Surrendering to the Mystery

Poems become incantations, incantations become intentions, intentions become prayers. I pray in the name of love for the strength to surrender fully to The Mystery, fully meaning fearlessly, fully meaning faithfully. I pray for the wisdom to discern that precise spiritual pivot that is the perfect fulcrum point of self wherein I can leverage my own personal power gracefully and seamlessly, strong as a ballerina in balanced poise. May acquiescence rest easy upon my shoulders like some cherished shawl made with the loving patience of ancestral maidens. May my sword remain sheathed upon its quiet side blessed by the stalwart will of ancestral warriors. May grace guide my hand and the wisdom of God light my way such that the darkest night is no less illuminated than is the brightest day. May each exhalation release disease and each inhalation invite peace now and forevermore.

My Own Dear Heart

Now under this full moon fitfully ensconced in the cold metal of the machine 
My beard grows wild, my eyes glow in the blue moonlight and my lips quiver
(No one knows or cares to know if a tree falls in the forest makes any sound!)
A spooked flock of snow geese rise up suddenly as one like some giant banshee
The hard edges of the machine hurt my eyes and I turn away in shame and pain
The sound of the machine like the tearing of gigantic sheets of metal hurts my ears
The sick, oily, acidic stench of the machine burns the delicate lining of my nostrils
My skin crawls this human flesh palpably vulnerable to the assaults of the machine
My heart silently sends up its songs into the multitude of pale stars in the night sky
My own dear heart it will never acquiesce no matter the power of the machine

The Garment

First save myself
escape, ripping away
the façade violently

stepping on through
arisen from a culture-prison
as if arisen from a 30 year coma

seeing and seeing again
sight transforming into vision -
ah - the garment is seamless!
now I see the truth of it!

Touched - it glitters

Flowing

sometimes I am
the flowing waters
cascading over stones

sometimes I am
the stones cascading
waters flowing over me

Preferences

I prefer esoteric goals, psychological complexes,
Improbability and pastels, foggy mystical forests,
A heavy veneer of fresh snow
covering every single thing in sight …
I love Joyce Carol Oates for her emotional depth
Weaving generations of history into a personality
Love those minimalist Zen paintings drawn
In a few simple strokes from a quill pen
Dipped into the bloody heart of all things …

You may see me shooting my frail arrows
At the stern walls of heaven up in the sky
Or straight into the furnace of the sun -
The Thing I have now become
Yearns to see the Face of God
And simply refuses to wait …

Missives to My Heart

I command you now in the name of love: 

Open my heart - open sesame - open the doors, the windows - open the buds, the spores, the seeds - open my heart, open now - open the gates, the locks, the fences - open up to the arms of the people, the hospitals, the libraries, the places of comfort and sustenance, restaurants and bars and hostels  - open up my own dear heart,  open up now even though every last fiber of your muscular being so long pummeled screams out, 

"Close!"

The Thing we have become is open, not closed, inclusive not exclusive, accepting not rejecting, faithful not fearful - so It can be no other way, with us, my Heart. You are the heart of a Centaur. We do not do bitter, cynical, forlorn - we do not go backwards, we go onward. We do not give up because we are together an indomitable force -  you know this, my Heart. 

Prose Poem, Wishes for the Divine Masculine

12/21/2012 – A Wish for The Fathers

Awaken Fathers no matter how bent and broken be your branches no matter how dry and brittle be your leaf so you do not miss these first drops of miraculous rain come to revive the forsaken fathers of this earth. A long and terrible waste has set the Fathers Against our Mothers, Mothers against our Fathers, so this One-Thing that we are has been set asunder as if there is a one to set against an other. Let the rains now wash away the long war of delusion upon us all bringing the truth itself finally as a verdant Renaissance as perfect as light passing through light.

Jupiter in Scorpio

Open, open all of it, open everything, 
Heart, mind, body and soul, open
Open the doors and open the windows
This I ask of the self that may yet cower

Tear off the roof for open illumination
Open every last, dark corner of the house
To the bright, friendly auspices of the sun
Open so the darkness is visible in the light

Wherever You Are, You Are the Moon

The Sun Loves the Moon, the Moon the Sun
(From love poems to no one but her)

The moon, her phases, her ever changing face,
Full on she beams her blue white smile down
Waxing she winks coyly as if her slivered face
Is peeking out from behind a bathroom door -
I know the moon is you and you are the moon
Because I know that I am the sun and the sun is I
Useless things to most, I hold dear to my heart,
Esoteric and ephemeral things, faint as moonlight
Illuminating the petals on the flowers in a garden,
Wisps of breath rising up from your lips faint
And precious as loss dissipating on the cold air.
I love you, I do,  always have and always will

A Cancer Moon

It's internal as if experiencing the world through my heart. Feelings like sonar pinging out into the world that is recognized when the ping returns and hits the heart with its signal. It's almost as if the world itself does not exist on the outside only this heart representation of the world exists on the inside. When my heart is breaking, the world itself is breaking. When my heart is broken like it is right now, the world is broken. The world is a shattered thing, a tumble of sharp, cold, hard shards of shattered glass glistening wetly in the soft, internal warmth of my heart place. With Cancer in the moon position, at least for me, it doesn't come with that protective shell, it's just the mush inside the crab shell.

Ralph and The Singularity

A Short-Short Story by David Sky

Ralph watches on his tube news on this Singularity Bill that had passed the house and senate and be...en signed into law by President Nelson pondering it a bit seeing below a link to a site that can send to you your own download kit free of charge. Do it right through your home network. Easy Peasy. Every American, the news is saying, now has the civil right of electing to live forever by storing their consciousness in one of the new three dimensional AI's.

Ralph recalls in graduate school studying America's war with the little nation of, Vietnam. In the midst of a heated firefight between two forces of light infantry, a full Captain out for his one mission during his six month deployment necessary to qualify him for an combat badge found himself caught in the field during what was supposed to be a “walk in the park” mission.

He yells at a private sitting next to him over the din, “Here, take this grenade and go throw it in that machine gun nest!”

The private peaks out from behind their cover only to draw .50 caliber rounds his way that explode into the stone fence they are behind sending out metal and rock shrapnel . He says over his shoulder not even looking at the Captain, shaking his head, “that's just not gonna happen, sir”. The private most definitely means it.

That just seemed so crazy and showed such great spirit and awareness to Ralph that he for the first time looked back on his ancestors as something other than dangerous fools. But that is how he felt now about their Singularity Legislation- “that 's just not gonna happen, thank you very much”.
I'd rather be dead with a soul than alive without a soul, he declares aloud to no one.

Prose Poem, Inconsolable

It is easier to be brave in the daylight, easier to keep that faith in God, light and love. At night though ... when that curtain of darkness descends upon this earth settling in around my shoulders finally like a black shoal, there are not enough lights in all the cities of the world, you know? There are not enough pretty colored bobbles; not enough noise; not enough music; not enough booze. There is not enough outside by any measure to fill the loss of You I feel inside when the sun descends into the horizon and takes its light to the other side of this world. This is what had inspired me long ago to make a friend of the night and She surely is a true and faithful friend who does her best to console me. She loves me even as I love myself, the night, always warm in Her wishes for me and kind in her intentions. But she is not You and no matter if in some small measure my mind may be consoled by Lady Night, my body cannot understand and so remains when without You, my Love, inconsolable in the darkness.