in the coming a.m.

POSSIBILITY+3e4dc51086e4f832c1fed5cb01757ead-d4c325f.jpg

in the coming a.m.

buried deep in clay –soft in sleep lay

the dream - wild – its end stolen 

past purloined beginnings – 

buried deep in clay ready to rise 

in sunsoaked cloak of powers–

burns the dawning dream –ready 

to arise from clay – to stand on

strong bare feet, to speak in untied- 

tongues -buried deep in clay -this wild 

unleashed-for-glory–dream-without-end 

stirs in the coming morning, as one shining 

human entity shakes 

eoned sleep from eyes 

finally to see, to live the 

wild dream of one world, 

one heart, one collective 

soul risen from cool clay to

sing with one crystal voice –

shimmering from single grain

of stinging sand to arctic glaciers crashing– 

bounding, through all that lies between – 

from the velvet wing of butterfly to the roar

of tsunamied sea–singing as one clear voice- 

All distilled to one shining perfect being – 

spinning the blue marble between the

palm of one hand- this dream–now-realized 

risen-form-from-clay awake. proclaiming in

the soft whisper of a flushed joyful newborn mother – 

in the rolling operatic fever of ten billion threatened

fathers – affirming with one voice – in this one world–

at one time

I am.

One.








~
The Sunday Whirl

Mother Blasphemy

Alone In Sundown by Amateur Pic

Mother Blasphemy

There rustling in the crisp dry leaves in

my chest I recollect the sweet summer

day – we stood on the deck be-decked

in the spill of golden sunshine -

monkeys’ minds mad chatter

quieted-We were born whole-

together, liquid hearts gelled

in essence of each other and

though it well be blasphemy –

it is mother blasphemy – for

certain my Love rose above

all Power – and I reveled in

obliterating- joy banishing all

others–this new I in full-glow

wet with blossoms-bursting

in tumbled time –newborn

as you, my infant son

together–forever I thought,

until platituded – prophecy

fell –cooling our shared

sun, setting monkeys

to mindless chatter

once more as

plague swept

the smile from my soul –

We lost each other as

the wind blew - a new

chapter without me

my name unwritten

from each new line

until left bereft

alone - but for

that rustling

in my heart

of blossoms

dried to dust

wave you

well on

your

way

cry 

I

I will keep you sweet baby boy softly in the rustling of leaves

in the wind. I will dry my tears and hold your sweet small body

melting into mine on the flowered deck of summer, though the

winds of autumn blow dry and crisp - winter but a breath away.

I will keep you sweet child alive in the rustling of the leaves of

sweet memory as mad monkeys race with thoughts throughout

the trees and blasphemy breathes and I pledge to hold you my

child as my religion - born whole to keep the plague of mortality

banished forever.I shall tear my clothes and my hair before any

harm shall ever come to you –sweet summer child forever mine 

despite the crunch of your footsteps as you turn and walk away –

leaving me with empty arms and dusty infant memories -as you

crunch through the leaves of time walking - man sudden-grown

out of the shadow of my sheltering arms into the glow of a bright 

summer sun of your own.

Tiny girl child

In Honor of International Women's Day 

By Diann L. Neu

Tiny girl child 

Tiny girl child born in the world wind

Blow gentle to a future without excuses

Let the plant from which your perfect

Perfect pink blossom glows – Grow

to towering tree –legs strong- global

arms spread-  to carry you softly club-

protected, sheltered, loved, far beyond

the soul-slashing slice of scorpion sting

Shakira – Subservience - Shame,

smashed shackle to snipped gossamer

string – All - Begone from you forever

Tiny girl child born in the world wind

Grow to run calm fertile fields fragrant

With the trample of mothers gone under

Let the string of images begin in this new

Unfettered future – jungle to city – desert

to arctic cap -blow gentle, blow strong this

Future without excuse.

Tiny girl child receiver and giver

Of the very bread of life – Live in

the knead of this newly born day

Free  

The Sunday Whirl

Howl

MALIZ ONG

Howl 

Flesh of my flesh

empty my veins of

blood-names, fuel

my annihilation-fear

through the weight 

of your indifference

casually cut the certain

circle of life and legacy 

I shall howl 

to the moon

Willing tide-

turn as you 

table time 

immobilize 

immortality

and barren 

by design

consign 

me Ghost

grieving 

through

granite

forever

dead 

~

The Sunday Whirl

for love

MALIZ ONG 

George Hodan

for love

there is no science of love

though many have tried to

track scattered pebbles 

from the mountain for a triggering 
 cue –

there is no science of love

how memory lights darkness

seals smallest and most

gaping crack in any soul 

there is some sort of saintly

sheen on love even for those

who hold no truck with such -

grand as the blaze of sunrise
simple as a field of daisies -
love uncontained as it is held
the essence of polarity at play   
No, there is no science of love

to deconstruct would be to

wrestle an angel to autopsy

why?

there is no science of love

just the simple act of magic

mystic glow filling the spaces

The Clown

File:KeatonPorkpie.jpg

The Clown

In the tumble glass sound

the clown wanders fierce

carefully, oh, so carefully

prey to scorn-fill emptying

his heart -  soft sounds of

laughter a forgotten burst

vanished on the cold wind

they choose -to instill grim

rather than gayety - Scape-

goat he climbs one heap and

another of mad malice he grows

tired. Stumbling, blank, confused

until he passes the sunniest child

hears only the emit of gray groan -

This, this final flat failure of possibility

stamps the seal on his importuning soul

and the clown surrenders. Draws the thick

fleece of hope around his shaking shoulders -  

and stops, for now.

Waiting for the wound to close -

for the tickle of gentler times and

the rolling rollicked rumbled return

of joy

Disappointment

Disappointment

There it was cherry
mahagony gleaming
under the store dust
She could see it opened
to full length –bulging
three board leaves full
with food and china
They carried it home
and shined it up and
for a time it was five
Three children and the
two of them at the table
Until one by one they
grew inspired supported
wings and flew and she
foolishly smiled –during
“Nesting time” – waiting
patiently through their
tears and cheers, their
would-be forever loves
and careers spun like
cotton candy – waiting
for their inevitable return
She could see the full table
Yards of linen – endless
china passed laughingly
from hand to hand –
She could wait
And did –
The table sitting with a
single leaf opening wide
in the center of the long
room – holidays fell one
into the other fragrant
dishes served for most
often three – and then
Finally, it began – they
Married and procreated
She ran to airports and
down hallways to meet
the small newcomers
For they were far away
Yet, still back at table she
knew they would return
But, the wind under wings
carried them far – Still she
cooked for twenty though
there were only two or three
or one year or two four – and
in a flash of tumbled time
it was thirty years before
it struck her – hard – obvious
they never would return –
Some fairytales are for children
others whispered to and by adults
The difference lies
in the happy ending
and a table set for two

Patron Saint of Sisters - Rescue

Sabine Sauermaul

Patron Saint of Sisters - Rescue

She did not know of her
boundless belief in saints
until that mourning morning
day when spread out at wrong
angles her little brother lay -
fallen -"pushed" they would certainly
say and she would spend each coming
day of her unlived life as guest of the host
of prisons - repenting in repetitious measure
her endless yards of negligence - time inexorably
ticking - as all others ran their race of freedom-there
she sat with held breath and stared, and suddenly he,
little devil sat up and grinned -"scared you there Sister?"
and she in a cloud of humility thanked the Patron Saints
of Sisters for surely he had for that instant he had been truly
dead and so she could only hug him in relief for glorious life - now,
resist her urge to throttle that smile from his smirky, sadistic, lips