My Leather Journal Sailing

the leather journal, and the part about pretending…
that is really quite a haunting lil ghost to us, isn’t it?
Pretense. And those voices, mocking, whispering constant
“are you who you think you are?”
“is you or is you not Her Baby?”

and then I turn from them with listening ears
and turn to them with deaf ears unassailable
and lift instead all my chickenscratching,
my poetic hardscrabblings in the dirt so meager
and occasionally alive…occasionally.

and with effort I take my special pen and lift it
and hold it tight against my cheek and shut my eyes
and wish upon that Star above that twinkles there, unfailing
and feel around inside for me in panic, my heart flailing
to touch the metaphor and meaning in the glowing core of being.

yes, and then I write it down, and truly wonder!
I wonder why it seems that no one knows how beautiful,
how lovely the pulse ordinary of all things, so constant
so miraculous and ever all surpassing,
far exceeding even Marilyn, Raquel and Sweet Sophia,
and singing sweetly more sweetly than every lark on every wind!

I wonder why it seems that no one knows that just a glance
from the gimlet glittery eye of that Poetic Siren
crooning there upon Her Island will utterly destroy you
if you sail a bit too near unless your limbs are chained unmoving
and your yearning heart is thirsty and so hungry for a crumb
just one Crumb of Her Bread Living, Her Bread Living…

But my scrawls chart the clever currents there, to glide securely
and map the words to lead me safely home forever
chained in that leather journal, my boat “The Plain Poetic”
its pages poised to catch Her singing winds and Her Bright Courage
to catch my breath, and then set sail again…at last undaunted.


Rivers Breathed and Mercy Streaming (For DDH…and For Massi)


wanna know how you are,
cus who you are,
ya know?


me? well, I been well
but still and always how I am
cus who I am.
you know.


sometimes I think how you flutter inside
your heart and your breath there, racing the moon
around the night sky ablaze in fiery contest
between her jewels and her sable coat

sometimes I get a glimpse of that goblet
there on your nightstand
after you’ve been in your cups
and I ken the vintage and varietal

cus you do drain what is opened to you
(a bit too much, darling, a bit too earnest and compelled)
and when it is joyous red I sip too and laugh in your rest
but when it is dull brown and rust and no diamonds

well, then I sit beside you as you sleep, those miles away
and you there still torn open and seeping your value priceless
and that goblet stinky, forceful, insisting on being drained
but only sipped from and then denied unbearable…but present still lurking.tumblr_nf1g5gqPjG1szrg39o1_1280


you toss, and then I see your shuttered eyes glimmer
and then your loss leaks, wells up and thru limpid lids
squeezed tightly against remembering ever but driven and compelled
by memory’s tortured brew…alas, that goblet…and you

I snatch up that cup (this cup is passed to me, dear)
and to my tender lips I raise it up and press it hard against them
(ah, it burns so hot, it aches so frozen and immobile)
and down I drink the bitter draughts so tragic for you, so tragic in you…

but inside me they find a resting place
to be changed and sweetened, then expelled
out thru my eyes so tender and so kind
and filled with teary balm of sorrows healedtumblr_nf1xxrw5FK1qgk7mfo1_1280

I catch them, the tears, one by one, in that rank glass
that goblet graveolent and grim, musty and mephitic
and loathsome in its unwashed remembers and never can forgets
and while you sleep my tears work a washing wonder

and then the cup do I return and place beside your bed
and just in time, for whimpering you thrash about and grope
wanting to forget, needing to remember, your heart stuck in December
another drink to drug you, goad your hurt and to falsely sustain you

but to your lips my tears transformed within the cup
into a sleepy healing vintage of AD 33
and hale and healthy once again
my tears…my heart…
and your eyes flutter in relief,
and your chest heaves, and sighs
and fall at long last do you from that cliff
and into Her soft stark healing embrace484537_438953092806003_274280216_n

and as I look, I see your face grow placid
peace in rivers breathed and mercy streaming
and then you rest and restoration reaching
to touch your troubled brow and make you whole again.


you got broke, yes? torn.
cus that’s just how this world…yeah.
you know.


just one heart torn willingly and glad
cus that’s just Love and constant
ya know?

sleep now, you will awake, and breath so lightly
and know that all is Love Redeemed and Lifted,
scars are left as medals, evil works are sifted
and what remains becomes

the makings of many poems
of Life Divinely Gifted.