As November weeps and our society ends,
With broken residences around every bend,
Uninviting lairs hold snapped bonds, dead on floors,
Becoming only translucent, background bores.
Then why, how, do I feel such hope beyond word?
In these conditions feeling wings like a bird?
Is this here the concept of closure at play?
Navigating life I found harbor to stay.
I don’t tell everyone, about the angels,
Knowing of some in clouds and others in holes.
Either way, people may find that oh so strange,
For after chaos how does hope rearrange?
But it does anyway by ultimate string,
Or light, love, any feeling high hope would bring.
While being sewn up, the great needle can sting.
Yin battles spiraled to total yin wars
Then yin victories to settle the scores
While the molé and fajita sizzled
On stone plates, by chips in queso drizzled
In restaurants full of yang brouhaha
While eggs and shrimp cooked a la Diabla
November blows in, bare trees and gray sky
The memory of college days gone by
When in those restaurants, lone abode too
I drank and dreamed, in mental comforts flew
I see some things as signs of the old past
Lights flood a field for a jolly yang clash
The past in the present, future ahead
With each day the gift of our daily bread
As we turn in, with tree leaves red, well fed
Hail Magdalena, Queen of Roses
Lover of Yeshua, equal in His Eyes.
You, slandered and scorned mercilessly,
Looking down from the High Heavenly Planes
Towards the outcasts in misty cells.
Sweet lady in Red, we lie eager in wonder
Awaiting deep mysteries of yours
Whispered by the leaves.
Engulf us in your fragrances,
Plant and cultivate your flowers in our hearts,
For us to unfurl and awaken to our true light
After cascades of sorrows have been shed.
We ask this of you, Dear Spouse of Yeshua,
In the name of the Rose.
Amen
A cool, sunny day
The usual stroll
Birds chirp on the way
Done hiding, warmth’s pull
Most common, this experience
Does not take from the feelings
The Oaks’ glory, Spring’s essence
The sprinkled seeds of teachings
Soon activated, little predicting
What will come of elder beings’ rose-argent string
The point of a needle
Up and down by a swerving treadle
Eye of a hurricane
Calm in the yaw on a catalyst’s plane
A straight-line storm
Tugging the fabric, commanding the form
What deep-colored clothing shall thus be wrought?
Fitting contours superior than that such is bought?
And then to whom shall the lore be so taut?
Eastern whispers, Eastern tales
Wild, remote cliffs and vales
Magic pocket, magic spells
Pearlescent energy up-swells
Every dream and every word
Regarding it makes barrier blurred
Giddy laughter, mirth, sweet scent
Beauty, charm, empowerment
Mycorrhizal network made
Brush and ink and tea and jade
I say to those above, well-played
A long time ago, about 2009
In a relatively innocuous time
On a now-defunct merchandise website
A product that says “LAN Party!”, alright…
In those crazy, wholesome parties I’d been
Nerds most all and treated as friends
No alcohol, reefer or tobacco smoke
Just old consoles, RP and parroted in-jokes
As we left the places we’d played
We scattered to study further away
For a bit it seemed things would be steady
But we found out the hard way we weren’t much ready
Fourteen years since leaving the nest
From carefree chirping and lighthearted jest
Most held steadfast, others did not
Things taken for granted have seemed hard-fought
The parties, I remembered, so long ago
And “LAN”, with anemoia, I overflow
Such grand, granted, grandiose fun
In LAN parties once held, and for the most part done
Pizza, beer and red Mountain Dew
My fire and oceans, curiosity too
Well up in me, seeing smiles so true
Blogs, troves, videos and more
Of times when people’s joy so soared
Those silly people of great innovation
Would seem to give off an ideal sensation
And it all activates my womb of creation
Believing in spirit’s hearts such times stay real
Quite literally, despite being something to feel
Desiring to go both forward and backward
With the best it offers to a direction made third
Guess I’ve decided to become an even bigger nerd
Sun-drenched or rain-drenched, cutting the wind
Mississippi was who grew my fins
Flowing into a mysterious gulf
I hope she is not taken advantage of
Maybe taking on other rivers’ burdens
I see her beauty, glistening currents
Swamp, cliff, forest, sands
In high skies I foresee shimmering bands
To unite again after a come-hither aria
Beyond mere past times nostalgia
It is clear, reality phantasmagoria