Author: Summer

.

“To Anna,
With admiration
for your beautiful
singing.
Blessings to you
always.”

Cyrus 9/17/99

I do not know, Anna,
why you let go of
“Soul
Make ^ A
Path
Through
Shouting”*
nor do I remember how
your copy came to me
or what you lost or gained
in between

having marked four passages
before I pass to a friend
there’s a pressing
to remind you
and thank Cyrus Cassells
for them:

“To sit in judgment
Is to sit in hell -”

“God-in-the-guise-of-the-stranger,
God-in-the-guise-of-this-flesh -”

“Here are flowers of deep suffering,
Swaying in the heart of God -”

“O grant us strength to fashion a table
Where each of us has a name -”

* published by Copper Canyon Press

.

as the darkness slithers over the land
and the nothing swirls across like evening fog
uninterrupted save by soapbox shamans
climbing up higher to try and catch and mend
a million broken arrows and send them straight
back into the bone of the beast
for even only lunatics know the price
of commodification of souls
once many grumbled
and then had their heads turned
by silver seducers having lost
the something that inhabits even gnats
in a process both old and refined the gatherings
of the avaricious mercury rolling into itself
an indistinguishable glob shiny and dense the greed
gradually ruled politeness because it wanted things
that once made brave folk quake
became entertainment scenes of others misfortune
induced laughter from the audience
forgetting how to smell a rose
wingless birds sing more incessantly
than new residents of nomansland
without wings, feet move in ancient dances
designed to make the spines of stars shiver with delight
and life that is hope stomp back the nothing
it will take time
to plant…wild roses

.

You know it’s the gold
when heart skips a flip
knowing only possibility
of post past future
meeting again
in the light of real
like not/or nothing before
or everything
ever imaginable
beyond ever dreamed, perhaps
it helps to remember
love only is that other place
those shoulda done vanish
in the land of love
let yesterday be dead
it is gone
it is home we
all want
we all find
with/in time.

.

Teething on a celery stalk
sitting in a tree
brother and sister together
joyful playing autumn leaves

some gold in these golden years
these many pictures held in time
as my own fade in memories
old, so very old
though pictures remain
the joy is lost
and found again
in my little chickadees
fully alive and growing
into whom I can not know

the snow falls thick and fast
soft and gentle
each
unique

the fleece is white as snow
bountifully the garden grows

yes didn’t I have
my Springtime in the Rockies
snow melt bath
embrace warmth of sun

for now
have I my chickadees
and
glee.

?

When a teacher humiliates you in front of a class
and makes all your classmates hate you because
they have to stay until you finish doing
what you are obviously not able to do.

Ah Fraiser TV show
and artists extraordinar
who mirror human problems
otherwise not seen
by the perpetrator

and there we were
who the teacher who the student
love
unbroken/unspoken

today was a crowded day
so many loves
here not here
brings laughter
to
“I’m alone now but never lonely.”

.

Truly, it’s hearing the voice
singing from the heart with
the whole being that makes
music so accessible.

More’s the pity the pity
singing of pain via nasal
thus shared pain instead
of turning it into joy.

By far, to me, most offensive
voices of grown adults
singing with
Teenybopper voice.

A Buddhist business owner
gives workers a 2 day axe notice.
Is he a bad rap
for Buddha?

Call it the laughing song.

“You poor dear,”
she messages her younger self
reflected in the drapless picture window
dark outside bare ceiling light bulb lit
with her 80 year old right hand
she moves her cheek
back to the cheek bone
and there she was
naively innocent
of what was yet
to come….

she begins with yesterday’s morning
same as today, Dawn
Rosy Dawn with Azul Blue
soon touching her horizon
to begin:

Call it the laughing song.

There’s a River journey to write
to ponder up over yonder
he awakens
cold water splashes face
steps out the front door
once again amazed
feels wow

for what is a few hundred miles
nay, perhaps even thousands
when thoughts open to
stretching and tugging
within/without
will Music and River
hear me now?

I can not know I can not say
my deep rose colored orb awaits
encircled of Bear Mountain
(shall I bring her along?)

please don’t say
she’s too far off her rocker
(it’s only one room away)

the question is music
and where the flowers went
after the dance was over
after the ball turned blue

“If it can not be sung
don’t say it.”

“If it can not be love
don’t pass it.”

“I’ll be there
before the last
pit-pat falls.

.

a solstice wish or if you prefer
a Christmas wish to comprehend
the depth of this I plea:

to anyone anywhere who speaks
of any past infraction by me I say:

If you’re happy with your life today
it took the summation of the parts
that got you here.

If you are not happy, remember
the fault line has an expiration date be it
teacher, mother, father, or any other
authority figure you encountered
along “your” way.

Having sifted thru the ashes
again and a few times
I do here by wish for
“her version” vs. “his version”
etc. et al –
be gone.

I’m in the Here and Now
at least striving
to make it last…

Join me here?
Join me now?

Happy Solstice!

,

Come out of the dark side little zephyr
it is what it is and the breakers can’t fix it
all you need is stay in touch
with people known
on the brighter side of life

These are the bad old times
and needed now
every woman a mother, wife, sister, grandmother
every man a grandfather, brother, husband, father
every child in touch with someone who loves them

“Sing your cell song now,” he said, and more
who knows who heard or who would be the echo
James Stewart’s wonderful life still dances
in the light of the moon the band still urges
dancing in the street, dancing to the tune
a blue moon in June
turned silver in December

Old man winter draws near
the shortest day the longest night
fairies or angels not so far
so many comings and goings thru the veil
O Holy Night
one candle lights another
blankets drawn over the shoulders
one heart beats goodnight
two hearts beat goodnight
exponentially becoming
peace on Earth
to men of good will.

.

On the twenty-fifth of December
the demonic demanded to choose
to birth the next sacrificial lamb
poor ol’ Elisha they’ll name him
again and again

still choppin’ ’em
after all these years
oh don’t you know the demon knows
get’s their women folk to hide
their sexuality so the men folk
fill first with lust, then fill with fire
who’s outlet becomes
after all these years
still choppin’ ’em

“In the name of God,”
some say.
“In the name of security,”
say governments of perpetual war.

“You out there so fine and fair
dancing with the Devil,
knowing it or not,
time to check reality:
He lives within
or nowhere.”

Ya don’t even hafta call his name
the one power He has that God does not
it the power to lie
fakely innocent.

If humans have not turned Earth into Hell
no other life form has,
if the equation is correct
pick up a mirror
to find the answer
“It’s the little things we say and do
that make a brighter day.”

.

took another hit last night
that true old truism:
“If you can ask the question,
you already know the answer.”

mother said
“Tell me when too many msgs.”
daughter left physical note:
“Txt’ing not working,
call if you need anything.”
and then it was

blood is not the same as water
nor smoke the same as fire
fire in the blood fuels anger
just drink the water – more, more

where to go from here little Tear Drop
down the drain and up again
spirit listening in smoke rising
we are the same – different bios

if you can’t dance with the who that brung you
dance with the who stands by you
step step slide slide
The Obbligato Star Swing