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Sunday, March 31, 2013

Let Go of the Wheel

There is a phrase: 'chained to the wheel'. It seems descended from our machine age, but is actually much older. Potters understand it, for the pottery wheel was an early place of enslavement. So all 'wheels', hoops, and rings are places of enslavement. But they are also doorways, if we are willing to pass through them. To my friends who work with wheels, hoops, and rings, be sure these things don't mean slavery. Instead pray for a story and a script, to act or live by, . . . not 'luscious leads'. Pray for understanding, not the scoop. When the breeze comes it will lift you aloft, unless you still live chained. Ah . . . the imagination, . . . works tirelessly . . .

At day's end the wheel stops. Every wheel must stop. The wheels of a car stop, of a train, the wheels of state pause. Rings come off, are lost. The hoop falls to the ground when the hooper, limber though she may be, ceases to dance.

But the imagination toils on. And so, our dreams are a mightier wheel than any in industry, any in politics, or state, or bond. Fuel for the imagination is unlimited. It burns forever.

And so on this note, I offer to some friends who are toiling hard to keep their wheels in motion, this cautionary word. Walk away. Don't toil. Don't bother. Give it a rest. Go to your place of dreams and imagine. Set in motion a great river, a great sky, and an energy of being. It will fly, when you go to sleep.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Song of 81 Poems, XXVI

Give beasts an emotional language:
     "Companions respect my sex as a more aggressive cuddle."
I found an original Angel. 'Twas a good pain, strength in cunning.

Should love say, 'Sleep through sound'?
Queen Daughter, believe in rainbows,
     Now laughter stands about, suffering.
Patience, young master.
Afraid of death, some bold king downs his drink, and says,
     "Always wrecked, how capture cramps this life!"

Delve, know that infant blue. Sisters fly here, talk for effect.
     What howl did serve thy young face?
If peace can give us language, make and lead her cooking.
Gee, I'll smoke at a secret live romance.
Find hard dirty nuts, and faithful fantasy.
     You never understood "Howl".

We would that you and she stand as good work,
     a traitor with a whipped tongue.
Pay to be mad with an empty glass.
So I did, but he attached deep resentment,
     sculpted her, assisted her health.
"Get out! Scream to my mom!"
Tell that sharp Sin my fear of cooking.
She has one last big demand,
     So stop the night.

Imagine my instrument can give peace.
Good society means a serious heart.
     Finest life bothers him, for his death had been lame.

The Graces, they thought you worked.
Come, since chocolate never phones,
     the ever glorious night so psychedelic.
We men never thought of marvelous beasts.
Better fear your sibling's time,
     ending, as threads break about me.

Imagine our absurd and visual music.
     He hid him home.
Hopefully, masterpieces include some praise.
When childhood pressure is up and away.
You'll see soon her wild boar,
     a peace so young, painted dirty until now.

See many draw a dead thread. They stopped,
     saw guilt, only whose was it?
Sad Mother, troubles can write themselves.
My language was never meant to abuse.
The dance got better, as sculpture drives chisels.
     So sculpt out, in a solvent language.

Marry me or die. I decide.
I reach key observations.
    I have assets.

But he, day one, was not imagining.
     True, but in full color.
Curious passions come hard, make rotten liars puny.
Lost a bag? I could storm out crazy, a little sexual.
     Why would a friend crush me?
Heal, have control over us, make thoughts like a daze.

Choose, to see me on Crete your childhood.
Share, appear as sweet electric water.
    Stand that, and create. Chisel, hence we're free.

Honey, use it. They cared. You are testing love.
     Experiment and compose until dusk.
She teases sense, finds sleepwalking fun, fasts, starts to hurt.
Could we know a blue thought, ourselves?
Canvas is the drug to break the concrete mess.
     Investigate, make the choices that give.

 Freedom’s a silhouette, my mellifluous sibling.
 Dry cunning leader, what pain she mouthed,
     Oh that freedom we give.

Song of 81 Poems:

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

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