Your Eternal Dance

Your Eternal Dance

Some say you should be my queen,
but I am more Fool than king.

A Fool will not rule
or be ruled,
but is always open
to worship,
drawn to it,
like the flame
to the moth
fluttering
close enough
to be illuminated,
to have its magic
made clear.

I will not crown you
my Queen;
instead I will adore you,
pray under your divine light,
whisper your name
to the sky
to invoke you,
venerate you for the goddess
I know you to be.

Some say you should be my queen,
but regents are too prone
to tyranny, to staking claims,
to bending nature
to their own whims;
these things are beneath you.
Your proclivities lie
in creation, inhaling
death to exhale stars,
consuming stars
to excrete Life.

Some say you should be a queen,
but you rise
above titles,
beyond law,
past present or future.
I bow before you,
not out of obeisance,
but in reverence, hoping
that, given your place
in the pantheon of my heart,
you will allow me
to partake in your eternal
dance.

Night Falls

Night falls
& I rise
to meet her,
bury my mountains
deep, so deep
her stars burn me,
turn me, I churn
& erupt
in torrid ash clouds
& magnificent magma.

My Night erupts
simultaneously, 
pouring
forth liquid life,
cooling my fervent fire,
whetting my thirst
in rivers that flow
to form oceans
where only desert—
empty wasteland—
once stood. I would 
be nothing
without Her,
my Night
bearing the water
of Life
to this once
barren Earth—
her air fueling
my fire inducing
her water infusing
my soil seeding
her air until
Creation
has been acheived—
& I am relieved,
knowing She leaves
Me with the arrival
of the Sun,
leaves me
with reminders
of our love,
crawling, swimming,
running, flying—
filling me
until my Night
falls again,
& I rise.

Cyclops

“Stranger, you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they.”—Polyphemus

You’d like to think
me Οὖτις,
no one of consequence,
a mere Fool, lost
in the wilderness,
but you’d be wrong.

You are the one
unworthy to be
my rival, my equal,
my superior.

I may be Nobody,
but you are nothing,
nothing but an uncouth
cyclops feeding
from my crew,
coveting what is mine.

I pity you, Polyphemus
condemned to see
the world through
a hub, only fit
to cast straightforward
glances, always
missing the periphery,
blind to the Universe
outside of your myopic 
vision. 

Narrow vision leads
to a narrow mind.

& it will take nothing
but my guile
to intoxicate you,
to drive my spear
through that eye,
blind you so that even
your savage world
goes black.

Throw stones,
if you must,
curse Nobody
as if it were my name,
cry to the Gods
you have no faith in, 
shout for your father,
that wrathful Poseidon;
it will not help
your cause.

As you draw the spear
from your eye,
I will already be flying,
sailing back to my dear
Penelope. 

I will climb
the topmast
& reveal 
my true name,
you will know it,
and say it,
& curse Creation.

Cursed, perhaps
I’ll be, but I can’t
let you trap me,
even your father—
Tosser of Tempests—
can only delay
me. Nothing
can stop me,
keep me
from returning
home, returning
to the arms
of my sweet
Penelope. 

Purgatory

Purgatory

I put You through Hell,
so I suppose I deserve
no less than purgatory.
 
I must climb
that mountain alone,
without You. 
There is no other path
to redemption,
to forgiveness,
no other way
to wash
these wounds.

So I will begin
by scaling Pride,
bearing the stone
of my own creation
upon my bare back.
I will stare down
on my way up,
learning to see
everything beneath me
with more clarity.

Envy seems easy,
as I have a generous spirit;
but here too,
there is work to do,
to roam with my eyes
sewn shut
until I learn to listen
to my heart,
to stop hating
those ready to take
what I’ve lost.
Ownership is
only arbitrary.

I will rise
above Wrath,
allow my meek 
nature to shine
through, not let
myself be blinded,
choked,
by wrath’s acrid 
smoke & seek
harm for those
who’ve caused
me pain.

I shall not be beaten
by Sloth, by my desire
to fold,
to hide,
to die
in the face
of each failure, 
to get lost
in perpetual mourning.
Rather, I must work,
keep busy,
keep moving,
keep living,
for death before dying
is a Hell in Life,  
a perilous prison
in whose residence
my soul would only rot.

I will glide
through Greed,
as my desire
for things, for riches,
for great gain,
has never been
debilitating.
My desires have always
lain elsewhere.

Nor am I saddled
with Gluttony,
being One of
moderation,
for the most part.
That is not to say
that there are not times
when temperance
is needed,
when I allow
myself to get lost
in the smoke
forgetting how Holy
the fumes are. 

Lust.
Ah, Lust!
How to even begin
battling those flames,
fighting the fire
that consumes me
for You? Here,
like Dante, I
will lie in wait,
afraid to face
my flaws.
Here, You must be
my Virgil, reminding
me that only in
risking getting burned
can I ever hope
to reunite
with my own,
beloved Beatrice.

& here I will summit,
each sin purged,
brushed away
by the wings
of angels.
I will summit,
reach Paradise,
find my innocence, 
redemption,
forgiveness. 

Yet I am full
of fear,
fear that for all
my climbing,
for all my penance, 
I will learn much,
but earn nothing:
No Beatrice to guide
me through Heaven,
No Love to fly me
over the hard,
cold rock I have
traveled. But I cannot 
allow fear to stop me. 

I walk this path to heal,
not to be rewarded. 
Your Love is a gift
which I must be prepared
to never receive, again.
But I tell you,
My Love,
MY LOVE, 
It is what drives me.

If You do ever offer
Your blessing again,
to feel Heaven again,
I swear to keep it
Holy, for Heaven 
is no place 
for the lowly.

Sky

Sky
Open the Sky for me.

Let me see the beauty that lies

underneath, the air of Life,

the bearer of stars.

I am not worthy of such glory,

a greater Fool than me

does not exist, but if the Sky

will let me peek

under Her glorious clouds,

my gratitude will be shown

in eternal

worship.

Water: A Love Story

Birth

When the Earth was newly born, it was barren, dry. Yemaya, a goddess, baptized the Earth with the oceans of her womb, giving birth to the seas, the rivers, the lakes. This fertilized the Earth, & the Earth gave forth life.

 
Rebirth

“¿Did you know,” I tell more than ask her, “that water is the
most important ingredient for life?” I love talking science. She loves listening to me talk science.

“Of course,” she replies, almost defensively, “¿We’re like, what, 80% water?”

“Sixty, actually, but it’s more than that. Water is the only chemical compound that gets less dense when it gets solid. That allows it to float when frozen. Otherwise, ice would crush out life in winter. If water sank when it froze, we wouldn’t be here.”

She thinks for a bit. My heart stalls as I watch her smile fade. “¿What are we doing here?” she asks.

I hesitate, looking for the right words. “I’ve stopped evaluating it. I figure, at this point, it is what it is. Everybody’s gonna see it differently anyway—your husband, my wife, our kids. ¿Why even bother trying to explain it? I would say that we’re honoring Original creation, a lot, but who would get that, really?”

She thinks for a second before pouting out that smile she pouts out, that one I love, the one that reminds me that we are all nothing more than needy children. “Yeah. You’re right. ¿Why bother?” Her eyes widen as I watch the light reflect sparkles on the irises of her chartreuse eyes. She shies. Turns away. Rises. “I’m going downstairs,” she announces, “¿need anything?”

“Nothing. Just you, Yem. But a little water would be nice,” I reply as I slowly drift back into the afterglow.

∞

Tarot for Beginners

Tarot for Beginners

“Draw
a card before you go,”
She interrupts.
Not stopping 

my story
I reach out
& blindly pull one
at random; lay
it face down
between us.

“You’re not
going to look?”
She asks, smiling,
staring at the paper
destiny I simply
ignore.

“I’m still talking
here,” I reply,
“and if you can
just keep
your mind on
that, when I’m ready,
I’ll flip it over.
Otherwise, feel free
to flip it for me.”

“Oh no,”
She replies as
Her smile spreads
to her eyes,
as She glares at
her neglected Tarot.
The card itself
expands
like a sponge soaking
in moisture, but I hold
true to my word
& wait until I’m ready.

¡Flip! It’s Death
& we both start
laughing. “Death
doesn’t mean death,”
She begins.

“It means change,”
I finish, “I know.
My mother pulled
Tarot for friends
when I was young.
You learn that
Lesson One.”

“That’s right,”
She replies, finally
looking me in the eyes
—that sea of golden
brown flecked green
exploring what’s inside
me. ¿What does she
see? ¿The Fool
or The Hanged Man? 

¿The Zero

or The Hero?

¿& why couldn’t I
have drawn Lovers?
I suddenly remember
why, which makes me rise,
say my goodbyes, & fly
before She has me
draw another,
like The Tower,
which would make
the world crumble
right before my eyes.

My Night ( A Poem)

This poem was inspired by the myth of Nüt & Geb, a personal favorite.

My Night

¿How can I

stay away

when You wrap

so tightly

about Me,

sealing,

enveloping,

protecting Me

from Everything,

leaving room

for Nothing

else but the feel

of You wrapped

tight about me

like wet rice

paper?

¿What else

can I do

Sister Sky—

Heaven full

of stars,—

but grind

inside You

until My mountains

are raw

& My rivers

boil beneath

Your pressure,

Your pleasure,

Your gravity?

¿So what

if there is room

for naught—

nothing but

us, no space

for other Gods

to roam between

Us, to breathe?

The feel

of Your breath

is all I need.

Let Them separate

Us if they must—

make room

for Creation,

for Life,

for Other

than Our bond.

¿Could we expect

Them to continue

Existence smothered

between Us?

It matters

not, my Nüt—

They can keep

Us apart—

divided for only

so long

before Night

once again wraps

itself around Me—

when

the Sun hides

You fall

& I rise

to meet

You.

Perhaps

the time will come

when the Sun

abandons its

task & We can

again join

in perpetuity,

when You & I,

and nothing else

will reign

supreme—

Our Love,

Eternal Lust,

Chaos.

Praying in the Temple of the Moon

As my regular readers know, I've been writing a series of poems over the past nine months inspired a newfound love for Luna, our gorgeous moon, along with Italo Calvino's story The Distance of the Moon and my romance with Valerie, my own personal moon goddess. I wrote this one yesterday (07.08.09) after participating in one of Val's rituals. It's barely edited, a bit rough even, but I do love it. I hope you like it.

Praying in the Temple of the Moon

I went to church
last night
the first time in a score
of years,
but it was unlike
any service
I’d ever attended.

I climbed onto a rooftop,
slipped under
a cloud-capped canopy of
night sky,
the fullness of my Moon,
my altar,
the sounds of a Remington
summer night, traffic up
& down Howard,
onto & off the JFX,
my soundtrack.

For a while,
I just sat there
feeling my place
in the Universe,
a floating fleck
connected to
Everything.
Then I slipped out
of my clothing—
bared myself before
my Moon.

I prayed like I’d been taught
to pray by the Witnesses,
the Baptists—The Mormons
did it best—show gratitude
for your blessings, ask
for what you want.

It was harder than
I first imagined:
My blessings have been nearly
innumerable,
my needs seem so greedy
after the Universe’s generosity of late,
But I just knew,
& I knew
the Universe knew,
you know?

I repeated my pact:
for as much as I get
I’d make sure to give back
& I sealed my mystical missive
with the holiest act
of Love.

I awoke to find my Moon
had almost completed its track,
the Sun was creeping up,
His overbearing light
threatening to hide Her
for another night.
But my service was done,
my ritual complete,
my rites restored.

It was not the churches
of old, full of preachers teaching
Jesus, & right from wrong,
defining evil;
but in the Temple of the Moon,
in a pew carved
from the Universe itself,
I was closer to God than I’d ever been.
I was happy.
I was whole.

UPDATE: This poem was later published in Smile Hon, You're in Baltimore, by Eight Stone Press.