Wednesday, May 28, 2014

They Are Coming

I heard a voice yesterday ... it was as plain and clear as the water I used to watch the Sun Perch through as a child in the creek which ran beside our white house the flood filled with mud and memories ... my dress all bunched up in hot little hands not so much to keep it dry as to make sure I could see my toes ... the sand was sienna and sandalwood with streaks of black the slate and coal made on it's occasions to wash off the trailings the mines had left behind ... it was their whispers beneath the babbling .. the only story anyone wanted to remember anymore ... except for the shadow the mill cast each day for five minutes while the fire fell from the sky ... that shadow lived to hear the stories ... this was it's very purpose, it's only purpose now ... it's only way back to the sound of the soul beating on thrashing grain bins ... gunny sack sacraments the dust could still taste ... my toes danced to see the black flecks unsettle from the sandy silt and float away down stream with fantasy filled destinations my child's imagination giggled into existence ... places I longed to escape to ... even then ... I felt small and cotton topped, hazel eyed, speech impaired, touched by that stare I seemed to have come equipped with ... when I heard the news ... " They are coming " ... I didn't ask who ... I didn't have to ... just made sure I could see my toes and had a clear eye on the flow ahead of me ... I wonder where we are going to go ?  

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Sunday, May 18, 2014

My Kingdom in an Apple Seed

The tower dragons are flying again tonight as news of our Jade Sky reached land before the Sun tore the green tainted depths from the sea's evaporating expansion of breath along the shoreline ... the fields of Jasmine have turned from lyrics the wind's whisper carried away to wrap about the falling strands of evening rain ran pillar for the offerings Buddha might know a warm bath in the pool beside the lilies of his birthing bed ... milk, honey, and the daughters of Mara ever at his service ...  to bitter nubs their sweet scents  brown hash haunts now for the watering mouths of the Opium Kings roasted to fragrant resins by the sky scalding beasts in flight above ... It was in the few hours we were afforded, before myth drew sword and blood upon man and monsters bore talons to tear the piercing fabric shade's claim .. beginning their certain destruction that we made our way deep in to the calm care of Her secret womb ... I took my love for you, wrapping it in your Grandmother's finest blue silk and placed the bundle in the Swan Chest you had given me thirty moons ago ... when we sat coiled about each other and drew blood binding us, one to the other forever, under the Great Turtle Eclipse ... Chang offered a seed of his Golden Apple to hide us away until we could, if possibly, once again be reunited ... I graciously agreed and the Priestess blessed us with Her light to guide you should I not return ... As the Golden Apple held all the treasures of the world we were leaving behind it began to sing the songs of our world as we made our descent into the caves below the temple walls ... beyond the fruiting gardens Spring had kissed in anticipation of Summer's Crane Harvest Festival ... yet to come ... We could hear the breaking of the roof tiles none the less, over It's championing songs as we could witness the bones of our Masters being crushed as they served us one last time in their lives ... they will now know the rewards of Nirvana ... we will know many years of darkness, yet be held in the fullness of Her womb awaiting these seeds to be reborn again ... I am empty of your love ... though I am it's protector ... and if I were ask if I was ever worthy of such a dignity in that world, this world, or in the world to come ... I would not know how to answer ... for how can such a thing fit inside an apple seed, when conceived to be silk swaddled and Swan laddened ... I do know, love is tangible, love has the energy of a thousand suns, love is  beyond any evil man or beast can send to destroy it ... and though I may have had to hide you away ... let dragon scorch the Earth ... our Jade Sky will live again someway when this seed sees the Dawn of a new day ... the temples of our people rebuilt and Chang's apple brings forth a new fruit ...  for peace lives in us all when we dare to care for our love of another.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Where seeking sought souls ...

Limbered frost hung even in the bud cost first strands of morning this May daybreak ... the Ironwood trees refuse to leaf even so as much as the morels keep hidden smuggled safe beneath decays careful blanket ... in the meadow the whitetail test the pure honesty of Dawn's tribunal ... filling their Winter dreams with the first new shoots of eventual autumn hay ... culling their lust for the coming rut too soon upon the mind of thickening velvet ... a midst the splendor present ... observer ... apart ... at one and witness still ... to where seeking sought souls ...

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Your Kindness Touched Me Deeply

Somehow, meeting you has silk screened your pastel presence of who I can finally see my Self to be, deep beneath the Summer sidewalk snow cone melt sugar stain I had been Rorschach~ing all these years, indelibly on my mind ... A Shaktipat sepia negative nitrate slow burning rose incense of beauty which nearly brings me to tears when I let it open the temple of my heart and breathe for me ... Though, I did promise you not to cry, the sadness planted in my eyes so many memories ago washes ever so lightly in the ocean of hour glassed salt water confessions now stolen from Self ... I am found in the garden beyond All Heavens named Kindness, where love may still be the sacred stem on which a blossom lives it's life of glory ...

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Friday, May 9, 2014

Is it possible ...

Is it possible our concept of existence has nothing to do with what we see in each other's eyes, ever ?  ... That souls memorize the pulse patterns of the way those windows handle a curtain, race relating to the breeze, more than how the Sun washes the dye year after year? ... Why is it the color red has to possess our blood because it kisses the air our brains need to feed upon ? ... Is it not blue until they meet beyond the confines of the encapsulated human heart safe, pumping, true, and un~witnessed ? ... How can light be swam in, walked, and waded, yet darkness still stalk us so ? ... Where is that higher love, hooded illumination, and miracle walkway ? ... How will we come to know the tangent pull palm play blessings of peace, if we close our eyes to our own destruction ? ... Trembled air on the wings of  those very white doves are begging for the children to to be made kings. 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, May 8, 2014

A Letter to the King of Pangaea ...

It is sorrowful you chose to leave so soon ... when life was just getting ready to say yes for the first time ... in the most real of ways you could ever have imagined ... Oh, God I know, it puts the  fear to your heart like a  glowing red coal to dry summer meadow grass ... Whoosh, with a kiss so hot we'll do anything to outrun it to the river ... take a short cut through anger screaming all the while it wasn't us ... climb up obstinace  and leap across a great divide ... barely catching by our toes arms flailing like a wonky bird for balance ... knowing looking back is sure failure yet, we have to find it in ourselves to fall forward so we can ... we are taught it's our saving grace, we are taught wrong, baby ... it is the drink that drives us ... through brambles and disillusions, we seek the stone sobering cool of the water ... sink our feet in and drink deep ... roll up our pants legs or hike up our dress tail and take in a good cold victory of out running it all ... and just when we are starting to get comfortable is when it is time to go ... we all have to leave those shores for the house at some point ... if we be laying on the cold ground that night or in the bed .... it's all the same ... we are staring at the same face when that darkness folds fleece around us ... might as well turn and face it head on from the start and save our energy for the work to be done ... we all have our own way to do things though ... we all have our own path to walk ... there ain't no shame in that either ... if it is raining we are going to get wet and be all rights we should be thankful for that glory water  ... that'll give us the flowers for the graves next month, baby ... I guess what I am trying to tell you is ... there ain't no shame in anything unless you are trying to hurt others ... hurt just happen sometimes ... I do it ... you do it ... we all do it ... it ain't nothing all that big ... Love is what is big ... we all make mistakes and we all need to be growing ... but if we run out into the pastures every time a door flies open ... sometimes they close while we are down here with our feet in the water feeling proud ... sometimes it simply gets too late, not by anyone's fault neither ... then the real pain starts ... you just think about that awhile and maybe we will see you back at the house before it gets too dark, ok ... 

from "Voice of the Grandmothers Vol 2"
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Serving the Yellow Buddha

The wild plums stand curtsy curve in scattered spray about the red brown hummus healthy oak essence airy hillsides .... their moss brown baskets filling all the while with the membrane net flesh of hollow stemmed Phea and Perry countenance ... as if they were some wandering troop of Geisha orphans too beautiful for Winter to have contained any longer ... and thus in It's melting they were revealed ... freed of some ancient hag's curse, to have been in full blossom as long as they have been in this very forest ... it was the sadness of Mother Earth which has brought them here ... making their way to a hidden Shinto shrine of the Yellow Buddha ... He had once been worshiped and thus protected by an army of most fierce and feline warriors of the calico persuasion ... the white flowers of the plums will be nearly fruit by the time they reach the shrine ... their tall slender bodies prepared and heavy laden with blessings for the Prince ... the Spring red buds which guard these powder puff delicacy dancers themselves are bonsai bodyguards ... sealing out  the perimeters of human habitation ... where mythologies no longer hold ... not for a fascination for communing or exchanging changelings for brides and bouncing babes ...  legend says, the manx are nearby plotting for the skins of the calicos ... like the orphans they have no defensive skin of their own and must fight for their Winter coat to the death ... or become the helmet of a calico and give him the right to never be challenged again ... all players are most patient ... some play for understanding what it is to become ... others what it is to fulfill an accepted destiny ... then there are those who either loose their skin or loose their head ... no one wins in that game ... yet, the One sits silently, yellow as the Sun waiting for us to finish our play ... He is the Buddha ... he knows we will find our way ...

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, May 3, 2014

Rumpelstiltskin Wings

I've spun wax wings with the bobbins of Rumpelstiltskin's bridal wheel ... from the butter stub candle nubs left burnt into my window panes ... from wanton midnight wishing spells for you ... they are not brittle as crumble be the paraffin a year old ... holding the bees balmy craft of pollinating berry stews upon last summer's jam ... nor are they light as the butterfly come to drink sweet the sipping song ... from rose or lily, poppy and full fragrant beauty bush heavy with the daylight's dripping dawn ... they are wound on stems of light I spied across the darkest night ... when stars lay hidden from my view shaming even the moon to bear not her face ... for all knew the blackness was ushering you to me ... woven between with spider dust gathered gossip of how anticipation would learn of itself ... in the way a woman comes to realize the depth of love she is willing to bear out ... through her own convicted lust and strength to not be swayed from her heart ... in the moment our lips at last opened to each other ... the galaxy granted yawn spent humbling weakness true surrender of sanctification can only give ... and in the pouring gloom grained rains of what ever may come to be ... these wings of your heaven ... I held bosom to belly ... sleepless to slumbers ... sweet repose shall be all that are not drenched in the inks and oils of knowing ... what it is to thirst for you in utter constancy ... 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Sister Ophelia

I dream my body's life away ... I wander in the grey plains and verde golden hills of my mind ... I saunter about the fields of heather far back away from the cottage where in I find you sleeping ... I dare not wake you ... for waking is when you see me, waking is when you know me, waking is when the quill is broken ... the heather knows of whispering love's lilac kisses I have left upon your cheeks ... the stream leaves apertures of desire upon the rushing rock face ... carrying lullabies home for your slumber filtered from every color we could think of when we met dreaming spells and spindle rails to keep time from folding the night away again ... then I am a spider caught in the web of the Wahoo tree until the Moon wishes me well once more ... and Ophelia walks this hollow haunt the missing heart of one ... we share her posies and spy you through the window panes ... How my hand ever finds it's way to my mouth ... my forefinger and thumb caressing my bottom lip ... lost in the sight of you baking bread or scribbling on some napkin which was handy ... only the nibble, the tiny bite on myself, brings me back ... I am lost in you ... standing tip toe beside my sister in your flowerbeds of thorny roses and fragrant iris ... our toes cold on the red brick borders ... our hearts eternally warm ...

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved