Rin.

Lulu you were the Russian grey voodoo.   A BEAUTY.

with yellow eyes

and beating heart

kept my best friend abreast

through Las Vegas

and Maryland…. and marriage\cat that I love best

/….. Erin, I love you

these are the things we must do sometimes

the hardest, most horriblest things……

Erin, by the bridge. Erin with the mask I made you wear

10 years ago by the Loch Raven Resevoir….

Erin. These things sometimes must be.

My sweet friend. My darling…. and her darling…. LuLu.

Sweet, soul. Soar tonight in the stars.

Be the comet that you are.

Sweet senorita.

Peace will reign.

Sweet peace and blessings to the spirit of Lulu, your soft companion, my love.

Be as things all must be…..

Sweet honey…

Soul like clouds soft as silk and chiffon

Night like my most favorite song,

I swear she is aloft, my sweet

watching down on you, hon

like I do, love

my god, I’d go to the ends of the earth

to please you, love

i Loved her too

i love………. Erin? What can I do?

*99#2y_)#*)HD+Dksa

culdesac of whistles and white trucks
of Hot Wheels and baseball, everyday
the chiuaua, Marley competes with the stray cat
large and orange, so I call her Pumpkin
I wear earplugs for my afternoon naps
and read of a woman and her bees ’round 6
I go week in and week out
no touch, no contact
with anything of meaning, outside
my books
and a bottle of wine
or the hard stream of a shower
or the salty strong wave of the sea
only lately have I begun working
in the corporate structure of technology
plugged into the mainframe
analyzing the data
where the men in white suits
shuffle to make microchips
using hot gas and acids
burning the lines of progress
into the future of our minds
our very day to day
twittering and tittering our lives away
talking faster, saying less
In India, they say this isn’t happiness
In Africa, they say this is no kind of progress
In Australia…. they agree, that only music
sweet soul music, is the kind of story
we can tell
from heart, with hands
dancing, eyes to hips, laughing from ear to ear
is what, (no tears), we may love life with
when there is no one to talk to
no one to touch
and the noise is all around
like the beehive buzzzzzz
sing a song, dance the ragtime
and even in the desert….
where the lizards lie
and the crows fly black against the sunny
sunny, sunny sky
you will never be alone.

“Hey!”

“HEYYYYYY!!!!” I yelled out into the vacant universe, a black parking lot. It was a breath of steam exhaling out into the void. “Do you hear me? Are you listening? I’m talking to you. Anyone. Are you there?” Black velour hoodie and skinny jeans on the black top, pacing in place… foot to foot. Not nervous like but….. is there anyone else here but me? Because I just kind of felt like talking, like being somewhere but, here where I am all alone… day in and day out… even the cats are gone….. and I just did some research on opium tea. You know its practically legal. Calms the nerves…. you just buy the dried pods from craft stores or online and then grind it up with a coffee maker or a mortal and pestle and then presto! Hot lemon water and 20 minutes later…. I’m going to try it. I want to try it. And then, I read about Morning Glory seeds. Chew 100 of them and you’ll be in another world. Like Alice in Wonderland. That’s where I want to be. No really. My heart hurts for Seattle. I long for it like some kind of lover although I was so quick to leave there this time last year. Blew across the country to New York like a banshee…. but, who the fuck cares about the past anymore. Its all about the future. 2012, baby. Killer comets and planetary alignments. Bring it. The oceans to crush, the volcanoes to burn… oh, Earth. Sky….. war…. famine… plague…. how you shall conquer. ‘Til then I’m reading the great minds of the century and tending to the bees of my being. Apologies and another round…. find me a quick train and a quatrain to transport me to another place. A place unlike a vacant parking lot at night in the wintery dark of my imagination. A place more like a warm bed with white sheets and warm breath…. perhaps your breath? Will you be there, beside me? Will you be my warm place and my source of poetry? The dusty books are waning in charm though the library clerks keep my free time in check. But, there is something more to be, I swear, before the end of time. Clocks tick in the desert like raindrops, so slow…. but, I’ve said that before. Meet me on the misty island where I’ll be in a great wooden cabin surrounded by a garden and geese. Will you come for tea? I make a mean pot. Oh, won’t you pleasure me with your company? I thought I’d never have the courage to ask you…. despite the pressure of the end of time…. I thought maybe, just maybe… you’d like to spend some time with me. Do say yes. I fear where my imagination will lead me in the wake of your silence. Indulge me. I promise you won’t be disappointed for if ever there was a…..

California wildfires

8 months and 4 states later, I find myself in California
pelted by an all-pervasive sun,
surrounded by sentient palms, alien in form
in the distance, the royal ocean beckons, a blue Queen
crashing into my consciousness with the tides of her turning
I watch the gulls and pelicans lift and fall,
in between the breakers, fishing for silvery answers to an instinct
It is what perhaps, led me here, to this wandering,
traipsing from coast to coast on a diet of adrenaline and dreams
seeking some kind of salvation
Fishing for the restored bounty of my soul,
I threw my line out into the void, time after time, turning up clues
Oh, there have been ugly nights…
and incandescent discoveries aplenty,
as I have turned the page on each day,
trying to escape my thoughts of you.
It is with some dark amusement,
now reflecting on the past three years I have spent in devotion
anguished and elated on the rocky road of our love,
at last proved to be… fragile as a sickly child,
choked on the poisoned hook of idle gossip from my foremost enemy.
At long last, I can give up the ghost of my screaming madness
At long last, my vigil is abolished by this final banal excuse
pointing, yet again, to what I blind fool I have been…
I’ll raise my voice alongside these burning mountains,
consumed by bright flames, stretching across the sky
And burn the memory of my headstrong passion
until the sky is draped in black smoke
howling like a rabid wolf,
my laughter will ring out for the waste of it all
HAHAA!!!! it was all such a glorified waste, all such a lie….
and this clarity will consume the foolhardy mountain
which, was steadfast as my love, patient and willing to be
always, your resting place, your highest peak
but, kneel now in humility, black faced and charred.
Stripped of life. Reduced to wasteland.
This journey is at last, complete and I am no longer steadfast
no longer the mount, unmoved by travesty,
no more the prevailing testament of undying love.
At least not for you.
I shall be as the wind, body and soul
searching on wings, for the fragments of my heart
which, I sent out in letters and poetry, all addressed to…
I shall rest only in the arms of God at night
and walk the holy Earth from end to end,
murmuring prayers for my soul’s wholeness
Prayers of forgiveness and mercy,
for something new to love,
I will pray until my heart is full again.
For now it is empty, forsaken, as ever……
Besieged by the triviality you claim excuses your silence….
proffered as a beggar’s meager crumbs,
oh, I have feasted on these rotted morsels for so long…
My enemy sought to part us and now
I cannot help but, to laugh….
I see how all the pain I have known and endured,
was caused by my own hand,
by giving more and accepting less.
All hail, the dark comedian!
He comes smiling with pointed teeth.
And I am dancing with him, hand in hand.
For your claims are empty, your love a dime store postcard never sent
And amidst the California wildfires, I am in my element-
at last freed from the prison of my illusion.
And I walk away laughing from the wreckage of it all.

:::Tennessee:::

Hot Tennessee, how you defy and capture me
between sheets sheer with sweat
in a bedroom of pale sky… and grassy green
Nighttime creeksong in the water under moonsky
reflecting 8 bare legs, wading in the cosmos-
Infinite woman, sanctify us.
I am the believer and the peacemaker,
the dreamer and the dream,
I am a child of the wild woods,
dancing with three sisters in a midnight brooke.
In the dirt road and the clay, where we dig along
on our private agendas and problems.
I find counsel in the weeds and unwanted timber
and in the sweat of our backs-
moving in unison, an answer to the truest prayer I ever knew
running through the trees at night, alongside and behind you.
You are my light and my new lantern,
following you around is all I have time for anymore,
learning your little ways.
On the lawn, lounging on an oriental carpet
writing about people swinging over there-
here, we are the children of Sonnenshein
imbibing Bob Dylan and orange blossom honey
goat’s milk soap scented with Eastern Evergreen
white trucks rumble by
as the white haired woman carrying a strawberry
dipped in wet chocolate crosses the lawn
oh my, what a fine June Saturday!
Motorcycles ride by the school grounds growing clovers
after ice coffee and yard saleing
now its all over for me, young strong Tennessee….
you are a dangerous kisser,
got a certain swank in your swagger
and you sure look damn fine to me.
I’ll be your lady, your lover, your friend
loving you in fields lit with Queen Anne’s Lace
moonlit meadows move like the sea where the dark horses graze
Come wrap your arms around my waist and turn me round again…

::Tremble::

Tremble light on the water, slowly riding by
Watching from the mossy banks, soft and still I…
hear the deer, delicate, stepping through the leaves
and smile in surprise at the amber butterflies on the breeze

Tremble bright, sweet love… as dew upon the web
fall upon the clay of me and be the stream where I am the stream bed
Drifting far, out to where there is no fear
until return becomes a paradox, for all roads lead to here

Tremble moon, silver spell caster high above
Spill yourself into my wine and let me know a night of love
where the ants go marching one by one
and the lightening strikes like liquid sun…

Tremble heart, with all I’ve yet to know…
wake me from this endless dream, deep in sleepy hallow
lead me across open fields, where the flowers are high and wild
take me to sandy shores where I can dream like a child

Tremble here, how I shall tremble near
his beating heart where my beating heart
make love bold as summer days

Young blood, old wisdom; walk awhile-
here in the hold of nature’s road
where the rising sun, sets my soul ablaze

Spring Alchemy.

Warm as a child, the day wraps itself around me
Soft, sea-blue skies move as waves and
Fleets of cloud ships led by billowing sails white, high above
the parade where crowds of newly minted leaves upon the trees
move in jubilee, casting vestiges of their former selves,
in pink and white petals, tossed
bouquets of silken delicacy, fluttering to the earth…
In gales of innocent beauty….
I have seen no greater celebration.
As I was walking in this reverie,
a young salamander caught my eye,
fire red, was he-
bringing the mark of transformation across my path,
(and alchemized by the Green Lion)
I wept upon the white stone as he slipped away,
the quickening spirit harkens to the fire of enlightenment
the realization of which, electrifies
causing stillness to whirl like a child’s kaleidoscope.
My soul speaks to me in tongues,
as the green cicadas sing in shrill multitudes; many yet, one.
So, too, do the eyes of peacock fans, promenading across the lawn
speak of life’s endless possibilities,
painted in every color of the day
though these same spectrums
reflect in the hot glisten of the raven’s black
Is there really such a creature as evil?
I muse the secrets of the universe by the dogwood tree
where I recline in wonder upon my back.
Trembling in joy, as much as awe
for spring’s quick pace and terrible thunderstorms,
heat lightening followed by burst of sudden sun,
gentle rains on the heels of wind with such a fury….
Yea, there never was a storm or a season of more loveliness.
Rainbows are made of her tears and life of her raptures.
Overcome, my being empties its pockets
and stands ready for motion, ask of me, anything….
For my heart is swelling with the heady season of eternal youth.
Ever smiling , eager for the taste of romance’s first kiss,
My spirit new as the pink in each cherry blossom’s pretty face,
Oh, brave and tender Love! I shall always be thy resting place!

-January Fieldz

::::::)))))))))nakedlaundry((((((((::::::

overcast afternoon, promising rain
the breeze toys with new blooms
ever so flirtatiously, with a come hither tickle under their chins.
almost envious, I watch with some unspoken wish
unclear even to myself, until the laundry blew my way
where I was hanging the clothes along the line
it was the ghost of a caress long forgotten…
oh, the stirring of my soul!
no longer under the fold of those pleasures and pains
of memory, though there are many to choose…
Clean as the wet clothes dripping onto my bare feet
my heart too, is on the wind, heading in unexpected directions
a way revealing itself to me in tiny glimpses
of dreams and flights of fancy, crows and midnights
and the fox I saw thrice!
I know he saw me too, from the road where I was passing,
I spied his bushy red tail and fine nose and ears,
heading into the woody dark… to me he says,
“Be cunning, my pet! Tread with care in your wilderness!”
And the rain is coming now to soak the seeds I have planted,
hear that thunder? That’s love, baby. Love for my…
moonflowers and poppies… sunflowers….morning glories….
I spoke to each one as I patted them into the earth.
‘you are my love, grow for me my love!’
‘you are my beauty, grow for me my beauty.’
‘you are my fortune, grow for me good fortune.’
(there are seeds named for forgiveness, compassion,
and clarity, too…)
I watered them on the full moon whispering,
Shanti, shanti, shanti…..
With the storm coming, I can think more clearly,
when the sky is not quite dark but, not quite light either…
moving everywhere at once, fast enough to make you spin
and the trees go dancing in excitement, those very tall trees….
still skeletal against the sky, for spring has only just begun her magic.
The wind casts the dead leaves of winter,
across the mossy lawn like a big broom.
I, too, feel that the time has come, to be moving on….
How did 3 months go by? I am waking from a long slumber…
A sleep so deep, I forgot who I was before…
And now I am someone who dances once more in the kitchen,
No agenda or mission… I just am.
I exist, lifted by my gratitude,
for having lived it through this far.
But, now where to? Now I must decide… where to?

-January Fieldz

Countryside

Miles of countryside, spring to life on daylight savings.
80 degrees under a sunny haze by the river,
my dog and I wandered where the water rushed impatient
emboldened by yesterday’s melted snow, the daffodils bloom
new in yellow and white at the feet of 100 year old trees
strong and gnarled with the ages of America,
where we are the daffodils.
Temperate visitors trumpeting our brief but, loud existence
This morning, at a 50’s diner for breakfast,
I sat across the table from my mother
sipping coffee out of heavy ceramic mugs an inch thick
and ice water from small brown glasses.
I felt my love renewed, as she laughed at her own story
it was if I was seeing again her for the first time,
this beautiful woman with sunshine in her smile.
I feel transformed by rest. My vision and judgment are reborn,
for the countryside is a new found luxury of which I will never tire,
Acres of open land containing stories of lives lived
in cabins and farmhouses
both opulent and meager,
with gardens and greenhouses, ponds and barns
strong workhorses and fine riding horses, long necked llamas,
and woolly sheep outnumbered by the herds of mild cattle
who dot the green fields in black, red, and white.
I felt the space, I feel the space. How good it is….
this permission to breathe easy.
Inhaling peace and clean air deeper than you ever dared breathe
…in Manhattan.
Here, where every store is an hour away
and your nearest neighbor is a 30 minute walk.
In such a place, all that seemed important before,
has no meaning or cause to exist.
Your thoughts pertain to the number of fingers on one hand….
Family, friends, nature, your craft or art-
and the elegance of your communion with each of them.
This is the fabric of life, void of the plastic spangles
and drive thru junk food of the new media
corrupt civilization now a sinking ship, watch the dollars drop
as litter to the floor, just like before.
The living world of nature is our cradle,
come home children.
It is night now and outside the inky sky
is lit with lunar rainbows, circular, pastel and iridescent.
Full moon rising through the heated clouds
and the breeze moves the trees to creaking
carrying the newborn crickets’ happy symphony
along with the comical tenor of bullfrogs,
not to be ignored-
through the screen window.
Their music means life and the warm night speaks of love
through the rushing rivers and the growing wildflowers
in the thunder of a hundred pony hooves,
kicking their heels in the heat along the coast, which brought
the casting of fishing lines from little boats
holding fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters,
sons, wives, husbands,
old friends and young friends calling to the children on the shore
who are splashing each other at the water’s edge
which makes the old people laugh
who are picnicking together at the lake….
How love fills this great space.
Oh, the city is like a bad dream I had a lifetime ago…
and my heart is full of peace and quiet, out here in the country.

-January Fieldz

Meditation on Silence

Friend of silence. Quiet is my heart in the peace of silence. In stillness, I rest safe and warm as the fieldmouse in her mossy bed. Gone is the chatter of busy minds and street traffic. Gone irreverence, plucky wit, crude humor. Gone comedic folk and lesbian rap duos, white trash metal, and reincarnated psych reverb. Gone Byronic bleeding hearts and blackened eyes. Gone bar banter and mindless talk radio. Gone speeches of politic and corporate memos repeating “war and recession”. Gone the cry of a world in peril, the echoes of apathy, the battle calls of hopeful martyrs, the starving children of Africa, the beaten, the bruised, the wise and the confused. Hush, all. The silence washes you away. Your rude cacophony is swallowed at the mouth of the well which holds the waters of all creation. All that you are is liquified by the sweet ripple upon the surface of the zero point. The beginning and the end. The silence before the sound. The dark stillness before the light of life’s to and fro.

My meditation of silence cleanses, soft and pervasive as steam. White clouds of it thicken the air with a neutral presence. A silent being, devoid of character or opinion. Isness. Where thoughts exist in an infinite space, big enough to wear themselves out. Vast and whole enough to strip the trappings of words and actions down to their nakedness. My mind is clean of all that was now wise with all that is. I am the silence. I am the stillness. In the womb of creation, I am the consciousness meditating quietly. Surrendering my actions, I become aware of true greatness.