40-Rock-a-by

there is so much time

to commune with creation

when baby Sam is teathing

and has to be rocked from

2 A.M. to 4 its splendid

how creator lives in those

clear dark hours far from

the maddening crowd how

after so little sleep i wake

in Good Spirit.

 

39-4 Dreams and Counting

Last night the 4th in a series

in answer to my life questions

this time it took me ages

just to figure out what to ask

knowing the answers would come

in good time all time being good

i presume although some say time

is an illusion i say its more of a river

that i float in sometimes

State of the Universe according to Jude’s dreams

Dec. 12-15, 2009.

1. We are suffering from a permanent anxiety attack.

2. What we fear is each other and abandonment by the “Great Father”.

3. The correct response is disruptive joy and beauty.

4. The path will be found locally during this time of re-construction, but will lead to the same “airport”, or means transportation to another place. The normal paths will be totally blocked and lead nowhere. Heast St. was the name of the street that went there in my dream. I’m thinking of becoming a publishing tycoon but

I have no plans or conclusions yet

I’m working on it and expecting #5.

 

No moon tonight for dancing

so come dance with me inside this pyrrhic dark—

collide with couches, careen between chairs,

this is no time for grace, my love,

but for survival.

 

38-Everything’s Gonna Be All Right

i dreamed my bother’s problem was permanent

anxiety attack and i think maybe that is what this

family of humanity that is my kin right now is suffering

from, a permanent condition of utter and untamable

fear maybe since the twin towers went down and some

time passed so we stopped clinging to each other, stopped

looking at our neighbors as brothers and sisters what

happened is we just got to feeling so scared we can’t

even pee our collective pants and so i want to sing

a song of comfort to my kin i want to hold you in my

lap and say there, there, it’s gonna be all right yeah

everything’s gonna be all right this world is held in

the palm of a loving universe and everything’s gonna

be all right yeah, everything’s gonna be all right.

 

37-I Can’t See Home Anymore

sometimes i’m so lonely for a starlit sky

i want to lie down and die away from all this noise these

artificial lights that never let the night be night

i know the trees tell me to adjust to drought to

this age of crumbling everything i think i could

if only the night would still fill my eyelids with stardust

the kind i lie down for on a winter night and freeze

while i watch them streak across some deep and

inhabited heaven maybe that’s all i need to ask

for this Christmas the stuff means all of nothing

i may still have a passion for something  but

without the sight of stars i’m just a wandering

jew lost to myself and those who might count

on me for something in the community of star travelers

i can’t see home anymore and it’s tearing my heart out

 

As we build the stone tower, already

it begins to crumble. Even as we raise the snow walls,

the crystals melt. Threads unravel. Ink fades.

The palimpsest covers our first book, written in blood.

Let’s write the next book in kisses.

 

I Dream of Passages I’m Not Aware Of

I Dream of Passages I’m Not Aware of

This praiseworthy world, Big Nature, keeps turning

without our praise.    So what’s a word to do?

—Jack Mueller

So much to

slip into if given the chance,

for instance the long rim that limns yes

and a greater yes, the boundary

between night and carbon blue dawn,

the fold between now and now.

Somewhere

there’s a crack and let’s find it

and learn what words are raveling there,

mondegreens and murmurings,

let’s erase the ink of our names

and see just how many shades

we might discover between white and black—

all of them labeled gray. This is how I say

I love you and mean I love you in thousands of ways:

lemon scent on the neck, rain of rose petals,

words that slip somewhere between now and dawn.

 

Higher and Higher, Carrying Bone, Flesh and Hope

“I was always a lover of soft-winged things.”

—Victor Hugo

Not like the cat, who pleasures herself in the pounce

and the batting about, amusing herself with a slow defeathering.

Not as a furtive photographer consumed with the capturing.

More for the luck of it, the chance at flight

do we love the soft-winged things,

longing to find wafture in our own shoulders, a space

where flutter and flap turn to air turn to soar.

Perhaps then the chasms that split before us

would be more of the nothing they are—

no less deep, but now nothing to stop us

from alighting on the other side, resting

our soft wings in nests so quite different from home.

 

36-Night Prayer

hear my prayer o lord

flying toward you in the night

rain rushing into this parched

ground ambushing the drought

abolishing the rationing of water

give us this night our nightly praise

and lead us into the light of consciousness

dawning deliver me to the ravages of loving

clean my weary clothes turn me to naked dancing

i give you what you already own every singing atom

of my being may your queenish heart incline your

mothering arms toward forgiving me as i forgive

myself and the ones i project on as if to say they hurt me

may all the oneness of our willing isness write psalms on

the doors of my neighbors oh earth oh heaven be home

 

Remembering How to Pray, in Town Park, December 2009

Make me more breath than gasp,

more glide than grunt, more thrust

than thud. Slide me, fly me, soar and

coast me, skim and skate me. Rush

and whoosh me. Give me wings in my feet,

give me race in my thighs, give me dash,

give me lilt, give me sprint in my push,

there is hush in my wish, there is awe

on my lips. O legs be lissome. O arms be swung.

O lungs be vast. O breath be song. O skis

be susurrous. O winter, be snow-deep, be long.