The Ghost-angel and the Dragon

There is a storm coming, but somehow its inside the house
The Ghost-angel ascends the stair case
as she has so many times before
In the silence of vapid Darkness, shadows race across the walls
She stops on the stair, suddenly somehow confused

The door at the top of the stair opens of its own volition
She resumes her ascension
She cries, trying to sob silently
So as not to give herself away

Inside the room at the top of the stair green fire dances in the place for fire
and violins are plying somewhere
The mote angels drift about the room, refusing to dance
They cast no shadows
But shadows still cavort across the walls
She says in a whisper
‘Is there any power that can make all these demons be gone?’

Something is wrestling with the grill work on the window
Something long and sinuous
Something strong. . .
The metal work gives way in a metallic shriek
followed by silence

A breeze explores the room
she stands silhouetted by the dancing flames
A dragon of silver and crimson hesitates at the door
The mote angels and walls shadows pull away
hiding in the corners

He finds her, wounded . . .
‘My Lady, are you Injured . . . ‘
She turns toward the fire without speaking
He kneels at the threshold
Not wishing to hurt her more
‘I have searched the Far Places, seeking . . . you.’
and he calls her name softly
Her name a beauty in this dark place
He holds out his fore-claw
An offer. . .

Her blackened wing stubs, thrashing . . .
Only dragon fire can sear the wings of an angel
She sobs and casts him back into the night

He wants to tell her that he is not the dragon that hurt her
But maybe she’s right . . .
Maybe all dragons are bad

He turns . . . to depart
She says, ‘Are you a monster?
What creature are you?’

He considers, ‘How can I answer true . . .
Can I . . . can this thing called I
Ever completely know itself?
Gentle one, I am no one, Nothing . . .
A molecule . . .
A moment . . .
A wave gathered from the energies of the Sea
Crashing even as it’s reforming.’

Pain and fear in her voice
she says, ‘What is your name?’

‘I have been called a many things
Elder . . .
The Archon of Light and Darkness
Life-Force Dragon
A Star-Fire Dancer who’s very touch rips the fabric of Space/Time
But these are merely titles
Words . . .
Black stains on paper
Vibrations in the air
That are whipped into the Abyss
Pointless exercises in vanity’

Silence

‘But if you wish it I will depart
I have no wish to trouble any creature
Not even those who have sought my blood
Not even those who sought my tears
I have no wish to trouble you or yours’

She sobs
Her frail body wracked with heaving regrets
It is more than the dragon can bear
Blood red fire tears gather
In the crinkles of his lid-less eyes

‘Gentle one
I would change this were it in my power
I would put my hand against the sky and turn the clouds back
I would commit the blasphemy of dancing the dance that bends Time/Space
I would walk the maelstrom that separates Past from Future
These violations and more would I do willingly . . .
Gentle one
I can not take your hurt away . . .’

St. Elmo’s Fire courses the cracks in his armor
The chinking between his scales
Energies fluxes across and around his towering form
His wings unfurl to the fullest extent of the ceiling and walls
Fire blood runs the veins of the membranes

Suddenly he folds into himself
His wings all but invisible
His eyes twin sapphire lasers
His eye cast down . . .

‘Oh
Gentle one
I have failed you . . .
You should have selected a guardian angel’

She is shaking her head no
She would touch him but is afraid
He places his mussel on the floor
All the other creatures have gone
There is only the Angel
the Dragon
and the green fire

She gently places her hand on his jaw and whispers
‘Stay here with me
And we will see what tomorrow brings’

Spring

The Burgeon Muse sways across the porch
Down in the yard everything is climbing
everything fighting for light and life
The way ferns unfurl

The Book of Secrets falling open
Leaves peeling back
Barely seen symbols and schema written in every atom
Arcane thoughts made manifest
revealing. . .
What. . .?

She likes to come up behind me and put her arms around me
She touches my shirt
My hair
Her hand cool as it brushes my face
Her soft whisper
an amber echo in the dark chambers of my heart

She opens my mind that she might instruct me
There is music in the mud carpeted forest

Music in wet life dancing
A dance in the way the wind plays with the porch swing
A seductive undulation of the wind
intertwining with the ascending mists

She smiles her unique dark eyed smile
This silence. . . is her Art
Her art eases my parched throat
Unburdens my troubled soul
Soothes my heart to a healing ebb and flow

Dreams in the Carnival of Hal Cyon Land

She said
“Last night I dreamed that my life
Had been rearranged
Into the theme park . . .”

So
I said
“Show me . . .”

And we stepped through the wall into
Hal Cyon Land . . .
Amusements for the Crowned Heads of Europe

Or
at least
That was what it said on the entrance arch

And she showed me
the RoLlEr CoAsTeR of LOVE!
and I looked at it for hours
just awed by its complex design
Honestly
How does anyone survive that one?

She showed me
the MYSTICAL HOUSE OF MIRRORS
Mirrors
mirrors everywhere
And not a drop to . . . drink

This mirror makes her look fat
This one makes her lips look . . . poutty
This is one of those that bends you everywhich way

In this mirror she
Compares herself to others
In this one she is always alone

This one says
“Diet
Stay out of the Sun
Men don’t make passes
at girls who wear . . .”

She turns away

“Start an exercise program
Play sports
Eat healthy food”

This one says “Straighten up
Smile and look straight ahead
You’ll look and feel more confident”
She tries it
It doesn’t work

I snaged her hand
Closed my eyes
And find our way out by feel

She showed me the Wheel of Desire
The Tilt-O-Whirl of Capitalism
The Wild West Shooting Gallery of Prom

But she always turned this way
and not that

I stoped and turned that way
I said
“Whats over there . . .?”
She avoided my eyes
I said
“Can I go there?”
She shakes her head no and says
“I guess you can if you want . . .”

I went over the little knoll
And there is the House of Lost Loves
The place is in such disrepair . . .
I love the goth/victorian architecture
The hanging shutters

Oh and the lost soul moaning
the creepy walls and snarling wolves
I feel right at home

She tries to pull me back toward the Light
Before I can see the River of the Dead
(the boatman was perfect)
The Sulfur Pits of Doom
(yeah . . . the worst parts of the Bible)
And . . . God
What the Freak is that?

She pulled my head around
She said
“I don’t want you to see me like this . . .”
I said
“Hon
I am not afraid
I am Grey
The Equipo of Light and Darkness
The Balance between Night and Day
And there is no ride here
I haven’t bought a ticket for . . .”

She said
“But its so . . . tawdry . . . so pathetic
So . . . God . . . it makes me so afraid”
I put my hand on hers and it was cold
The Light I hold in my chest
Found its way down my arm
And she flinched as it hit her hand
But she held on
Her hand warmed

I said
“Look
I love cotton candy
But I also like Patchouli . . .
I love to be baked clean in the Sun
But every now and again
I get a real craving for a romp in the swamp
And besides . . .
I have never had much use for facades”

She looks to see if the twin points in my eyes
Still betray my Truth
And she is confused
And never more lovely . . .

I said
“Hon
I would hold my hands to your wounds
I would kiss your poison
I would fly you beyond the farthest places
And never count my change
Never miss a microsecond spent in your presence”

She hit me in the arm and said
“I’ll race you to the Pop Corn”

Total Super Blood Wolf Lunar eclipse January 20, 2019

Total Super Blood Wolf Lunar eclipse
January 20, 2019

The lingering memory of a January day
the sky blue as a Raven’s wing
Relentless wind, so certain of it’s destination
howling most of the day,
15mph with gusts over 25mph.

A Sunny South day
the color of Union soldiers
who died
because they never expected the South
to be so unforgivingly bitter cold

I rub my hands
Check to see if my camera is comfortable
(Christmas is truly the Season of Tripods as gifts)
Somewhere near the dawn of the Wolf Moon
the restless dragon wind settles down,
but it’s hovering in the upper 20’s

The sky
the night sky I love so much
clear
and crisp
and sharp enough to cut you

The Super Moon closer than ever
huge at the horizon
now several hands above the rim of the World

The grass I mow
Pebble and rock Zen garden darken
Stillness grows
Silence

My lady smiles
radiant
as some darkness takes an ever encroaching bite
Time, unrelenting and unapologetic
advances the dancers

Darkness eats my Lady’s face
but does not consume her fully
Bruising her instead

Reddish-purple trauma
creeping in the wake
of the invisible assailant

I busy my hands to keep them warm
I switch to my other glasses
I try to find the snack I set out
anything to distract me from her trauma

Reddening apparent early
The umbra of the Lady’s assassin
The beautiful edge of the Moon glimmering brightly
contrasting the red as it deepens

In half of my heart
I am back in the cave
Seeing all this as the wrath of Angry Gods
A Punishment deserved by absented kings and mad knights

and I am afraid

Please don’t take her form me
I know she left me to die that time
but I love her still
The indifferent stars smile toothy smiles
all the brighter in her darkening

Totality!
The Darkness of a Super Blood moon
All I can do is wait. . .

My hands are shaking

A the thinnest edge of Hope I’ve ever seen
cuts along the trailing edge of the assassin

She Heals!
All parts of my heart sing

I miss the shot with my camera
by my heart holds that image in my mind

The fever broken
the Lady convalesces in the most pure sky
I have ever known

My hands calm
My eyes make my face cold

Total Super Blood Wolf Lunar eclipse
January 20, 2019

In Shadow

 

Her shadow eyes meet mine
Though she is more than a memory
and less than a myst
I can almost see her
like the day I first saw her

Without making even a whisper of a ripple
she places her hand on mine
A cold bite
and I share a measure of my warmth

Vapor soft, her voice says
“I am frightened
of the thing I have become.”

I choke
failing to properly say
“Honestly, I don’t mind.”

She looks down
Says
“I wanted to give you children. . .”
She places a finger of ice on my lips
before I can tell her
that none of that ever mattered

The cold burns me

She lifts deadly earnest eyes
Eyes as dark as the night I drove her to the sea
She says
“You’re only fault was loving me.”
and she was gone

The Goodbye

She left. . .
she left something behind

and the ghost of her other lover
detached from shadow

his steps barely marking the mud in the road

she left somethings behind
him and the tiny bear of cloth
her imaginary friend and her childhood

she left down a muddy road
leaving footprints and lost loves behind
in the mud of a thawing spring day. . .

he lifted the tiny bear
brushed it off as best he could
put it under his tattered coat
next to his silent heart

neither were ever seen again

Visceral Wisdom

If your heart is broken
then how do you breathe?
If you can’t breathe
then how is it that you scream?
If you can’t hear
then how do you know?

I sometimes wonder if we even need a judge
for all the good and bad we’ve done
We seem to do a very good job of tormenting ourselves

Breathe
You deserve the air in your lungs
Scream
until you’re exhausted
Find a silence to live in
if only for a moment
and listen to your visceral wisdom

The fiber of your being speaks volumes
The breath you are drawing knows
without knowing how it knows
how to nourish the blood given by your ancestors
Trust to your inner most being