prophecy

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

lentils

today the sazzle stopped
when i asked it to
and the lilt of west africa landed on my lap.
exquisite joy and lidless relief
came with a walk through the headstones
emma, nannette, elizabeth, john.
after lucky lentils on lunes.
now martes
a golden spark
sets me alight
honey on my tongue.
there, that sandstone bench
floating in a galaxy of city lights,
the wind shook the trees
and we left the earth below us.

the jeweler

If a naive and desperate man
Brings a precious stone
To the only jeweler in town
Wanting to sell it
The jeweler's eyes
Will begin to play a game,
Like most eyes in the world when they look at you.
The jeweler's face will stay calm.
He will not want to reveal the stone's true value,
But to hold the man captive to fear and greed
While he calculates
The value of the transaction.
But one moment with me, my dear,
Will show you
That there is nothing,
Nothing
Hafiz wants from you.
When you sit before a Master like me,
Even if you are a drooling mess,
My eyes sing with Excitement
I see your Divine Worth.

~hafiz

your view

diamond

i don't know
i found a watch and let it go
i don't know
i found a diamond, watched it glow
but i don't know
so it slipped through
i'm high
i'm dry
and left with snow.

the snow, it's warm, it keeps me up.
with nothing else to fill my cup,
the stone beneath is enough for me
to keep on living obliviously.

i dance and kick, i stand alone,
it's something i learned long ago.
it keeps me vacant, ready to load,
revolver turns, my brain explodes.

puppet me, i relish the pain,
my painted blood, that reddish stain,
i hid from her -- her moon, her good,
but i don't know, i never could.

prayer

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

-loreena mckennitt

respite

*
respite -- an earned relief from the stunning grind--a grind which, in itself, isn't all bad...it has its lights, its glittering sensations, a half smile in the dark.

but then, the cracks begin to show.

and when it's over, and you're holding a paper flower, you can see: it is the evening of our own day.

some seem to hold

the memory of a black market love,

remind me.






photo by nic dunn

found, cut, glittered, pasted, torn apart and sewn.

leave the past behind,
just walk away.
without a dream in her heart.
hello, is there anybody out there?
and the cracks begin to show.

shipmates

Irony is an old man with pepperoni nipples living in the passenger seat of a nameless silver sedan. This is listener-supported NPR …cautionary tales about the wrath of Mother Nature—that wicked queen and her plans to spank us all, to bake us in her vengeful oven—was muffled but distinguishable even with the windows rolled up and the engine on. Goodmorning, he thought, it’s 2:13 pm and Starbucks will be giving away yesterday’s burnt and moldy – now where is my shirt? Life: oh you jagged edge, rusty razor, when did my tipsy tip toe-ing knock me off your crooked ridge? Turbines turning, CO2 cranking out the back, sending the vipor vapor back to its mean origins – he knew he had to return the favor. Hair brush? Was it lost in the gray wizardly grizzardly beard? Had the handle broken off, had he forgotten to retrieve it from the trunk after last Saturday’s mishap? No matter, Bed Bath and Beyond was the emporium of possibility, of hygienic reminiscence.

Routine is the key to a sane and productive life, he knew that much. First, the men’s room to shine a light on the monsters and keep the haunted woods organized, patrolled— no room or time for intruders. Then on to PetsMart to inform the albino mice – eyes as poppable as pomegranate seeds —that they were on thin fucking ice, as far as he was concerned. Visiting hour with the rotten-finned betas, the overgrown and missed-his-bus ferret, the apathetic newt, the under-stimulated Rose tarantula, was just the shot of Wild Turkey he needed to wash down the day’s metaphorical peas.

Shopping for roommates (he preferred shipmates, since the living space was mobile and practically sailed when steered correctly) wasn’t easy. The others would have to approve – he knew that much. If what they said was true, and the earth really was melting—that useless shitty gumball of a planet—he might consider something a little more expedient than stuffing them in pockets and smuggling them one by one.

No one was looking, the moment was ripe. Now, which one of you brown beauties would like to trade the tank and pellet life for a cozy mobile home and all-you-can-eat Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes?