The Menudo Witch Lament

Am thinking about the krick in my neck from arguing with nature.

I wore six inch red stillettos as I conjured a tornado in Mississippi

                    Damn it ,

 I stood my

 ground this time

 I told the wind “no ! you.... you back off I have had enough”.

I live even now

in an archeological way.

Wendy Rose

It was bunk

that conversation I just had with the wind about having

just now pulled the rug out from under me and

all and blaming it on Uranus

or Pluto or Saturn.

 the filaments have become tangled and

 frail . susceptible.

So I get slapped with a retort by the sea after all that

grumbling

in a diatribe of white caps and sea foam terrorizing the

already

frightened salmon & kelp clinging to the cliffs.

…”everything must change

whether you like it or not ….I will turn you in to a kite the shape of a star piñata

No grinding stone or sarcophagus will redeem you and and and you will love me, says the wind, you will love me and my swish swoosh  my incessant having to be right my meandering and fickle affections my tempestuousness my garrulous temperment…”

I take hold of the Raven’s wings bandage my feet in gauze soaked in the oils of myrrh&patchouli  take flight once again  hoping the next fall will be more gentle than the last.

rosie at 6:45am

If some one were to touch me right now, I would fly like a thousand 

swallows  perched on a wire..i would explode into new galaxies and 

shatter in to prism and light cluster 

I would soften and yield as does mud under river bank I would lay 

still as morning 

Listening For Birds. 

I

don’t know

If the dream I had last night was

really a dream or if some kind of phantom

came  to visit me amid the smoke

smell.

The incessant hail. Bloody riverbank&

swollen river

The fiery planet Mars

 is winking at me

thru the open window in my kitchen.

                   I

 see the shadow of a manzanita bush

 all stirred up into a state by the moon void of course&longing.

The wind picking up now

just as the dream begins suddenly ends

without warning and my

nose is tickled from the acrid smell

of wildfire

burning bush

steam hissing water quenching open flame

a mighty hand.

A poem for Anu

Labyrinth 

Unspoken wall gilded in some kinda crazy 

Golden Aftershock there were seventeen cars holding 

a sacred fire 

In time there are these forests appearing in deep green 

Nesting    firebrand 

Light coming from the shaft in the back room lighting up 

a day dream 

fine diamonds. 

the lineage of lipstick

Somewhere between here & Alder Creek

  Somewhere between here and Alder Creek

I lost that permanent feeling as if to say that thank god

finally all that really mattered was the haze out

    over the gulch                  the way the mist settles into the pockets

    of forest as would a small bird tender to the nest.

All that really matters now is the thick redolent oils of coffee

and hot milk and how I might crowd myself into the belly

of a burned out old growth and continue to cast spells and conjure

the dead      might they come forth and explain some things that I still do not understand?

How the rushing flow of creek reminded me of making crazylove 

after an  X  show

on a stranger’s leather couch in Mill Valley.

How I revolted against civilization and returned to this coven of

                        Watershed  Pirateship  Monastery

                                             now

This celibate chatter finds no audience among the thicket of Manzanita

finds no smart quippy repartee with the raven’s wife who  is too busy

protecting a coliseum of tangled twigs and glitter filled with 7 new off

                                          Spring

I think the hyacinth are blooming now in the cemetery at Windy Hollow Road.

 I see that the white caps have quit their tantrum and finally settled down,
 I heard folks can fish for salmon soon.

my monster

oil on redwood

Point Arena Upanishad

"That’s alright, I still got my guitar.”

Jimi Hendrix

I am in some kind of Blakean tailspin.

Hurled from the crest down into canopy

Pluto stations retrograde as I pull up my knickers,

wipe the salt from my eyes, dig the creek mud outta my ears.

I’ll declare myself, goddamit, right now, here, right now

to be     passive and compliant.

I draw the 5 of swords   defeat   for the hundredth time this year

so fuck yea I kneel down vanquished into submission

 to Venus in Aquarius.

Make a reverent puja to Kali and her empowered yoni.

Burn the cobalt to benevolent deity, who ever you are .

Are you

Kali now heavenly consort to Pluto, Joe Strummer and Leopard ?

Servant and mistress to shift and radical change?   

 I get confused thinking eternity is constant as the sea is always changing yet looking out at the same piece  of the Pacific for over twenty years, it remains familiar .

I get confused thinking god is love and love is truth and truth is beauty and beauty is sublime.

"Soul is to be found, in the vicinity of taboo"

Reading a Good Friday Poem... Los Angeles 1964

April Fool's Day

Hightailed it to the ridge of the watershed

took refuge in pilot and craggy arms of wind broken

Oak.

Vanquished by marauding fox     set afire by the nesting raven

I cross my arms over my heart to protect myself from the

boom  boom  pow  and  spurt  of the break at Moat Creek

 &

 the

tawdry explicit come on's from    a     jay bird.

I rambled about the wet creek bed confused by my dreaming

 of a time when you would drive here, to Point Arena
 all the way from Petaluma

 just to have a piece of 
 my

 white

 peach pie.

The Large Hadron Collider, the world's largest atom smasher on the quest to discover the 'God particle,' has smashed its previous record for particle collisions.

6 in the morning ode to the sea swell and the setting moon

 

Now let me speak to you of wetness

Moisture

Flow of creek

River

Sea

 All life

might spring forth from water but what of the wetness of

Spirit?

What of the space between our legs

The place where heaven begins

Where water pours forth

often to bring joy and pleasure?

The precursor to child birth?

Child sprung in fluid and blood and clean clean water

Wetness surrounded

 womb and now

in womanhood.

The wetness that just is there

Resident.

The amniotic fullness of

longing.

Yolk suspended in viscous clarity.

 cleansed

 alive

 pulsing

 swimming toward some unknown form

 of ecstasy and  release

 squeals of delight that often resemble falling rain or

 the wail of wild cat   mourning wife or mother

     the call to prayer

A cry to Christ or  Allah   the Buddha crossing river

The dew drop in its fall from cloud.

The mist rested upon limb.

Steam vents rising through forest canopy.

A face seen in a puddle sky behind this face.

Squall dark ascending.

Vertical water descending.

Waterfall that flows from the hearts desire to a pool

of clear passion.

Revived by a sparking of blossomed garden.

The faucet opened by the hands of myself

as I reach for this transformed spirit.

released by my sorrow.

My Wetness met by tears shed under night sky and full moon.

 Face covered in salt my black

 shirt stained with white rings of dried salt from this crying

Flooded marsh.

Torrential current.

Spring .