Nothing Ramble Fool

buttermilk sweet smell 
in the range of night 
eat giant birds for dinner 
all is well in the cave of uncertainty
Please drink of the end of the world 
all the kings horses and all the kings men
raise up your hands and stretch your mind
in the end all inspiration lifts 
call to the beast of burden 
clamor at the sight of dancing 
up in the sky dark clouds are heavy
in the dark shamrock succubus 
angels listen while the first rambling 
of the greater flight 
eeks out of unfamiliar territory
towers loom - the crab must find the path
but the riptide sucks you under
enter the orange sips
organic system wind grateful 
shooting star 
always be conquer swiftly
purple eyes again
sanctuary - peace - grace 
all turn on nothing
spin aimless 
does the sphinx know?
use the rifle tangent 
in the morning wonder face 
the needy with personal discrimination
clouds sink the waffling instant 
can the people see under 
nothing ramble fool 
in the grapefruit sunrise atop the volcano
wish to see lava
but the buddha is covered in pumice 
on the black beach 
a horse with no legs 
I sit on the rocks and draw
play the game
return to the debauch 
lick the sweat from her forehead 
she had her leg over mine 
injustice as he told her not to stay
next bus ride with a smirk
dinner spaghetti ring around the rosie 

Poem: A Transfusion of Grace

Burning
the tooth and claw
yet another day
feel the ocean as you walk
Look and praise the sky
You - one with the purple eyes
let me into your mysteries
the butterfly lives in the
Ephemeral
she gave me such gifts
I must awaken
Blue and White stones are under
my feet
I clasp the wondrous vessel
Two white doves fly straight
Down
they are beside the butterfly
the crackle of snow
Bright Bursting Bubbles
you and I laugh
too
the Fool courses through my veins
a Transfusion of Grace
the blue and white tones again
I wade through the water
Oh great fish what is in
your Belly?
perhaps a license plate
perhaps some directions
perhaps a pencil
perhaps the phantasmagorical
your eyes are full
too
full of awe mystery and time
but what time is it?
time for me to run through the water
not walk
time for me to float through the grass
time for me to listen to
those Blue and White stones
twisting umbilical cords
they move in a labyrinth
Shall I meet he Minataur?
Will Theseus protect me?
soon he will ask:
"where is your case?"
I will answer
but the case is hard to grasp
for on it is the Eye of God
peering at us through the Pyramid
Go Forth
let the uncertainty guide you.

Tarot: 6 of Fire - Hard Won Gifts

I see a glass ball: in the ball I see all the suffering I have experienced. What occurs to me first is a drawing I made when I was a young teenager. It depicted a ball, and inside the ball was a scene of horrific depression. The images were jagged, the faces tortured. Where did this come from? Divorce, neglect, depression, cruelty? I showed it to my sister and she agreed. It was an accurate account. Other images in the glass ball were ones of living in fear and doubt - suffocating within myself - quiet desperation.

Then there is perhaps the grand daddy image of them all, Schizophrenia. They say it can start manifesting at a young age. Was this the true source of all the pain and suffering? I don't know. It is always an open-ended question- it is always a mystery - nothing is set in stone - it all flows richly down the stream of experience.

This question brings up an idea that has inspired me throughout my adult life, and perhaps even before, maybe before I could even recognize what it was. The great muse of MYSTERY! What gift these glass ball experiences have given me. And I have already well named it - the awe and wonder of mystery.

I guess through suffering comes wisdom - so I have been told - but I don't feel wise. We learn from our mistakes but I don't feel educated. Perhaps this all sounds miserable but I don't feel miserable. I look at the morning sun stream through my window.

Yet I am forgetting the greatest of all gifts - ART! It is my true passion and I thank God every morning for this gift however mysterious its origins. It fills me with wonder and awe at this beautiful horrific world we live in. Perhaps I can transform the glass ball experiences into crystal bright light even if the subject may be dark. It all boils down to this: each morning is a gift.