Wednesday, November 13, 2013


(thank you Cairbre Catcheann (Cat-Headed Destroyer), Lord Shiv and the formless phantom of the blue void; One-Eye, Hangman)
Slack the hand that holds the cane
Cocked toward thy direction wrought
Looped serpently at the crook
Worn well there from weary work
That heaps the table hearty
But a dream destroys the night
Sweat soaks an honest bed
Nails, fingernails vandalize the headboard
Just thinking of the cane
The crook in crowd out fetching
Probing throngs enmass
The old shepherd babbling
Breathing foggy glass
With curtains stained aflutter
The well boils with old collect of sweat
The gods all hung over
The signature of threat
The cane a grey wooden gooseneck
Carried strangled across dross fields
Bread cobble stairwell whisper
Echo then disappear
And children drunk and dying
Living lengthy prison past
Growling heels of silver
Trod on paper lambs throat necklace
Blood blister pearls of hunger
Strung for children’s pets
Tall father tops the hill clouds
All ants to those cold crowns
Hats of fruit and fresh eggs
That stole the pleasure of flight
Like oily rags as blouses
Stitched double in the night
So then the cane broke all the windows
The crook a serpent in repose
Coiled hollow drowned in brandy
Charred feathers from ground holes
Knotted bronze key shaft
Stuffed into a giants ear
That bleeds down hillsides over laughter
And deafens new born deer
The shepherd screams in anguish
All his flock share one face
A human visage in dew reflection
Every grass blade a crack in a mirror
Black ribbon lacerates all lakes
Leaking empty boat of hide
Wet for sunlight’s fervent play
Calls into a cave of lime
Shovel probing leagues of clay
And the shepherd moans
The sound of groaning mirrors
Setting to crack
Rain of sodden red skies
Clutching static fleece
The only light left
Crack after crack after crack
Caught in the coiled crook
Falls the shepherds cane
Fell the wicked rain
Call into the wretched town
But no one heard a sound


(thank you Lady of the Orchard, Fruit-Bossomed.  Jai Pasupati, Jai Nath Baba!  Grow old wood!)

I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)
I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)
I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)
I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)
I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)
I.G.I-G.&S.C. (year 1 n.c.)

...Do you see those birds on the branches?  How many birds, how many branches?  Don’t ever count them, no yes no yes no.  Are you then awake or dreaming, no yes no yes no.  Hear their song, what are they saying?  The nest the egg, or are you dreaming?  No yes no yes no….can you see them? …no yes no yes no….

(thank you Saraswati, and thank you to all the Old-Ones of this land, a rainbow bridge cross the wide grey atlantic)

love/wrath eternal