Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

blow softly, wind, across the desert plain
lest sands of other years obscure
my path to future things

when beneath the rising of
the sacred sun i walk
in folded solitude and
stir up sand

god dips his hand into the morning sky
paints forms and signs and symbols
onto the bottom of my soul

and almost lucidly i wake
and walk and stir up
sand
and sand
and sand

words come from a queendom
of soft innuendoes

they come as messengers
to a king in exile
to find him waiting
folding napkins
dreaming
of blank pages
as reminders of snow
from a half-forgotten
russian novel
where silence sprouts
throughout the words
like grass

(dreams can be unpacked, re-examined,
and laid to rest in a grave with a rosebush,
so we know where to visit them, but they
still have the power to be resurrected)

i sleep
i wake
i sleep, then
i awaken
to find myself a stranger

still dreaming
of the sun
my eyes would paint
if but my heart could hold a brush

so much there is that lies in dust
and i am loath to have it stirred
by mind or careless feet
and so i speak: go softly

go softly
across the sands



(written 1999 or 2001 or something... just stumbled across this one in my files and felt that i must have written it for this very day today, back when i actually wrote it....)

I like your poem very much pantha.
It has a beautiful rhythm
saludos,

Arcadia

still dreaming
of the sun
my eyes would paint
if but my heart could hold a brush

today

Full moon in azure sky
to the East the rising sun reddens the horizon

thinking of the meaningless gestures of Thunder Chicken,
____________
started out to be a haiku about leaning on a gate

trying to write

'an accurate idea of the appearance of things'

a flight of birds passes through my field of vision

I think of the haiku Before The Garden, how many birds, fifty

go softly
across the sands

my electric is off running off my UPS going to save this mess as it is and comebacck thinking about your daughters story about great mother chicken white bird
here goes nothing>>>>>


LATER

Sorry about that I hope this makes some sense

I though I heard the sun

when I was leaning on that gate, and the sky was amethyst not azure and for some reason I was thinking about wyoming in winter, a white desert.

I thought of a desert of snow, and zero hero and thunderchicken that day in wyoming, my highway hero could be so calm and funny on that cb radio even when we were caught in a white out with no idea where we were, not sure if this relates to your poem which was so beutiful I had to make this ramble to it. And when I came here to post about thunderchicken and I saw your name, I thought of the god mother chicken. So that is my excuse for this ramble. I found out what happened to the power, one of my heavy bronze duck bookends fell off the top shelf and knocked the power cord out. If I ever find the cable for my sisters camer going to post a picture of those ducks and use them to illustrate einsteins theories to mtmynd. not that he doesn't already understand, it


I never thought about being in a white out the same as a desert.
did I mention I like your poem very much, it must have been the rhytm, but I was thinking about driving softly, I been teaching a male homo sapient to drive, I used to have a book about the art of zen driving in four wheelers, I did a search found about a gadzillion books about zen and the art of anything. anyway he is punk, a lot of testosterone poisoning going on, what I wouldn't give to have his reflexes and vision, bladder too, christ this is starting to sound like that teenage frankenstein movie,
man If he goes out and kills himself in my car, my sister would probably kill me.
you speak so softly I can hear you
it helps me to hear my sister,

sorry for my prattle, like a sunny day for me to see your poetry,
I was paying particular attention to the sun and moon this morning, a moment of serenity leaning on a gate.

Absolutely Beautiful Panta.

Much thanks for this....

H

I am sorry about my prattle above, it seems so trivial compared to your poem.

paints forms and signs and symbols
onto the bottom of my soul

and almost lucidly i wake
and walk and stir up

I listen for it every morning.

I could write a thousand words on what this one meant to be compadre

thanks

trivial?
no way... it is good to see you leaning on a gate, st; gates are openings and beginnings.

-a

.......waiting.......waiting......wating for the sun........jim said it and you take it to another level here -a, sure is good to see the sunrise and morning begin with your poetics..............

beautiful, panta

it flows off the tongue

I would love to hear you reading it

oh that would be divine - a lucidly luscious poem read by anemone.

has anyone here used a digital recording device? is it foolishly simple?

judih

ha... i could do it with the movie function of my digital camera, i guess - but the file would be enormously large...

maybe the good hostess of Studio8 would have an idea or two.

trivial?
no way... it is good to see you leaning on a gate, st; gates are openings and beginnings

I like standing, but leaning just comes natural to me, I told a fellow in baltimore once "lean on jesus before he leans on you" just a line from a country song. but he didn't like country music it seems, cause he said fuck jesus, so I turned my back on him and he hit me up side the head with a three foot length of lumber. Do I sound like rambo?

writting to a johnny cash willie nelson cd, lyrics drifting in

i have been ungrateful
i been unwise
restless from the craddle
now I realize
hard to see the rainbow through glasses as dark as these
maybe I will be able now on my
oh lord I am week
I am vain
take this weight from me
let me spirit be
unchained
have have i seen an angel, or a ghost
where is that rock of ages when I need it most"

don't mean nothing, drive on drive on"