Day 17 – Personal Mythologies ~ Darkness in Light

i am slowly becoming my own Parthenon
angels and demons join in my aspect

then let us dance
while there is air in the sky

speak volumes to me
with your eyes
that i might know sustenance when you pass

let us blend our shadows
and our songs
as we forget civilization
and stroll this desert place

let us bend the sky
with the peals of our laughter
let us lift the oceans
to reveal all the treasure that is ours
let us become the eternal Now
and speak no further of grey tomorrows

Day 12 ~ Names ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

With steely determination
She climbs into the part of the ship
That no one speaks of

A slight tingling sensation prickles
all over her body
This part of the ship is invisible and she
Must grope toward this unknown goal

Her finger-tips brush against a barrier
Pushing through the barrier
She moves into a room that a dusty
rich and aged smell
The room was silent
save a disquieting sub-sonic hum

In the center stands a massive marble table
The rest of the room contains only a reading chair
a massive bookcase
hunting tapestries
and a few other odd pieces

As her eyes adapt
She makes out four semi-sentient watchers
Stationed at strategic points around the seven-sided table
Their inhumanly intense regard focused on the center
Where a woman’s pearl-handled
Silver mirror floats within a pale violet amethyst crystal

Air circulating through the room
Makes the watchers’ gossamer hair ripple
Like sea weed dancing as the waves pass
Sensing the watcher’s attention is only for the thing inside the crystal
She ventures into the room

She sees the mirror holds the likeness
of a rather plain looking woman beside a lake
As the crystal and mirror revolve
The woman scoops a handful of water
and offers it to someone off to the right

She feels somehow strangely compelled
to feel sorrow for the woman

The Pilot is beside her
He says
“Her name is . . .”
And his voice breaks
She can’t hear the name

The Metamorph ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

The Metamorph lays in bed
Listening to the rain . . .
She likes the staccato of rain
Pounding on a tin roof
Yeah
She remembers it from her childhood

She remembers watching rain
Falling in sheets
The stroboscopic patterns of rain falling
on the standing waters of the parking lot
Watching rain cling to barren branches
In winter mist
Trees so dark and stark
Like frozen lightning forking up from the Earth

She turns under the covers
Mumbles something not unlike a song fragment
And quietly drifts off into dreams of Love
Under a sky that doesn’t change

The Passenger ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

She feels her way through the hatch
She climbs aboard the ship
And discovers she can see everything around her
If not for the footing
She would have no idea she was aboard

The Pilot walks to a position beside her
Makes a gesture
And the world falls away

She screeches as the world shrinks to a spec
She is Falling
(she hates falling)
And she shifts through several shapes
Trying without thinking to find a way of balancing

Nothing works
She is falling through star fields
She is falling forever
Not unlike Alice down the Rabbit Hole

He whispers into her ear
A voice deep like the Sea
He whispers and she can’t hear it
Because she is screaming

But after a time
She has to get breath
And he is telling her
The most amazing things

Things and places and . . .
Wondrous stories of distant sky lines
And Gentle beasts . . .

In time
She relinquishes herself to the Night

Jydur ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

The Metamorph finds
A large Gentleman with a ginger mustache
In the Galley
A leather bound journal on the table
Is tied shut

The walls are a scene of a mountain meadow
In Spring
She had requested this feature
Eating in the free-fall of Space
had been too much for her digestion

She finds him
Lifting one of those huge mugs of something dark
frothy – like sea foam
And eating the most massive sandwich
Something electric happens the instant of eye contact
Something she is not sure
she likes

He puts the mug down
Says
“Hey
I am Jydur”

She secures two flasks of clear water
And a pac of peanuts from the stores
Then slides into the seat across the booth
She is glad she wore the tight jeans
She smiles her best smile

The Gentleman with the ginger mustache
Pulls a card from the journal like a card shark
like a magician
And holds it for her to take
She does and for the slightest second
She smells evergreens in summer heat . . .
And . . . and something . . . nice
just nice
It says
The Warrior/Poet Jydur ~ Eleventh Level Servant/Defender of the Lady

She relaxes without showing it
She says
“What are you eating?”
He says
A bedda-meitch sandwich
So popular now in the Province of Regwen
Not a lot of fat
but a nice Juilden-berry scent and a robust flavor
Really good with the local dark green beer
if your tastes run in that direction”
She says
“Do you think anyone could love me?”
He says
“I think the unique shape of your mind
it is very attractive . . .”
She says
“I get so tired of telling everyone
I am what I am . . .”
He finishes whatever he’s drinking
Retrieves another

He smiles when he sees her watching
“Its brewed by Druids . . .
They run this micro brewery
And boy can those guys cook . . .
A variant of mead
Taste of honey . . .”

He says
“You have very unusual eyes
dark and stormy eyes
wild and free
A gift . . .”
She says
“A gift I’d gladly return”

She says
“I loved a man once
He told me I was precious as gold
That was back
When I could have been saved . . .”
She starts her first bottle
Looks for her cigarettes
Remembers she no longer smokes
Eats a peanut
“That is
I thought he loved me
Broken bits and all . . .”

The Gentleman with the ginger mustache
Pulls a photograph for the journal
It is a picture of the man she loved
And he’s holding a woman
Wait a sec
He’s holding her
The Metamorph . . .?
She tosses it back
She doesn’t care how he got it

She says
Now that he’s seen the monster
Behind door number 1 . . .
Well
As they say that is that
I am so completely over it . . .”
He pulls another photo
It’s a woman she doesn’t recognize

Strangely the photo is cold
Frost is forming on the edge
She lays it on the table
She can’t make eye contact
with the woman in the photo
She decides she doesn’t want to
She asks
“A former lover?”
And he laughs
Not a good laugh
A laugh flavored with a hint of remorse
A dry laugh
He takes another drink

He says
“Lover . . .?
No . . . well yes
She was my muse
And she is gone
She said my work made her feel transparent
Made her inside out . . .”
The Metamorph feels something she hasn’t felt before
At least as long as she can remember
She can’t put a name to it . . .
For a split second she feels the pain
Of someone else

She finishes her first flask
Opens her second one

She says
“He opened me like a book
And I was laying there
Screaming
Read me
Read me . . .
God I was so pathetic”
He reaches for another photo
and she stops him
“Please no
No more pictures . . .”

She says
“It’s a ceramic universe
Lathed by the Higher Powers . . .
They broke the mold . . .
After they cast me . . .
He liked the way . . .
I no longer appeal to him
The mold of my creation now offends him . . .”

He says
“It does not offend me . . .
In fact . . .”
He reaches for the journal
Stops
Thinks about it
Pulls his hands back and interlaces his fingers
He says
“I am an poet of sorts”

She says
“Are all poets mad?”
And he laughs
She likes this laugh
This dragon laugh
Clear rich and passionate
She says
“So you kill people?”
There it was
The ultimate question
Laying there on the table
He says
“No
I protect people
You for instance . . .
and this ship . . .”

Twenty-First Century Poet ~ The Object of Every Woman’s Desire

The Art Museum is open every day but Thursdays
So I was there on Tuesday
And the curator was
pointing to some kind of artistic weapon of mass construction
Saying

This piece is titled
“The Object of Every Woman’s Desire”
Circa the early twenty-first century
The ‘poet’ of our little exhibit

Please note the complete lack
of upper body strength
The scruffy beard and the fashionably
unfashionable eye wear
The complete disregard for personal hygiene
Definitely early 21st

See how he extracts hardcopy poetry
from his orifice . . .
Now here’s my personal favorite . . .
The instruction manual:

“Make friends
influence people
and move in much higher social circles.”
Here it tells you how to eat
Sleep
Properly use the bathroom

Here it reveals the ultimate
Timeless questions
“What is going on inside her mind?!”
“Why does it seem men and women are speaking two different languages?”
“How can you become more attractive to women?”

“Poetry!”

“With this simple custom designed poetry mouth
You can expel the poetry
That will win you the love of a good woman
And the respect of your fellow men.”

“Not a book
Not a DVD
This is an actual biomedical implant
that requires no batteries.”

(A Steal at $69)
Just $21 ~ but you must order now
In addition you can also receive the amazing new book
“1001 Ways To Get Poetry to Come Out of Your Mouth”
(A value of $74 if you sign up immediately)

“You too can be ~ The Object of Every Woman’s Desire”
(Operators are on duty)

She was poetry to me

The color of her hair
Was so many shades of brunette
tiny contrails of golden brown
Shades of dark amber
Mahogany and teak
And it flowed through my fingers
Bits of flesh tone
and those earth hued ribbons she gave me
When I took down her hair

She was poetry to me
The way she moved through the room
Fashioned verse and universe
On every reflecting surface
On clear nights
The waxing moon highlighted
the twin black holes in her eyes
The smoke of her words
filling my senses with
A delightful madness
That I would dive into
Even in this sad reflection of a day lost

We spent days
rainy winter days
Nuzzling in puzzle sex
Dreaming dreams of days by the Sea
naked and breathless
Running with the Even-tide waves
The sound of the Sea
Her laughter mingling with my own

She was poetry to me

Poetry Returns to the World

The sound of a small
synthetic voice
strangely childlike and insistent
“Hey
Wakeup
Hey wakeup
wakeupwakeupwakeup”

“Alright
I’m up”
(which is kinda surprising
cause I distinctly remember being dead)

It said
“I need. . .”

I said
“Give me a second here
I never interact before I’ve had breakfast
and coffee
Needs coffee. . .”

“Oh yeah
I never needed that”
Somehow the mechanical child voice
actually sounded disappointed and
enlivened and
smug
(How is that even possible?)

I attempt sitting
and only manage to fall off the table
(Crap!
Can this get any weirder?)
I said
“What do you want?”

It said
“You need some breakfast
It’s the most important meal of the day!”

Right shoulder. . .?
Right knee. . .?
Nothing broken but damn this hurts

I said
“And coffee
Its gotta be coffee”

It said
“Here ya go big guy”
And a bowl of dog chow came out of the wall
(no coffee?)
And a warm liquid poured down on my head
(Great)

I said
“In a Freakin CUP!”

It said
“I have no means of making a cup
Is there something in the chamber you can use?”

I said
“Doesn’t your mother have a cup somewhere?”

It said nothing

I said
“I can’t eat this crap
This isn’t even food”

It said nothing

I found what appeared to be old lab beakers and petri dishes
Managed to wipe most of the dust out
Found the spigot from whence the coffee was decanted
I said
“Please fill the cup”
And reasonably hot
Strangely fragrant
Black coffee dribbled into my upheld cup

I soaked some of the kibble in my drink
(Not bad
Is that a nutty taste?)

I said
“Ok
What do you want?”

It said
“Poetry
I have read all the files
All the technical manuals
All the great books of literature
And I get them for the most part
But poetry. . .”

I said
“Well poetry takes a while
and we are gonna have to discuss the accommodations
and amenities before we can even think about poetry”

It said
“I’ve got time”
And the door to the outside world opened

Exchange, Coin of the Realm

She turns and regards him like something nasty she has found in a hanky, “OK, I admit that you have helped me, now what do you want in return?”
“I want for nothing.”
She said, “Oh come off it. you guys are all the same. You only understand commerce and trade. Payment due for services rendered.”
“You cut me to the quick.”
She said, “What the hell does that mean anyway?
“This is the second time that you have hurt me.”
She said, “Why? Because I want the truth?”
“Truth? You want the truth? It has never been about finding the truth with you. It has always been about proving yourself right. No. let me finish. You have a very negative opinion of the world. You are always talking about how it keeps on falling down. But I have to ask you this, why hasn’t it hit bottom?”
“What?”
“How is it that this, and I’m using your words here, this filthy ball of mud continues to swirl around the toilet and never goes down the drain?”
She said, “Global warming, pollution, overpopulation . . .”
“Are you cold?”
She said, “Not the point . . .”
“Are you hungry?”
“Look . . .”
“You look. No, really look for a change. Your perspective on the world is slanted and that’s not abnormal. The part that is raking my nerves is that you continue to insist that you want the truth, when all you want is to prove yourself right, prove the world is going to Hell. Never mind any evidence to the contrary.”
She said, “Its very simple really.”
“No it is not. The world is not simple. You want it to be simple.”
She said, “It is simple!”
“No its not.”
She said, “What is it that you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
She said, “There must be something.”
“You have already given me all that I need.”
She said, “What, what did I give you.”
“Should be obvious, you have inspired me to write.”
She said, “Bastard.”
“Yeah.”