Dirty Little Secrets

wisdom night,
singing in silence,
when i knew
hunger, too;
and the winter world
crying like blizzards.

a book of stone,
its words moved me,
stars spiralled above,
called to love;
as a hungry world
howled aloneness.

the feel of truth,
hewn from suffering,
tempered steel
solid, real;
in a darkened world
dying in Darfur.

the godless globe,
facing the goddess moon,
indigo dawn,
late, autumn;
my Mother, the world
orphaned your book-stones.

Eventually, the journey becomes one of leaving behind the shell… developing confidence… to live in the moment, escaping my own neediness. Yet I find I’m not quite yet ready to stop clinging to the layers and levels of “i”, and slip out of my safe harbor… or to allow others into the process I’m undergoing, even those I am closest to… but it’s not a matter of trust. I feel as if I am aspiring to the letting go and towards transcendence of materialism and all views of self-ness. Where this leads is unknown… it’s like giving up your point of reference.

At times, when I am alone, I become truly in touch with the depth of love I have… but I seldom show those intense feelings… imagined fears of ridicule or rejection… or worse, apathy. And yet, here I have all these poems… it’s kind of a paradox that words, even those poetic words, are so limiting and somehow never fully convey that depth.

I try to imagine that I’m just like everybody else… even while wearing layers of masks, pretending to be normal, whatever that is… but the pretense doesn’t ever fool me, and I never really feel as if I fit in with this world. I think I am a mystery to people, and I allow them to make their assumptions… they seldom really understand me, (some are more insightful than others)… and part of me enjoys that… more often, though, I just long to be understood and accepted as I am, cared for, perhaps (although I know there are people that care for me, currently, at least)… even while I never feel that I quite measure up to my own high standards for myself, standards which I don’t hold anyone else to, btw. Quite the Catch 22.

sweet light that fills me
from the silent fountain,
streaming through me,
illuminating the darkness
where divinity
lovingly looks at herself
in the unclouded mirror,
the pool within.

her body permeates mine,
i am not who ‘i’ seem to be
concealed in this clay vessel,
the sleeper has awoken,
she has made her presence felt,
i breathe in her song,
exhaling her thoughts in poetry,
and the light of her smile
flickers behind my eyes.

wordless in silence,
some erotic fragrance
in moments of poppies,
the sea’s between us,
in love came, like a storm
caoining, i am torn…

no preconceptions,
a question, a glance,
a path that connects
something between us,
sacred and divine
as the colour of wine,

in our idle hours
seeing unseen things,
the distant future, dreams,
the past between us,
fill the cup that clears
past and present fears,

quiet solitude,
sipping cups of tea
sweetness and sorrow,
making sense of us,
shining second-sight,
shadows into light.

hey there, double dutch,
so what’s new, how ’bout you,
i’m okay… nothing much,
old wounds i’m licking still,
i can’t forget, he’s not you,
indeed, my words won’t tell,
this price i pay, buys another day,
sometimes against my will,
my so-called life, as such,
though i ponder on it well,
of you i’ve not yet had my fill,
one road leads to you, some say,
sweet love — double dutch

for Her I sing and raise my glass,
the wholly trinity
Future | Present | Past,
I see Her in all Her identities,
deathless through deaths,
revealing true divinity, as a
Light piercing my Heart of Darkness,

Her words, like colors
jostling for attention
on the palette of my thoughts,
Her own secrets — undiscovered
songs within songs — unsung,
karma springing, unsprung,
the drift of it in everything,
Poet of my Soul,

…of She I sing.