the dream path of the dead
chilling but
not that helpful
what the darkness says about it
is too low to hear
we need
a big shamanic drum to beat
points of light
shining
like prayers signing the way
Poetry that is earth based, mystical, philosophical.
the dream path of the dead
chilling but
not that helpful
what the darkness says about it
is too low to hear
we need
a big shamanic drum to beat
points of light
shining
like prayers signing the way
my bones are hollowed out
playing a low raspy lament
a song to make the dead return
but they were told to never
look back
wind from the bay
wet and insistent
Monday morning shuttle
going nowhere
weaving trees, their
shadow and light
it's easy
in times of deep loss
to give into death
and it tows you with all its
dark energy
alluring and beautiful
to the Butterfly Nebula
the bones of a long dead sun
immeasurable, well beyond our knowing
for our fragile, geocentric being
look for a minute or two
not much more
so early
just past dawn
a great blue heron
flies across the lagoon
the bright wings
powerful and slow
carrying a long thin branch
and for just a moment
the closed fist inside
opens
there it is
the kingdom
you have everything you need
Why do we love our dragons so much?
after all
they don't love us back
they may sit meekly on a shelf
under a shoe
stuffed into a closet
or in a medicine cabinet
tiny, chalky white
with a long rat tail
Zorro, I called him
a cloud of chalk
he'd vanished
dragons are not just Medieval problems
they still come around
the dream path of the dead chilling but not that helpful what the darkness say...