Agreeing To Be Depth (day 2850)

I am awoke by change
No longer mind frame
A Chancellor of fate
Calling to his wild.
Gods are word-spells
Agreeing to be depth,
For this shall – and will not –
Be a poster boy for stagnate.

Lessons are ritual,
Observation a practice,
Mind-spend: currency,
And Gaia a dotted map
For discovering a new way,
No longer to submit
Anchoring of truths
In unconscious fits
Of anxiety and loss,
Amidst coldness
With sugar dust
Toxic sold bliss.

Hades Reproach (day 1906)

I went to the cliff on a twenty third Thursday
A hole in the sky was my overturned beetle
Who did arise from the galley below
Hades riding high with his ninety nine henchmen
Calling on the world to dispense with all destruction
Guilty was the verdict as the stallion roared
Twisting through thin pines with a mighty shine sweat
Chasing down destroyers of a fruitless life
Standing tall and proud without a clue in Hell
So consumers continued down thinking everlasting well
Little did they know Hermes made his call
Down down down did they all quickly fall
Weighed down with all their spoils rusting inside out
Burning all with fright as they clutched real tight
Olympia laughing now: seven houndred heard well
Deafening screetch of every stallion rider’s call
Thunder in the night as they took their last bite
Thunder in the night as seven houndred took flight
All around screams as seven houndred struck down
Systematic reproach to every vacant soul
As dusk settles in and so the storm it slows
Children survey souls floating all around
Sweep away the dust with a conscious thrust
And with the backs of ninety nine civil men
Everyone is handed two slices of bread
And sweet mother Gaia lets her hair down low.

Bajo Agua (day 1707)

Lost in no time
I was a sequence unheard of,
Agua bajo la lluvia,
Mano en mi mano.

Windy night blew into my eyes
Opening up from surprise,
Agua bajo la lluvia,
Mano en mi mano.

Attached to what had fed me
Alone, except sweet frozen Gaia.
Agua bajo la lluvia,
Mano en mi mano.

Silence is what pattered
As breath held onto each echo,
Agua bajo la lluvia,
Mano en mi mano.

The Purr of Gaia (day 1672)

Dear George,

The letters from Salem finally arrived today. I had been preparing for them all week – harvesting a few varieties of toadstools in the forest around the area.

Bonhomie fills my heart this time of season. I wear my warm clothes and delight in an extra cup of coffee most days. Are you still exploring your art of the bean? I have started to use a scale to measure proportions for my perfect cup of coffee.

As I read through the hand written letters, the snow started falling here. Big large flakes that have started to stay on the ground, lazily floating there chaotically.

I love this time of year. The browns are so dominant, lacking most any signs of the lush green foliage of summer’s heat. It soothes the black heart inside of me, calling out to me slowly as I imagine the sweet embracing, icy fingers of Gaia as she slowly settles into fetal position – eyes flickering slowly – for a calm rest. Much like the feline.

I saved a feline from certain death two weeks ago. It had come pawing at my door after I fed it one lonely night. I had seen it fishing in garbage cans for luck earlier that week. We tracked down the owner who said it was left behind during a move half way across the country.

Can you imagine the absurdity of that? Moving half way across the country and leaving without your cat?

It’s a beautiful cat with the fullest of coats and a purr that shakes the icicles from sweet Gaia grip as she slowly settles into my black heart.

I look forward to hearing from you soon. The lovely sketch that accompanied your last letter was so enchanting. I’ve had it sitting on my windowsill since you sent it.

Much love,

Lizarious

Oddities of Foggy Evening Travels (day 1660)

Aghast! The land was ever black
Shifting around with all despair
Clouds rolling in Gaia’s hair
And I, loosing my way back.
Should think I would leave no slack
To bring my hems, save no fare,
Back to the toil I’d never dare
Leave alone, I had a knack!

Then all at once I felt a tap
That brought me back into my senses
Clinging tightly to the shore
I un-scrolled my handy map
Which led me betwixt two broken fences
And I, my heart, agape no more.

Trip to the Park (day 1537)

My windows slidescape at a furious pace
As little sentinels wave from overlooked nooks.
I’m a road warrior when the times get hard
But this is summer now, and these long backs
And bikini tracks are keeping me easy
With two shades of cool running down the side of
A sweating growler called picnic in the park.
I’m laying naked in her presence,
She’s entangling my mind as her long legs
Reach straight up at mine.
We biked here because our history depends on it,
So tempered with that, we find it irresistible
To not heed the folly in pushing sweet Gaia away,
Which, to those of us who mind the traffic,
Becomes about as obsolete as this empty bottle of summer.

Sun (day 1480)

To be the sun.
To scream bloody murder
And mean it in a good way,
To wake up and go to bed so consistently
Time pieces become obsolete
And there are no excuses anymore.
Oh, there are bad days
When fog rolls in,
Or random, insignificant civilizations
Decide to proclaim war
Upon their own protective shells –
An eco-systemic, all chemicals in
Kind of war that pins natural resources
And technology
Against simple biology and physics.
There are bad days when children of the sun
Who suckle auras of its very beams
Become stifled and trampled
Beneath plastic rubbish and footware
In an unmercifully ignorant act.
But then again, there are the good times
Which ignite passion,
A brilliance so glorious
Rapid transformations become
Supernatural and unprecedented.
Good times that feed millions of
Conscious and unconscious
Biological matter the very substance
They require to exist.
When these delicate rays are so respected
And in balance that they provide
Sweet little Gaia an answer.
Oh, to be the sun.

Ashhram Day 15 (day 1418)

Gaia woke today, lazily,
Spread her wings in stretch.
She reached and yawned
Until the moon
Came upon her back.
From here she exposed
Her underbelly –
A welcoming of sorts,
To which the joys
Could be heard
Echoing across the land.
And as the dancing
Round and round
Began to reach climax,
Her sister, the sun,
Waved goodnight
Her dress trailing along.
Through the gates,
Past the edge,
Along the well worn path,
Until Gaia’s eyes
Turned a fiery red
And she reclined to bed.