beginning

drink winter wine
warm your hearth fire and
embrace your
shivering being

can you hear the stars
in the ice crystals
whispering of the living spirits
deep down in the earth?

can you feel the longing
in the low-sun horizon
guarding the eye
upwards to fire
healing and holy?

does not a hint
of glowing sparks
sound forth beneath
winter-hardened bark?

this is the beginning
this is the release of
the frozen form

spread your wings widely
over the declining arch
of the dying year

exhale your seed of light
breathe it and grow it
close to you

the wondrous moment in between....

inside your dream
you awaken
to give rise to
timeless
drownings
inside floods of
ancient
glow

in a dance
of warm winds
and dark soft voices

in the center of a
sphere without perimeter
you
then create
flaming rivers
nile songs thick
with ancient honey
its silent refrain exploding
as firefalls spin

your heart beats into existence
the rapture of drunken dreams
the wild meeting of breaths:

the ur-seed of wisdom
the well of light

universes you give birth to
and are born from

October

this buzzing silence

holding its breath - sweet

the arvid murmur of

last skythes

smoke wed to glow

coupling with the

dying sun that perfects

the sleep of clouds

the undevoured light

ebbs to sustenance

in the fissures

of decaying dreams

embering to the lip

of a nomadic sky: earth

from which my voice

escapes

eyes sleep in soil

fruit ripens

in the vacant lots

of solstice

heat recedes

light escapes

through the interval

piano and accordion

life is like a piano: what you get out of it depends on how you play it.



time is an accordion: expanding and contracting while the wind of change sings on its reeds.

...if life is a piano, and time is an accordion (and a cello is passion, and a clarinet is emotion, and a guitar is thought, and a drum is instinct), then the human voice must surely be our own jubilating consciousness within the great symphony of existence....

the frozen sea within

jökulsárlón, glacier lake south of vatnajökull glacier, iceland, 1990. pic taken from a paper photograph.

"A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us." ~ Franz Kafka

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Clouds and souls

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like clouds we float
from north to south
from day to night
from soul to soul

to paint the sky
from darkest coal
to wildly burning sunset light

Sensation of time

“It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish....”

"We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of Time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work strengthens us. Let us choose."
Charles Baudelaire

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