Long Ago and Faraway I wrote something

Long ago and far away I wrote something beautiful—

Love, what, love,

What, oh,

Sleep?  To sleep is to dream, I grow

Weary of dreams the soothsayer lyeth

About our weary feet, he

Planteth them too madly,

I sleep not tonight, my darling.//

A lost sheep

Is lonely, I guess, wouldn’t

You think so of the little sheep?

Lost sheep are dear to the shepherd.

Our Lord and Savior Jesu feedeth them,

One feedst his lambs,

Another kisseth them,

And still another scours valley and

Rill

Looking for little ones alost in the cold

All, all lost, all old

All lambs asleep in the fold—

But the lost lamb is loved

He perisheth not for yea, by the

Heavens, his master close nigh be.//

When Jesus spoketh to Simon Peter he asked him to take care of His sheep, to feedeth the little lambs.

I think this is wonderful and a dream,

And our Lord Jesus, and what happened next?//

To Theodore C. Land

This morning, Love,

I am writing you a letter full of love.

Happy, happy love!

Blithe love, careless love!

A daffodil lives for the spring.

Cautious love,

I come to you, here,

Bearing

My love, all love, love, happy love

Love better and happy,

Love, love, marry happy love.

Love my husband, I love you Marry

Happy love.

Crickets in the garden know of the

Love we share

Marry me in Starlight,

Never marry me,

Make me go on loving,

Love,

Happy, happy

Love

Until I turn

Into

A star.

Scratch that—make it—

A bit of rue

For thee, oh happy love!

11/6/2011

“Summon.”

Come Up

Meet

Lines fall like leaves

I summon

Little rose lifting for the light

Little ship on the sea

Little Light Blinking all night

Marry Me---

When fear comes, rise above

And cry the howls of wolves if you even can—

Sing—

Summon!

“Halfhearted questions in bed with my love.”

Oh Life,

Life,

Be this thy quiver, I thy bow

String.

Oh life,

Doubtest thou me?  Doubtest me yet

Thy loves force, the force that wearest me into sands,

Dost thou not love my life, as life,

 As thou?

Lovest thou not me?

Yea, and not mine own heart?

Heart, heart,

Can you taje the mind away but yet

The heart remain, eternal?

As, or if, doth a great rock have a heart?

Or does the snow, or its falling, have heart?

Or dows the whipporwhill e’er give up

Hoping

Or does it matter when the very same

Whipporwhill has died,

But that its song has echoed through

Broken forest and reached mine ear?

Or does it matter whether we die, but that

Our song give something to this world?

Oh world, do you have a heart?  Is that God?//

A dream of dancing, and we are so alive and God but—

The roses on my trellis could be fading

And fate mighty must have his

Lovely lady soon—

He wanders through chasms, jumps off a plane, swims oceans, dives

to the deep black of an ocean trench,

He wanders, weary pilgrim,

On and on and

On

Until

The line stretches out at infinity

And when he has reached it,

He will collapse joyeously on its

Comforting shores

And then the conqueror, he—

He will know

That

At last, he has captured this

Miraculous world they call San Andreas.

I am his wife

And so he conquers my heart.

--God, we are working to conquer

One another,

Me as though I were a world

He as though I could swim up him like a river.

And this passion of conquering

We share is called love, love itself—

And will we ever reach one another’s weary shores to bask in

Home, in Eternity of the other?

We are in love--- the day we

Reach those weary shores

Is marriage (or death), then, we will know

We have conquered one another

And as it were all the world could

Ever give—

But until then,

This divine sublime madness of love, love, love,

Groping for one another in the dark—

Kissing to quench the loneliness of the soul, of our souls—

--Together, we conquer, and will go on conquering, until---

Our wedding day—or death.

All this morning, I lay in his arms,

Wrapped in his arms and legs,

My face to his chest, breathing—

My hair in his hands,

We slept, he held me.  I slept until

Three.  He rose, moved about the house,

I decided to keep on drifting in and out of sleep. It was bliss.  He left softly…

Two nights this week, he has come home.  Thank  you God.

The Symbols.

Inside the chrysalis of my heart I am looking

For symbols

That hold within

Themselves

Great powers,

And great meanings.

It is in my mind to devise

Real, real symbols,

That mean, in my mind-

And in others’ minds, like a track of prints

Found in the snow

In the wilderness—

A new language, not for speaking though.

A language of metaphor and art,

No—

Through art, a meaning.

This language tells things words cannot

Explain, for I seek

A distant, ancient expression

As found in tombs and cave walls;

That says, “I was here—“

And which encompasses within the spidery

Traces of its hieroglyphs—

Story-no—

As found in tombs.

These are the forms I am journeying

Through time, through my life, to express something

Only I can explain

And all can understand,

Something

I know, the meaning of all things.

Beginning and the end,

God is Great,

Perhaps that is its meaning.

But I just wanted to say that

I am venturing into my imagination

To birth forth, as earth- mother, sky- mother

The creatrix  of all things

I that world I know.

“I-Was-Here.”//

Footprints in the Snow.

So to seek symbols,

I must listen with the heart.

And use my wits about me,

To discern

Tracks

In the snow.

I wish to paint symbols, metaphor—

To ascend mechanical arts into my gifts—

Which is

Capturing the story of a life, a million million

Takes with the same meaning.

I go to libraries and find in the books in the wisdom of man,-- I want to create a new

Language, like hieroglyphs.

Basic forms, 

And to use them in both art and writing.

It is combining writing and art. 

Prayer,

Lord, make me little.

Make me little, and

Beautiful, like the butterfly.

Lord

Father

Make me little.

I do not want to be somebody—

--I prefer to remain anonymous—

--I’d rather be better and read poems to loved ones,

Than famous,--

That is all.

Father, I do not want fame.

I do not seek fame

only excellence.

May these verses be

Here, in these journals,

Investments to sell for half-a-penny

Each in time of need;

Or let me bask in my dreams,

Living on bread, water, love, light and dreams.---

But lead me not into that

Bug-zapper, fame—

Only the glow of the light I too see.

Make me tiny, tiny but beautiful.//

Perhaps in my past life I was a spider.

Perhaps I was a little wren.

For “he who hurts the little wren

Shall never be beloved by men.” 

Perhaps I am in my last years.  I fear

Death, I feel right now, like im dying, or very old—

Or—

As I swim these last leagues

Of the sea, will I have the strength

To make it back?

If these are my last dim, dark hours

Then on I crawl, on hands and broken knees,

By now, too weary, too old to care,

And resigned, having lost life’s  vigour, dying,

I crawl past Satan, angel, ghost, and Pray me to lie where I lay

To make it into blessed eternity,

Weary, tormented, broken and agonized soul. 

I was so good.

--And I am a believer that,

“When I was a little girl,” is the best

Way to begin a story.  Perhaps my long-awaited novel will begin this way.

--A long time ago there was a beautiful

And then,

We all got lost and

Not a sound

Faraway, distant cries….

Electricity pounds the earth

And the all lived

Happily ever

 After.

Listen, I want

To take you

Away

From that light where nothing shines

And the sunless spheres of sleep,

And the fates, my foes,

And the divine justice, all these being

Absurd----

And I want now, very very now to take hold of the mind’s wandering, to see a world

In my

Teacup, my

Cup of coffee

And these pens

And these pens

And the myriad brushes

And the paints, all of them.//

Lost forever we were,

Incandescent flickering flames,

I think a star

Does burn, but, however, nit in flames as a fire; more in

Fission and fusion, something

We don’t have here on earth,

Except in War.//

If there isn’t an ending, and God but

It just—it thrills me; the thought of all of it and God,

It just—ah, this is nonsense speak//

Let me go on and on,

Or near-far-distant-close and far off

Or very far away,

And in many ways this is true, yes,

--that the things of poetry are

Coming or going from far far away.

And that to stop this distance

Is the end of the cold, frightened heart.

The opposite of the far-distant star

Is the cup of hot cup of tea, the writing desk;

And all things in our little apartment;

Being simple, and safe, and loved, and—

Just exactly

What they are.//

“Cloudcuckooland”

Every

Single

Morning;

I awaken. 

The birds are sleepy often.

They rest. We listen

To the music, to the

Christmas station,

And we tell jokes,

And—ah, a funny, little woman,

And knowing not the best way to be,

I am just exactly myself,

Yelling,

Singing,

Screaming,

Making love,

And painting----

And always

Telling jokes.

If You Are Ever in the Kiang Valley, and wish to see me—

Write to me,

And I will come to meet you,

As far as cho-fu-sa.//

Deep in the forest and way out there

And then in here, where its warm, you know,

And we have our Christmas tree, that’s all,

And it came

From the woods.

And we are so very happy here but

Would at this time like to remind you sweetheart,

That the trains are leaving at 12:30.

--Don’t ask me what trains, Theodore,

I haven’t the foggiest what I am

Talking aout, and don’t particularly

Wish

That

You

Should happen to find this train, or,

really, anything else I have

 to offer, only this, words sprawled

in ashes on a tree-----

But I just paused, and completely forgot

These words.//

The basil is

Little, and I

Would we had more of these herbs inside but

We have only

Basil. 

Oh, there is lettuce, and peas,

Dying sunflowers, and things growing from seeds from flower

Heads and pea-pods and bulbs and roots and

All the other

Pieces

Of a plant that can

Find new roots.

I end this meditation here.//

Lyricism, loose gravel, soil, unearthed rock clod and the pebble, tillage of

The soil, separated by oceans,

Oceans, which are funny, in the way

They are too damn big.

That is, gardens here and gardens in other

Countries,  There is a difference,

Although

You cant see them

 that way.//

A long time ago

I got lost

I don’t know what that means,

As I am less lost now than

Ever I was before,

When I was grown, and

As, I am in love.//

I don’t know what to say because

I am crazy they say

And I found this-this- this—

This is how I want to write, this way, yey, and please

Would you mind so much—

I draw a blank.

The thing about these random

Words is that they are very beautiful

To read, I think.  But make little sense.//

I cannot but thus—

Thus, to record

What may be recorded

My heart—

How obscene, to think of the heart in such

A context!—

Then, but, I do have

Something to say,

And thusly, thusly,

Meandering, here- and there, this way and that

Way---

“November Night.”

The night is alive with

Cold and rain,

And strange portents, actually,

And a singing chimes swinging wildly in

The wind;

And a slow music, a jingling.

--No.  This night is tragic,

This night is alive, this

Night my leg hurts, and

I have prayed for rain

To drench the earth.  It came.

Now a wild wind blows from the

West and the last leaves fall

And the moon is veiled like a bride,

And the bird speaking is indistinquishable

And they are flying around the

Cage

And how much do you have,

And all my life they were here,

My family,

And me feeling so lost out

Here---

So damned lost, a blithering fool,

No sense to my words…

“Joy”

Oh Holy night—

Father, the lights are twinkling!

We are so full of joy that everyone but

Me is asleep.

We are so happy.  We are madly in live,

Theodore and I.

I am so alive,

And doing just fine,

Fine as wine, 

Old wine—

I am so very lonely

And so noble it is heartbreaking---

And I am so uncertain of so many things---

And dreaming of freedom—

And I am madly in love—

And God, but I am so alive—

God, you know, you could

Hear a pin drop in here.o lonely

And we are so in love,

And never to break one another’s hearts for he heard me crying in the night--,

God, we’re so alive!

You  could—ah, but this, this wild,

Lonesome, weary frightened night,

With all its lonesome portents of doom;

--and the broken heart—

--and broke heart—and—no-

There isn’t anything out there, no, nothing

At all.

Oh, My cat’s like a duchess, my nightingale’s a lark

We chatter all day and all sleep in the dark.

They sing on big buckets all covered in heay,

They sing and they sing and their cares go away.

They’re smarter than I am and prettier too

But, all four of them would fit in a shoe!

Their voices are pretty for maidens to hear

But they never talk when the strangers are near!

Oh, I’ve got a secret that no one can see,

They speak perfect English, and only to me!

They preen all a-flutter, they nibble and nip,

And kissing each other on each-other’s lip.

Husband in bed

Dawn the day after New Year’s 2011

Cat under my blanketed legs

Birds chattering happily, cheerfully, sleepily,

Sweetly.  I love them.

At 2am Theodore was sleeping on his

Palfry horse, and he was hung over, hunched forward shoulders shrugged and his head was down.  Persephone, his horse, had the gift of deciding where they all wentm and often in was to horse food, but now and then she would that them around Italy.  That is how they traveled, horse, boy and fairy….For the Blue Knight was so gentle, that his heart faltered when he changed the whim of fate,  Also he had his friends, the animals and fairies.

He reached a tavern inn in a small outpost in the countryside, and Persephone

Drank from a silver fountain,  It began to rain.

The moonlight shone down upon them there,

Boy, horse, and fairy, true companions.  He knocked on the door and it was 3 am,  They took his money for a few night’s sleep .  Theodore collapsed into his inn room bed.  The next day, he thought, he would explore the possibilities of time travel.

“Late night, 3/11/2010”

The moon is higher in the sky.

I cannot see the moon.

The moon frightens me,

Frightens

As the eyes of God glaring on

My wall as I sleep, frightens me.

Re

Flec

Tions.

Dawn,  At dawn I will be asleep. 

I will rise late in the day.

Sleep begins to- like death—to take over

My body.  It is nothing like death.

Slow trance

Dance

Cold.

Heavy, my body sagging.

Outside me is God.