Crossroads Written By T.J. Phoenix |
Open To Debate -- Star Gazing -- Him -- Flightless Wonder Invisible Scars -- OIMACTTA-- As He Sleeps --Listening To Shadows Poor Little Bird -- Soul Guardians Of A Different Age -- Aura Effects The Last Defense -- The Feeding -- Falling From Grace -- The Flame - A Muse Ing -- Bewilderment -- Childhood Films - First Impulse Change -- human Instinct -- What If --Yeah,yeah,right -- Cyranos Song The Final Page -- Alone In The Surf -- In The Maze Amazement -- |
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Above the Slide: A Point of Balance
The fog weaves itself around the night
we know, to be afraid of the dark
to be apprehensive
in the face of uncertain possibilities
and yet we continue forward
trembling...
We could have stayed inside
but we didn't
we came out into the night, despite all
Will we howl in darkness
liberated here
or surrender to cool evening air
Let
us
howl
Just wolves
maybe we are
outsiders in a manufactured world
howling to be remembered
howling to be reborn
afraid of being alone
of being forgotten
come friend fog
let us dance within shadows
singing
the chorus of night
in this company here
all else will be abandoned.
Had I not cried
I may have laughed
I may have been
many things
different from this
but that was long ago
upon another path
leading to doorways
I scarcely remember
In the ruins of yesterday
still, today is born
shaped in the after image
of feeling.
It's when the upper bowers of the trees bend
under the weight of things
that I'm amazed
people talk in terms of speed
when they talk about the wind
but I see the power
raw power
that we stand in the face of
we say we can harness it
but we're just like those leaves
stirred into a frenzy
moving
moved
by forces beyond our muted comprehension
settling again
once its past
I listen to the rustling
like a hundred floor length petticoats
dancing in the tree tops
their green skirts rising
in time to an eternal beat
synchronous
elegant
and graceful
there is no need for language
words as we know them
it's all blown away
cleansing us
in this instant
my mind eases
feeling the wind sweep past me
to kingdoms I can not follow.
... AKA " The Scream"
It's funny after a fashion
the harder you try to make sense of an insane situation
the more quickly reason slips from your grasp
and you tell yourself that all you need is rest
that in time some meaning
some focused form will return
drawn out of the shapeless, lost measure that you have become
AND at the same time
that you're telling yourself this
you know that
you are slipping farther and farther down that hillside.
It's familiar in that comfortless way
all rock, jagged, bruising
drawing away the life blood
the very marrow of your private existence
you know, the one you need to survive
and all the while there is some fool
you know the one, the all-is well-in-my- life
emotionally lobotomized
"Mr. or Ms. don't worry be happy"
who looks at you with earnest curiosity
as you scramble to grab onto that last hand hold
the one before the precipice
and just before that last bit of crumbling rock gives way
and you plummet, for the umpteenth time
you hear their voice so clear in you ears
no wind, no anything,
just this pale whining voice clearer
than if it had been your own
"I'm sure things would get better if you'd try a little harder"
it echoes in your ear as he/she,
sitting within arms reach- smiles and waves
and then just after you've passed
pauses, to open up a chocolate bar.
God there are days, and then there are days
and we all know the distinction between the two
but in the end you are left with the realization
that sometimes, life just sucks.
When the fruit is ripe
let us pick it from the tree
careful not to bruise
or taint it with our ill
but instead of this
to cradle and caress
encompassing it with gratitude
and reverence
Let me take it to my mouth
and taste of something sweeter
than careless want
and passing hunger
oblivious
to the light within
that shined from every leaf
which brought forth meanings
from a base long forgotten
in a time of winter
and yet...
struggle here with me
hear with me
some muse other
than distilled sounds
rounded in that small little pill
that so many would say
can replace the fullness of living
just a little cardboard left, really
just some roughage to replace
so that the veins
stay open
open to what
can someone please say
I struggle to see the moon
turning my head
outside the car window
everything around me blurs past
at sixty-five miles an hour
if I prop myself
just right
and not let the stinging cold get to me
the heavens
move s l o w l y
slow enough that I catch a glimpse
Slow enough
that on this cloudless night
I can see infinity stretched out before us
he sits in the drivers seat
focused on the road
he's talking to me
because he's loved the stars
since childhood
he's telling me
what each point of light
in the evening sky represents
his voice full of fire and amazement
All I can do
is hold onto the window
my fingers turning blue
but it's better than falling out
better than missing the freedom
of a brief late night flight
alive
so alive
beneath the face of heaven.
I wear woven bracelets
around my wrists
as tight
as any caged bird of prey
they often blindfold me
and strap my feet
by these offerings
keeping me from flight
sometimes I forget
that they are there
waking in the night
to discover them
knowing
that I am not quite free
unable
to dream deeply
I want to rest
like any other
who forgets that
the cage is still there
even when
the fetters rest above my head
removed until daylight.
If I cried out
could he hear me
from this distance
would anyone hear me
I am a woman now
mother to four
focused and strong
and still, sometimes...
I am crying, screaming
in endless fields of corn
twelve year old child
alone, searching
among the ruins
of ancient, midwestern barns
bare boards
of crumbling
masonry
There is the wind
there is the sun
there is the stillness
isolation fear
and little else
no one will hear me
no one but me
can remember
Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear
Objects in mirror
like her hair on the page
scattered across a sea
of white paper
blue ink
and dreams
restless, waking
solitary, waiting
Like these objects
like this moment
like her heart
found in stillness
is closer
than it appears.
So cold a man
so warm a man
so close a man
so dear, so loved
so needed, so desired...
Soft ,unspoken
within dawns stillness
man
lying, resting
sleeping
no tremble
no voice
no passion
no answer, no answer...
her naked form
lingers
in early morning frost
so cold a man
who turned away.
I understood --
that ghosts were real
I could not deny them
having heard their pain
in late night hours
My great aunt use to say
only those that speak a language
can comprehend its meaning
how else did I know them
how else did they recognize me
I hid from them often
though they did not mean
to frighten me
with the after image
of their pain,
they thought I understood it
that I was-- like them
only invisible...
they did not understand
that I was still mortal
still a child
afraid of the dark
and specters of the past.
The Moon
he said
sitting on the sand
laughing
there, there and
there again
ageless and silent
why can't you be
more like the moon.
The Sun
he said
sitting beneath a tree
his eyes straining
staring directly into it
there, there
and there again
warming and radiating
why can't you be
more like the Sun.
And if the stars were to fall
meteors of the night sky
hurdling toward him
burning up on re-entry
would he
want me to be
more like them.
You are
he said,
more like this seed
he extended it
touch it,
touch it
feel it now.
I took the seed...
and he said to me
you will grow old
and die soon
much sooner than the sun
much sooner than the moon
and yet living
much longer than me.
And you will grow
like this seed
sheading your life
across silent ground.
It is enough
I responded
he smiled at me,
a first time for everything
as I watched him
fly away.
Certainty brings with it
a precarious relationship
blues, violets, they blur me
not another page
not another meaning to decide
it is the yellow amber hues
and orange that flames
in the corner of my eye
that comfort min these times
it's strange after you see it
you aren't ever the same
and sensing the strangeness
doesn't offer much
any relief
The blacks once worried me
until I tried to understand them
I couldn't you know
and since it was beyond me
I let it go
but then there is the white
have you ever
not mixed with anything
singular in its passage
not diffused
or blurred
just there on it's own
comforting
after one too many
migraines
Silence
you sang to me in it
called my name
in deafening screams
too many times to remember
I'm here
I'm here now
so where do I begin
what path should I choose
I must follow after
the point of origin
to you
you told me in the late night
in dreams uncounted
of the paths I must be searching for
I can still remember
still remember
but I need to know
will you rest at my shoulder
and with wisdom guide
to an age I can survive
Silence
and you told me
once more than I would have liked
of reasons in your metaphor
for me to decide
to decide
that it was my choice
I had to laugh
not all things are gray
and to that end, action
action in all accounts.
When he let the dragon out
I needed to scream
I had never been certain before
and then to comprehend this
fully, forcefully
seeing what it was
that had haunted him
first the head turned
and rising before me
let loose a deafening howl
windows shattering
the heat
the screaming
was it him or me
that last spoke
our words dissolving
The dragon was trapped
drawn to a place
that it could not comprehend
I wondered
could it see our pain
trampled beneath it
reflected in shattered silver glass
decaying into dust
I thought of turning
as the dragon moved closer
now fully emerged
he stood before me
there in our small bedroom
too late, I understood
too late to leave
Its' body coiled slowly around me
and he, my love- was gone
impervious dragon stayed
impenetrable until we were finished
in my last breath
before his consumption, I knew-
I could not fear
what I understood
what I had waited so long to set free.
The fan came down across her face
turning, turning around
she might have screamed
if she hadn't understood
watching it, fall to the ground --
it ceased it's turning
becoming lifeless,
still
it's casing -- cracked.
a new invisibility,
filled her...
The fan had fallen
fallen from grace
it had stirred the breeze
on stagnant afternoons
and filled her thoughts
with memories
of mid-western thunderstorms
and sheltered late night dreamings...
She picked it up
placing it back on the table
wishing she could return it
to its life of movement
wondering how her world would be now
without its urgent hum
and tireless dedication
to motion.
Soul Guardians Of A Different Age
In this sustained heartbeat
constant
born of fire
we will be
untouched
unchanged
capable of relaying
the voice within
Not
for
sale
at any
price
Some remember
knowledge
the deeper magic
science was born from
comprehending the union
of mind
and the flesh
after images
of the unspoken
seeing
not the incompatibility
of knowledge
and wisdom
but the necessity
to end
the corruption
the unbalanced wielding
of power.
the tide
embracing the rocks
again
again
touching briefly
before
it passes away
You
I
an eternity
softly
sweetly
shades of blue
amber tinted from sun
a field
a color
a sight
a sound
wrapped within lies flesh
singing...
We fly
plateaus
distant peaks
and the blur of pale atmosphere beneath us
all passes...
Silence
evoking
drawing
one more wave
a moment
flashing
untamed
wildfire
ours
theirs
Gods.
A musing
indeed his actions were
to some extent different from another
A musing
and here to contemplate
the place to which his face ascribed me
and I, more, not the less
puzzled by my own response
So eager in its emotion
urgent like a child
A musing,
and while I ponder further
somewhere deeper still
I find, in my perplexed considerations
some hope for other than this
and yet, unanswered
must scrawl with hasty intent:
across canvass
in marble
or on fragile paper penned
to spend this strange elation
A musing
and if that was not enough
more to this end
enraptured beyond reasons measure
and here infold me
a child
not more
to sleep and dream of none other
A musing
as if obsession could be so renamed.
Teardrops fall
from uncertain origins
friend or foe, matters not
in the end
a twilight moves
as in restless dreaming
I can here ascribe
hasty hands on walls
that bind fearless souls
who have lost their hue
from this slumber spent, awakening
as if in morning rain
counting back the hands of emotion
the clockwork of eternity, shifting-
facing reason
to dance across pale frames
of mortal flesh
whose canvas begets a picture
an image
which fleetingly spends itself
against another time
if I were rain and you the Earth
to drink these thirsty tears
which I have wept
no different than any other
except that they are my own
remaining, suspended here
in this mirror
to stand for some meaning
lost and yet found
the illusive child
Life is imprinted
replayed rewound
again and again
our souls the tape
in this video machine
sometimes
the definition softens and blurs
near the edges of conscious reasoning
in response, it seems-
that which is familiar
we cling to
like the essences of loved ones
that we have known
before this time...
we keep coming back
to these moments
to them
this circle of dreaming
rounded in the soft caress
of flesh.
circles
within circles
never seen
yet changing
still
futures past
and lives unknown
sane
for the silken touch
of time.
It was in our hands
our own two
vital wings
which offered
the promise
of eternal flight
Nothing more was needed
When we awoke
in yet another day
the questions
were the same
as they had been
since the beginning;
since the time
before being
Did we stumble
or did we, merely
turn and walk away
forgetting
that we could yet fly
to a future
of infinite possibilities
i.
tHE sILENT PAth
bOOKs
wORDS
kEYS TO THE pAST
fUTURE
LefT bEHINd
FOUND
BY tHOsE wHO rENDER
tHE INhABItANTS
a KEY OF wHaT TO eXPEcT
iMPRiNTiNG
mESSaGES
FOR lIViNG.
II.
Age Of Reason?
What would we call instinct
and why
don't animals
read books?
Was it just us
who lost the password
to the user
information network
our modems having
disconnected
from outside lines
hard disk inaccessible
we restructure
from damaged, out of date files
Guru error
reset...
Okay children
let's begin again.
Just a few seconds short of precision
and oh, a lifetime in that instant
everything past it, muddles, confused
confusing my sense of reason
perspective spent,
in a time I can not recall
But Oh, to have a splendid wit
and humor to guard
carrying me to a place decidedly different
than the times I'm living now
And when I was younger, I use to dream
and yet dreaming has become
ineffectual
in these days
for without some hope
those dreams nolonger thrive
sprouting and burning
at the light of day
in mid-afternoon, dissipating to memory
and more than this
the knowledge
that for those few moments
-- more or less--
for the skill that precise living requires
I might be, in reality
some place approaching the sanity
of my most fervent dreams...
If only to still my apprehensive heart
and my mind, reacting quickly-
jumping from one place to another
I would see
with newer, younger eyes
a future of greater possibility
Finding the freedom
to stand still
and embrace the currents of time.
This little ditty
went to market
this little ditty
was read alone
this little ditty got published
this little ditty
got several groans
and this little ditty
that I'm writing
was none too concerned as these, so-
this little ditty
said
fuck the editors
I be the poet that I please
...kindly remove you greasy mind
before I start to heave
this little ditty may cope attitude
Phlegm or even a sneeze...
And while other little dittys
speak of passion
or politics or social
dis-ease, another little ditty
might rather masturbate
bringing horny bastards to their knees
And yes, all little dittys
have a yearning
to be understand
and maybe sung
better than falling off a roof
down a ladder
wrung by rung
and if a little ditty
comes to your mind
grab a pen, and a paper
write it down
then subject some nearby stranger to a reading
or perhaps
maybe Bozo the clown.
Catch a dream
if you can
upon the wind
upon the sands
Can you hear the voices
of the many
yet few
who following their own dreams
were all too quickly consumed
by the fire of life
which burns so quickly out
Without a voice
without a prayer
without a doubt
It was in the writing
there
upon the wall
declaring the truth
to one and all...
Listen
as life's song fades
into a sweet splendid nothingness
enriched through times parade
Catch a dream
if you can
to hold in deaths embrace
beneath the rushing sand.
I look at the cut on my palm
from a crystal glass
that shattered in my hand
for no reason
I see the subtle way
all of us are cut and bled
by the wounds of others
knowing within myself
to the core of my being
that all things are known
felt and seized
even if consciousness
fails to remember
the time and place
where first occurrence was recorded
It may not be much
this small cut
in the palm of my right hand
but it is a reminder
nonetheless important
in it's origin and meaning.
And I'm watching you
in the darkness outside
searching for a passageway
home
through windows that cracked
ages past
blurring what lies within
I can hear my heartbeat
as I stand in the surf
so close to what once was my home
the memory of we two-- one--
if only a dream of mine
and they say the ocean
calls
its children back home
yet standing in the waves
I can see only your face
turning with the next breaker
to walk away once more
CAN HE LOVE YOU
I scream to the waves
they do not listen, as I cry
their thoughts are filled with timeless
memory
not my fleeting soul
am I so close
to a point of no return...
sleep child
be once more free
let yourself
find home
if for no one else
than at least
for you
for me
I hear the singing
above bitter cross currents
ages of emotional abuse
that we can not deny
feeling the whole world spin
I turn
to search the horizon
facing the next wave
afraid, for the meaning
afraid of this instant
this instant of breathing
Can it be that I am here alone
can it be that he
chose another road
turning aside
my panicked childs' reasons
for why
why I stand in the cold
stand in the waves
waiting for him
to take me home
On a dusty road alone
he accepted
some reason
I can not comprehend
freed to be separate
separate from me
though long ago
long ago--
before the waves and the ocean
we held each other
Here now
in the blue-black of night
I can remember the stars
though they have vanished
from my view
I must leave the surf alone
to sleep
in dreamless solitude.
In the maze
walls are higher than they appear
no matter which way you turn
turning again
just above you beyond your reach
cold hands grabbing
moving
manipulating you
to turn
and turn again
You scent for food
that invisible tangible
beyond your grasp
just out of sight
Cool and scentless beneath your feet
you struggle to tell
the way that should be traveled
down that corridor
up another
and then, at last you're in sight
of a small bit of something
placed at the back of the maze
shapeless voices
boom
congratulatory
but of whom
You reach to taste it
at last to consume
that little bit you've reached
and just to rest a moment
until it begins again
you know what they will do
you are helpless in their grasp
you turn, sliding to your back
looking up with fierce pride
unafraid
unknowing
into the face of God.s