This week's Sacred Song Space Challenge - "Where in your life are you on a circular path? Is the roundabout placed to slow you down, perpetually spinning you in concentric orbit? Are you tightly wound around something".



ahh...what legacy did I leave behind
when I died?
I ask this question
as I sit in my jar.

I was consumed with this question
examining my life under a blurred microscope
like concentric tree circles
my wrinkles and tired mien
revealed my age old goal
and the pursuit of such a frivolous grail.

I wish that I could tell you that my years came to equal
wisdom
or that truths eventually became self evident
but those equations were flawed
those assumptions became critical errors
calcified
and dependant on too many indeterminate decision
trees
that branched into could have beens would have beens and
should have beens.

in the end
even Phaeronic bones, viscera and sinew
becomes anonymous ash
residing in decorative canopic jars.

art - http://nga.gov.au/artonline/76/143778.jpg

http://sacredsongspace.multiply.com/journal/item/42?mark_read=sacredsongspace:journal:42&replies_read=3#replyform has weekly writing challenges; this week's challenge is to compose something about a focus...I had some terrible news today, which caused think of the impact or lack of impact, we have on the lives, that we hold dear...as always, my works are constantly being revised...

¹   let me remember to love in small ways -
    a pulp dancer, who has been too focused
    on large, bawdy grains of insignificance

²   let me be a gateway, a path
    to something greater
    than puerile desires, trite phrases and clichéd emotions

 

³    let me be a body
     of compassion and understanding
     my passionately penned lines and stanzas -
     annotated with more than
     repartee and erudite observations

 

⁴   let me make your eyes widen
     gasping as you clutch your breast
     in astonishment and wonder

 

⁵   yes, let me write a warming fire
    and be more than a foregone conclusion
    more than a moth-balled artifact
    lost in someone else's focus
    and footnoted history

 

I was trying to capture the whimsy and the daring, of children...not sure if I suceeded...but then again, I often tweak a poem, prior to submitting....






and although your inquisitiveness
is a wondrous thing
child, you venture where
warriors, wizards and even fey folk
dare not go

the art was filched from - www.universaluv.com/

sitting on my steps
in the morning mist
I gaze, at crystal drops
glistening
on virgin, verdant grass
in this cathedral silence
while the world teeters
between sleep and consciousness
I, the apostate
sit alone, on steps
watching crystals drop

Wednesday Poetry can be reach here V  http://sanssouciblogs.multiply.com/journal/item/353/233

Sacred Song Space is invitation only, except on Fridays

this was inspired by a Dr. Phil show...and life...it crystalized when Sacred Songspace offered a poetry challenge about fortune or misfortune...

A Sacred Songspace Offering

and

A - Wednesday Poetry Offering



Dressed in her lavenders and grays
she sits upright, in his living room chair
hands firmly clasped
the light softly sculpts, a delicate face
touched
with subdued cosmetics
although there are faint indications
of bruises
make-up imperfectly hides
her hair, is in a neat chignon
yet a wispy tendril
escapes
as she speaks
the words, are softly spoken
matter of factly, pithily uttered
but her intentions
elude him
he cannot quite grasp
the meaning
it is as if
she is speaking in tongues
each syllable is a hammer blow (she thinks)
as she says
no
this simple semantic
vibrates and echoes
but there is a look of incomprehension
on his face
much like a gambler
who has lost his life's fortune
at a Las Vegas baccarat table
so she repeats
quietly and softly,
distinctly even
no
never again
motherfucker
but he thinks that she is speaking in
tongues

Here are two very different poems...they are both Sacred Song Space Offerings- http://sacredsongspace.multiply.com/ and rough drafts....

I am having a difficult time visiting you guys, since I am using an AT&T Aircard...once I move into an apartment and hook-up Comcast Cable, I will be able to visit ya'll more often...


I Commit, To an Unknown Lover...

I commit to your smile
those strong, ivory teeth
that engage me
I commit to your long limbs
arms and legs
enclosing my body
deep in the night
I commit to your heart
it beats in tandem
with mine
I commit to to these small bits and organic pieces
with my fractured, imperfect words
failing to capture
your essence
I commit to this unknown lover
who permeates my dreams...




inspired by my friend Debbie - http://bogieface.multiply.com/journal

Holiday FaIlures

The seasonal holidays
are a mishapen form
around my jovial exterior
I tend to dwell on my failures
as a friend,
lover
and yea,
even as a mother.

The scent of Uzbek plov,
meat patties and curried lamb,
the succulent smells of dark chocolate,
and cinnamon
the awe inspiring music
of Shabbath,
or
sounds of gaily wrapping paper
tearing
leave me
empty.

In snapshots of family and friends
I am
full of bonhomie
and good cheer
but no one notices
that the smile on my face
never reaches
my solemn eyes.

We write of peace. while engaging in war...declare our love of the other, passionately, with a bewildering contradictory sincerity...eons ago, man picked up a rock and bashed another in the head; today we can, with cold calculation kill from greater distances and the hundreds and thousands of broken bodies lie dead...we have advanced from rocks to missiles, while we arrogantly insist, to have evolved pass our barbaric antecedents...continue to engage in hostilities and violence...a violence that has been unremitting and is the chosen method of problem resolution...our 5000 years of recorded history, reads like an epic saga of blood, gore and terror...we are like the sophomoric adult, who refuses to grow up and play nicely...the child who refuses to share his toys...with a hatred and disdain, of the other, that seems to be hardwired, in our genes...but...we are filled with outrage, when we view news stories and the evidence of this violence and the lie, is revealed...I say to you, my dear reader, my loving friends, my skeptical detractors, that we are the problem...you and I...and we must be the solution...the politicians have no payoff in solving these problems...this taxonomic squabbling rewards them richly...the gun runners, the robber barons...these bottom feeders and scavengers...it must be you and I, the ordinary person who must state quietly, or loudly, with conviction, unequivocally - no mas, no more, nicht mehr, nient'altro, não mais, אין כל יותר, niet meer, 没有, 더 이상, sόχι άλλος, لا الكثير...homo sapiens sapiens must become more than human or surely, we will all die...we must eradicate that genetic instinct to fear the other...we must breed out the fear of being different, from our genome...we must alter, on the microscopic level, the emotional level, the need to reject other tribes...we must become more than human...

Note - this is the premise for my novel...becoming more than human...

Art - http://www.prism-magazine.org/jan01/gold_rush/gold.jpg