troubadour
Words, the challenge of song
to carry along in sound the meaning of
tiffs in lush trees, rambling bees, the power of
peeping dawn high in colors of awe.
Here, in a world of fog and fury,
dirty eyes strained and blurry,
hard-edged streets sparking with pain
and dreary drone.
Not a nourishing home,
not a place to find peace,
not a fit way to learn.
Clouds, not of rain,
but waving
transmissions expand
swift awareness
that this place
is but a tragic scene we can believe away,
ennoble, enable, sway.
The challenge taken,
the task engaged,
a world in play.
Where the Wild Things Fade
Lost
my ability
to survive outside
captivity
Yet at my core
impenetrably wild.
Day after day unattended
Night after night, no Moon defends
my right to howl.
I'm a city girl now --
held in dimensions
socially styled.
Trained in Self-betrayal
It's not that sex is sin, bad for moral purity,
or euphoric nature's gifts an affront on
All That Is Holy.
(Biblical disposition adapted to
Providential vision, a biased capitalism
based on self abnegation
rather than a healthful view of wealth.)
A powerful profit model built upon
slavery of responsibility to dependents --
sex for such purpose must issue descendants.
Hopelessly hooked on corporate licensed medicine,
treadmilled to produce high-cost enriching energy.
See our computer graphic charts:
"A work of Art!" too valued to despoil with your
(I'm sure)
busy little lives. Education must
align with labor needs projections --
hiding useful information behind well
developed lies.
(So be assured, these words will fade as you awaken.)
Virulent slime fed in work stations and schools,
popular entertainment snacks,
our patented brew,
captivating memes
blow through airwaves, as your lives hurry through.
It can't possibly be slavery if we make you believe:
You own you.
Careless Luna
She peaks and sways
tattling on windowspeck gleanings
leaving traces of singing memories
taking in dreamers
I am in love with your communication
Teasing photos floating in the quiet
of storm lifting breeze
You inquire, look for a temperature
of my wellbeing
I am on to you;
pushing out that cerebral switch
previously known as "off"
Another kind of rabbit hole
Pitch dark and bruising
No appetite for wonder
No luxury of childhood fantasy
No Summer tea time story
Only caustic mud awaits below
at tumbling's end
Carry life
Carry water
Compact electronic battery
Where colored codings float
assorted cakes and candies
carve traces
back into the neural pool
When the winds blow
heady confection
Perhaps the greatest illusion
Is not that we are alone
Nor that we are multitudes
But that we are definable
By words or emotions
Sacred Art
Wee one, brought bare into cacophony,
this emergent pantheon.
This is your place
of smell, touch, blaring light.
This is how we show our face
annoyed with your lack of social grace.
Immersed, made into a person, a defined moving space,
bound in time, mesmerized roughly, softly,
swirling colors, voices, hands demanding
Outcast from warm womb, safe discipline, of
tribal faith
to create from beyond common form,
the pain of separation, bravery called by
life's instinctual desire,
tricks of the trade.
Within this sad parade --
the human will to cure, kill, carry on
courageous --
if the art is true, burnt pure in sacrificial
flame, aimed impeccably
-- cathedrals of
awe and inspiration, hallmark of salvation
Taste! Be made aware
of sensation -- touch this instant a place
beyond who you've ever been.
Beyond glory,
graceful soul-wrought energy
pours through these
sacrificial clowns
poisoned by immortality.
It is for you we bleed,
we cry,
imbued with such weight -- to hold
that spark you know could set you free.
Words, the challenge of song
to carry along in sound the meaning of
tiffs in lush trees, rambling bees, the power of
peeping dawn high in colors of awe.
Here, in a world of fog and fury,
dirty eyes strained and blurry,
hard-edged streets sparking with pain
and dreary drone.
Not a nourishing home,
not a place to find peace,
not a fit way to learn.
Clouds, not of rain,
but waving
transmissions expand
swift awareness
that this place
is but a tragic scene we can believe away,
ennoble, enable, sway.
The challenge taken,
the task engaged,
a world in play.
Where the Wild Things Fade
Lost
my ability
to survive outside
captivity
Yet at my core
impenetrably wild.
Day after day unattended
Night after night, no Moon defends
my right to howl.
I'm a city girl now --
held in dimensions
socially styled.
Trained in Self-betrayal
It's not that sex is sin, bad for moral purity,
or euphoric nature's gifts an affront on
All That Is Holy.
(Biblical disposition adapted to
Providential vision, a biased capitalism
based on self abnegation
rather than a healthful view of wealth.)
A powerful profit model built upon
slavery of responsibility to dependents --
sex for such purpose must issue descendants.
Hopelessly hooked on corporate licensed medicine,
treadmilled to produce high-cost enriching energy.
See our computer graphic charts:
"A work of Art!" too valued to despoil with your
(I'm sure)
busy little lives. Education must
align with labor needs projections --
hiding useful information behind well
developed lies.
(So be assured, these words will fade as you awaken.)
Virulent slime fed in work stations and schools,
popular entertainment snacks,
our patented brew,
captivating memes
blow through airwaves, as your lives hurry through.
It can't possibly be slavery if we make you believe:
You own you.
Careless Luna
She peaks and sways
tattling on windowspeck gleanings
leaving traces of singing memories
taking in dreamers
I am in love with your communication
Teasing photos floating in the quiet
of storm lifting breeze
You inquire, look for a temperature
of my wellbeing
I am on to you;
pushing out that cerebral switch
previously known as "off"
Another kind of rabbit hole
Pitch dark and bruising
No appetite for wonder
No luxury of childhood fantasy
No Summer tea time story
Only caustic mud awaits below
at tumbling's end
Carry life
Carry water
Compact electronic battery
Where colored codings float
assorted cakes and candies
carve traces
back into the neural pool
When the winds blow
heady confection
Perhaps the greatest illusion
Is not that we are alone
Nor that we are multitudes
But that we are definable
By words or emotions
Sacred Art
Wee one, brought bare into cacophony,
this emergent pantheon.
This is your place
of smell, touch, blaring light.
This is how we show our face
annoyed with your lack of social grace.
Immersed, made into a person, a defined moving space,
bound in time, mesmerized roughly, softly,
swirling colors, voices, hands demanding
Outcast from warm womb, safe discipline, of
tribal faith
to create from beyond common form,
the pain of separation, bravery called by
life's instinctual desire,
tricks of the trade.
Within this sad parade --
the human will to cure, kill, carry on
courageous --
if the art is true, burnt pure in sacrificial
flame, aimed impeccably
-- cathedrals of
awe and inspiration, hallmark of salvation
Taste! Be made aware
of sensation -- touch this instant a place
beyond who you've ever been.
Beyond glory,
graceful soul-wrought energy
pours through these
sacrificial clowns
poisoned by immortality.
It is for you we bleed,
we cry,
imbued with such weight -- to hold
that spark you know could set you free.