today's moon transits from cheesy chinese astro page

Moon Transits (useful a few hours)

I took my banjo down to the seaside

I walk circles

in the dirt

with the taste of salt in my mouth

my lips are blistered and parched by a sun

 so unkind

so hot

 that I can fry an egg on the palm of my hand.

I will one day walk on water   a saline lake tipped by

Stalagmites   crafted by diamonds   noble spire&peak.

I walked in circles

 on the edge of that volcano for so long that my skin

became the color of molten lava

 and hardened as if I were a new continent forming/a metate to grind corn/a sea wall/a wedding dress on fire

I walk circles around the planet Jupiter begging for some lucky star to

Befriend me /o beneficent tide pool.

o carnelian chalice.

Unfathomable Sadness&The Pithy Heart of an Acorn

 

The fog rolled back and forth over

 Moat Creek sixteen times

this morning    undecided    it    seems

 yes

fickle

leaving only enough moisture as if one were to feed water

 into a bird’s mouth with an eyedropper       just a tease.

I see things Differently now but am still tangled in that story about how we might

have been Eurydice and Orpheus in a new historical and mythos of modern love,

Not quarantined to this realm of faerie and mossy tomb

not this life with no clear

path before me warmed by sun&steam.

I can sing like an angel when I drive my car and I will charm the Lord of the Dead with my finely painted map of Hades

with my newly acquired caution

                                       my sing songy irreverent mocking of Cause&Effect.

my refined beguilement

                                      I will steal the heart of the Lord of the Dead, preserve it in 

a silver acorn

worn around my neck  hung from the fishing line

I cut from Neptune’s hook.

meditations as mercury stations direct

How small black birds drink water from crevices in the asphalt at dawn

How grief sits in your belly telling stories and singing songs about sunlight

How the quiet sits on you like a terrible sister

How the redwood orchid erupts from the despair of slash and arrives as would

a smile

How patient longing can be

How survival is no longer the goal but becomes the breath

Happy Birthday Mommy!

                                                                        
                                                                                                  5.9.1915

We played that glass bead game didn’t we ?

Carelessly throwing turtle shells into bonfires 

traveling roads that were cracked and dangerous.

I never in a million years thought it would come to this, where I prayed to the flurries    crushed diamonds with my bare hands    burned the effigy of moss and petulance.

We once believed love was silver and ancient as a hopi burial ground    we once made love under a blanket of crushed rose petals    we once saw music in stars and vapor.

To grow up this year was hard .  My skin is no longer soft.  Do you remember how the high desert looks in summer where the earth is cracked as a map of the rivers of the world might look ?  the confluence of tributary    the complexity of tides and currents.  

 Now.

 Everything has changed and nothing will ever be the same  as you stole the coral from my heart and gave it to       cannibals 

 you will never remember that I smell like vanilla and roses

 you will never remember how I softened your night terrors and lit your darkness.

 I am tired. 

The Sabian symbol meaning for twenty three degrees aries

Blown Inward By The Wind, The Curtains Of An Open Window Take The Shape Of A Cornucopia

twenty three and a half degrees

The Faery Sutra

I thought I was doing the right thing

all hunkered down and quiet here       wrapped   up   like

an Eskimo.

I sheltered myself , wrote sonnets on the discarded skins

of lizards       painted wings on the backs of sparrows .
  

  I told myself stories about sunlight and water.

I resisted all my urges to return to the place where I had once

                  Caught Fire   

  I was forming new skin with dark blue type written as

 sacred  slogans tattooed on these hands that now feel so helpless.

I took refuge inside a moss covered old growth redwood stump

                    You know, the one I asked to be buried in.

I stayed there despite:

                the wind pounding against walls around me of indescribable green  

                the wind makings sounds of an old woman’s creaking bones

                the wind muffling a crying woman’s lament

                the wind in an argument with the rigid fallen forest.

I left this place for a moment and when I was not paying attention the other shoe dropped.

The wind screamed at me from across the road as if to say “watch out!” but it was too late.

	May 4, 2010 at 6:27pm Re: love yes life is fabulous. we are moving to a new house at my dad's with his new girlfriend. my new school is good. lacrosse season is almost over. :(

i once fit the moon in my pocket

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