that just
a neurotypical assumption?
maybe the world was grey
like prozac dreams
maybe the ocean’s roar
and maelstrom
filled his waking mind
maybe sleep eluded him
for endless days and nights
rat race wheels of nightmare
loops of disappointment
taunts and snubs

where was the edge of the cliff
nobody saw?
lost in mists of preconception
preoccupation boredom
lack of caring
the rocks kicked loose
kicked loose
began to tumble down the Steep
rumbling avalanche
a crashing downpour
unstoppable now

did he wake up that day
just Knowing it was Time?
or were all the weapons loaded
placed lovingly in cases
awaiting their awful destiny
clean bright
and ready to serve

the sense of hand upon cold steel
no questions here
the ritual of preparation
oil and cloth and load
always the same
comforting and holy
like prayer
the sharp scent of striving
for something
even to himself

such a short journey
from idea to action
no time
for those who had never Seen him
to recognize his fell intent
no time
for the lovingly nurtured butterflies
to fly away home
no time
for the last prayers of innocence
to pass the lips
of those whose breath
would not come forth again

and in the end
no time for him
whose story was never told
a boy whom no one knew
yet all will remember
the name
written in the indelible stains
of infant blood upon the floor
the empty beds unopened presents
unanswered calls
before the memory floods in
of all the uninhabited futures
to come

© 2012 pamela twining

Monday, December 17, 2012

midwinter mystery

Solstice Full Moon 2010
an Enchantment in the meadow
feathery stalks of crystal
glittering boughs
not boughs
beneath our feet
coalesced in thin air
fragile as the dawn

cold stone, my seat
some other’s wish beneath me
holding space
ice heart frozen with longing
to be Home
to be Here
in the Sacred Center
awash in diamond Light
if only
for a moment

burned and black
the detritus of fires left behind
by lovers and poets
the myriad facets of the dark-breathed
Deep, the breath of caves
the breath of the flames
at the heart of the World
licking up in Memory
and Anticipation

the moon escaped the clutching branches
etched on the clear night sky
and turning her face
fled to share the morning
with Sunlight all Aglow
and yearning
Deep! O! Yearning
for solstice’s shivering completion
and the Reawakening of the Crone
as Nymph

grandmother waxes, gravid beyond her time
labouring through the long dark night
to give Birth to the new year

photo credit: Martin Liebermann
Image (C) by www.martin-liebermann.de

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

crushed pearls

                                     with Cosmic Legends, Sylvie Degiez and Wayne Lopes

The Beat

                                                                                                                                              photo by Jan Sosnowitz

there is the breath of genius in these hills
the heartbeat of the earth
retold in song
the bowl that catches golden drops
of heaven and reflects them
etched in perfect Wonder
back into the skies
the eyes
of All Love
destination unknown and uncaring
Time is of no essence
the Voices whisper secret leaf-song
scream the mighty limbs at windstorm
howl at moonlit night
pierced by stars

there is the heart and soul of genius
in these hills
the bowl is filled and emptied
filled and emptied
ineffable smoke and mists of ancient colours
antique memories silenced drums return
from the cracks beneath my feet
the exhalation of the old ones
told in the beat
          the beat
     the beat

the memory of silent footsteps Rings these hills
crisp morning mountains icy cut the dawn
releasing earth honey scented live air
miasma calling me to ground
or heaven
bird and insect chatter and hum shuttered
by night’s frozen blast
locks the hearts the poems the fire-lit tales
inside the Heart the hearth the home
as winter folds us
in dream-time gathering time
listening time

there is the breath of untold stories
in these hills
the songs of those never recorded
whose voices wail in nightmare sendings
whose lost tales beg in the swirling vortices
of firmament
to be told and heard and carried
farther than one bag of skin and bones
one mind

the tears and dreams and antic schemes
of this generation
as last generation
as every cohort of this oddly-begotten race
crawls then walks then runs burning brightly
and then giving up the flame
in ghostly embers
campfires in the depths of forests
no longer here

tell the tales and sing the songs
though heart break
though breath stop
though mind cease
the light the colour the sound
will always be reborn
it’s the Nature of the ever-changing
cloud dioramas
play with the palettes of the sun
the moon
wind choreographs the trees
to ghostly poetry of jazz
beat skirling past the rushing water
skipping over stones
and headlong over mossy boulder’s edge
tumbling torrent telling
of the lost ones

© 2012 pamela twining