The Strength of Serenity

JULY 6, 2017 ~ EOALV AREZ ~ EDIT"THE STRENGTH OF SERENITY"

Wishing and praying alone will not transform your mind; you also need
reason—reason ultimately grounded in your own experience.- Dalai Lama

Older a child,

Looks no longer to

The flower

but instead sees the bee

and with the bee chases

another

His steps follow as long as he can

only to let go what he cannot hold in the palm of his hand

The scent of the rose is gone.

The day comes and so does the night

Sleep and a waking

Another bee and another flower

The child picks up his feet

Picks up his shoes and places them at the door

He calls home
And stares down the stairs

And awaits the comfort away from the play

She comes home an hour later

His face is muddy with delight

A door opens

A welcome wipes the exterior

and departs an evening, to open up later,

the next day, to a vast road to follow

Shoes are tied

Hands bound forward in pockets

And change jingles

the sound connects the foots steps

The sound of the bell connects the dream

The study makes the work

The work makes the man

The foot steps heavier

The comfort is gone

Brutal and Short

A Howl

The moon climbs to where the fingers point

A readily made object

To object

A mirror dream rowed boat ashore

A small fox wets its tail

The pack catches up

The dogs bark

And the waves lap the shore

Ferried on with word and sound

Carried like a fish on a hook

Love knows its bound

Beyond fascination

to the point where the recognition

places correctness

in a sacred pause.
Whistling Wisdom- Paris Metro Aug 2018
AUGUST 25, 2018 ~ LEAV E A COMMENT ~ EDIT"WHISTLING WISDOM- PARIS METRO

AUG 2018"

Freddie Hubbard blew

into my cup of coffee
The baguette was fresh
and the black tar was half full

smaller than what I was used to

the european sizes are meant
to please the momentary

the sky was all blue

The RER lined up my journey

on its straight diagonal
cutting its way to the airport

The stars spoke Chinese

in the season of the monkey
where all is lain bare in the sun

In the Myth of Harmony

an Ecology of Resilience
arises in the change of tune
the diaphanous cacophony
struggles toward a greater presence

The circular labyrinths of what could be said “France”

go beyond a national flag
Not the colors of blue, white, and red
But patchworks of yellow Senegal
Green Ghana
and red Cameroon

And the quickened faces that snivel a smile

Passing by in a relaxed urgency to find their place
In multiple attractions
Each one discriminating openly

A floral country summer dress

Faithfully clinging perfumes
Slicked lack lustrous strands of tunisian men
Street minstrels boldly elaborating alms

You sit next to the mildly drunk

the one who just had a one too many
The meal of rich fats still clinging to his suit
The heavy smoke of a finished night in the late morn

This brings you back

Recollecting that is vacation

In France

The streets are supposed to be this empty

For late summer has arrived

Would the return of the retired populus

Diminish the laissez – fare
Of this go to do
Any other day

I lose myself in the avenue of the fish markets

A discarded blue flower on the sidewalk
Pulls down the opening of the sky
As the clouds break into the open air

A woman with a partially mutilated left eye brushes past me

As I squint to read street signs to get my bearings

The only way is up

The cerulean marble chisels the borders

French colonial buildings

Precipice the streets edges
A stone border to tree and sky
Paving the way forward

Toward a crowned heart

On the mount of mars
a basillica of martyrs

The Sacred Heart of Mountmartre

I stumbled into The Claire de Lune

and ordered a fizz
Gloria Gaynor bubbled through
and the directions were clear as the day
In any way all roads will lead

The multitudes snap selfie

and beatitudes hashtag
the wondrous multiplicity
of travelers marking their respite sojourn

In the chapel
flanking the altar
the stations of the cross
Pause

A beheaded bishop
head held in hand
Title lain on chest
“Deliverance”

The held head says

On the trail of sunlight shadows

through the leaves
down the side stairs
off of the main entrance

A perfumery
Always faithful
with scents of coriander
and thyme to breath in a way out

The flight of a bird

hovering on its descent
meeting its shadow on the ground
present its landing

the meeting of light and dark

with a foot’s claw
of projected intention
and completed action

An oboe player
In the Paris Metro again
against an loud Arabic
discussion on a cellphone

Giannina Braschi writes

about the Opacity of Envy
through a mottled confusion
The driving force of intuition

the spiritual progression

For its renewal

is integral
to the simplicity
of life

the obscure
is left behind with our shame
we are then free
in the play of light
A note shrieks
An Arabic trill
A train stops
A woman’s dress shifts

The distinguishing

beyond knowledge

The Whistle of Wisdom

an unseizeable power
of the present
happening
where huddled together
a song
a voice

words

Liberte
Egalite
Fraternite

Sound True
Leda and the Swan- A story of Twins
MAY 4, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"LEDA AND THE SWAN- A STORY OF TWINS"

Oh ugly duck
Black feathered
Tarred

Placid stir of lake

A cutting row
of feathers
only what a brush can pull

from reflected clouds

pillowing a comforted down

against waters to trumpet

the storm of judgements

that beauty may bring against the

pale

breaths of desire

envy
jealousy

competition
revenge
and rage
all for the sake of
a young shepherd’s unknowing

Double the pain of birth

and mark the cross of flight

across seas
across nights
across land

and direct this human plight

the tripled wisdom of womanhood

scorns the hero’s journey

as all fails in love and bondage

A simple choice

as Paris picked the beholden

Or did the sky?

As it landed on stilled shores

in foamed peaked ebullience
rushing to land at another reflection
a woman’s hand dipping in enjoyment
Unlike a fetus in the womb
a chick in a shell
breathes through the porous calcium
of lain hardened placenta

the diaphanous membrane is nothing but

a brittle mineral soon to shatter with the nudge of a beak

our deepest connections are these

such as tendons latch bone and cartilage

{Achilles did die at the heel

A mother’s hand
comforting
holding the dear child at the edge
bathing the small one in the river

But nothing set the wheel at the hub of this drama

than this double set

Clytemnestra and Hellen

and the two horse twins}

Like a bird flying into a window

Her fate was sealed

The clarity of desire revealed the glass house

its abode.
Two twins were born
and as birth made them so did their fates seal
Male and Female

Betrothed to war

War beseeching desire

War and its governance

Held and (unheld)

Coveted
Stolen

With just a glance the greatest of minds can falter

Beauty is just that

An uncaptured awe

of a tree

a blossom

a pear

a peach

The seed of an unfaltering eye

that won’t quit

until ownership
or at least to know

Divine and Human

How did these twins exchange their moments in their bond

Their true paternity questioned with each tale

As heights in beauty
and lengths in hunt

Where caught
In the spectacle

As if fated by the beholden

Placed on the porcelain dais

Comrades
Sisters

Exchanged their meetings on the cross

The swan
placed on the midnight sky

Now
Half dead half mortal
trading places

meeting at an axis
The hub of a wheel

Horse twins
Pear tree

Brute blood of air

St elmo’s fire

Fusion of loved and beloved

the comrades
the sisters
Brink
APRIL 28, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"BRINK"

How quick

ON E dge

to push

wrist out flailing hands

arms

AKIMBO

its friday

with no abandon
Qian- Surprise
APRIL 17, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"QIAN- SURPRISE"

The thing about lightning

It must hit the darkest spot

to be the brightest

The separation amidst the dust clouds and that of vapor

charges a quickened parting

In the rapidity of excitement

Poles are stripped

and a dance of heat

darkens

a black body radiation

Conduction
A lead step
pulls down the insulated

Air between air

between matter
between liquid
between solid

Liken to Qi

An auspicious sign
Gifted
MARCH 24, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"GIFTED"

You were at the bottom of the box

Beasts and Furies

All came before you

All Smoke and Mirrors

It took days for the dust to settle

from the mighty rampage

I was torn asunder

Why did you give this to me?

Cruelty has its thorny mercy.

There were many

There are many

Same words different burdens

different lives
different cultures

Out of one the many

Who would have known it would be so dark

Who would have known it would stay so dark

Its just a box

A container to hold

I could just hold it in my hand as a souvenir

A sense of ownership

To have and to hold

To display on my shelf, on my counter, or just to it carry around with me to

remember you.

OH but not to open it?

How dare you?

And just to rely on good faith that it should be kept just as such?

Did you think I could keep dusting it? Did you think I could just say “Oh for
me? hee hee, how nice, you shouldn’t have.’

How dare you!

With each longing day of life, the immobile presence can only call
very such so to the core of my being

How dare you not open it?

“Chocolates!”
It was once said on a bus stop from the village idiot to the harlot in a public
square
“You are naked!” a voice whispered
“Those are bugs!” another voice said

“DEMONS!” a shout clamoured

Smoke and mirrors.

The hurricane struck.

Few survived with their hearts intact

People lost their homes

People died in planes
People bombed nations

In all of this the emptiness of the box remains as I let you go…

Good bye little hope

Good bye……
As above so below
MARCH 1, 2018 ~ 1 COMMENT ~ EDIT"AS ABOVE SO BELOW"

With exact decimal

Why bother with bad luck?
The clean hand can easily wave

And gather a sodden path

The other can cut grain
Gripping

The tool to count another walk

The lights of our eyes

Brighten the shaded days
With the sorrowed tomorrows
Lit on the measure

Of sketched footsteps
Outlined left
And right
With graphite and titanium

Silver and obsidian would have been my choice

History does play its tricks

As aughts and n’aughts
Double the aught

A knot
The hinge of a gut chance

To look up or down
Rabbit
FEBRUARY 20, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"RABBIT"

Rabbit

Two moons
One young and one not yet born

Fledging
on the steeps of hope

to dream the dreams of promise

One’s built on civilizations now gone

Born and unborn

The friend

in deed

United together

With the unceasing breath of becoming

un born

born again
new

novel
Kingdoms come

and

go

Where do you say

Majestic Surprise!

Many Moons
Many Suns

All gone.

Desiring

the Joy

all becomes the obligation

of Love

Pledge

say Honor
say Peace

and hold your banner high!

Spirit of the Mountain prt 8

Cotton
JANUARY 31, 2018 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~ EDIT"COTTON"

Cotton

Small little beating

Swab of a heart
Fluffed hand picked cloud
Soaking up pink polka dots

Afraid to clot deep wine red

Science say Hello

AUGUST 15, 2017 ~ LEAV E A COMMENT ~ EDIT"SCIENCE SAY HELLO"

Science is not the answer. Science is the tool.

An ounce of prevention, The weight of a horizon

Poetry is the argument

The enticement
A way to see
A word to know

Because Science…

gets us another number

another addition
another goal
another step
Another moon

While with Poetry

Many Moons
One can climb and see
The combinations

of where to put another rule.

My other poems are online

https://biscuithead.wordpress.com