Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the true mirror reflects nothing
so the poem in truth also has nothing to
reflect and reflects all
having said that, does not obscure the sun
yet all things give birth to the poem
the moon is the center of nothing
and the stars hold up the curtain
that forever is drawn back
on the eternal actor
the poet exists in the ground of existence
the possible contexts of dialogue
arrange themselves according to certain
imaginings, the images fall at random
also according to some hidden dialogue
so then, the silent awakening holds the
great pearl in the hand of the unseen one
the voices float through darkness on vast
stages of shadows and flickering flames
spinning in voids of wind and color
the whole play happens in one sentence
in one gesture in one flick of a wrist
one cool nod past the underground
the hanging colored beads of flashing lights
dancing demons, spirits, fairies, gypsies
phantoms, costumes of monsters and gods
one cast glance over the empty crowds
one last smoke cast into the abyss
of flood lights, one smile that appears
like the slice of moon, then fades
back into the true mirror
one more exit
nothing reflected
nothing revealed
but her witch shape
departs and enters
enters
hands
open
wide

logic seems to say
we gotta mirror something
so we're here working it out
as it is working us out..

yes rev rabbit
this is so close
to what I was thinking the other day about the witch
my sister myself
but of course I lack your gift to write it
but that's okay
I will get by

I been thinking all morning
that this is a day
to go looking for poetr y

I feel lucky to have stumbled on yours

I wrote this in about 10 minutes, it's raw

as far as the theme, or topic, or reflection
or word, which witch is which?

what was that that Alan Watts use to say

"are you the which then which there is no whicher?"

are we reflected by what we reflect?

this begins to sound like a philosophical question.

to which there is no answer.

looking at myself in a true mirror
of my sister's eyes

I got a glimpse the nothing
but it was hard to sustain
my mind recoiled in shock and turned to
busy thoughts

right, the sister, "the witch", the feminine divine, the female
that has knowledge of plant spirits,

my use of nothing, in the poem began with reading
the Tao De Ching, but it became merely a kind of contrast
or shading to creating an image, like in a painting
but also a thought about the set and setting, as
in various sorts of theater, or like Jim Morrison
his poetry was always thinking cinematographic.
Also a nod to Shakespeare, or Artaud, and theater
and its double.

I have a friend who talks like this. He is my best friend in the world, but I don't always get him either. I love him anyhow, and he loves me despite my density. We have a perfect relationship. He loves to talk and I love to listen to him.

Most of the poets I met and knew were difficult to understand
But when you read the poetry and balance against the backdrop
of existence, it all kinda makes sense, on some level, and a good
listener is not easy to come by.

I will never stop listening to BOB, as long as he is willing to keep talking to me. From the time we were 9 years old, he has been teaching me about beauty and nature and love and hate and books and poetry. Well, it has been 57 years. I guess it would be impossible to say what all he has taught me. And the best part is he never realized he was teaching. He just loved to talk and was happy to have someone who loved to listen to him.