The Animus Affair

A recent reading: 06/07/07 The Gravity Pub, East Atlanta

New Year's Eve- Pissy ,chilly rain, a perfect end to a perfect year. As I drove, I had a Gilberto Gil song running through my head Here and Now. It was my mantra against road rage... or maybe just rage, so I decided that 07 was to be " The Year of the Bossa Nova", no worries and soft sibilance. I set an intention to create a new perpective and draw to me Here and Now. I dream in a language I know but can't speak......then my animus virtually arrived.... so tonight is......

The Animus Affair- or
blame it on the Bossa Nova

It all began with this piece.....

Written after reading an article in Creative Loafing's
Valentine issue of Karl Wallenda's trip across the
gorge...the battle between left and right
brain.

Midway, Karl ponders falling,
on spying the Persistent Trillium
or
Tallulah Gorge: A love story

Almost invisible, this spider's plumb-line,
Opposites attracting, points A to B.
Horizons, diffused by daylight's haze
refracting distance into a fly's eye.
Pick a point. There.
Insignificant pearly beacon.
Focus. Breathe.
Banish fear. Exercise will. Find your center.
Slide one foot, that prehensile grip, then the other,
heel to toeing that line ephemeral.
Chilled spring breeze ripples your spine;
cranial-sacral urge, that umbilical snaking from
life to death.
Breathe deep. Don't look...down, back.
Subtly shift weight.
Breath caught. Held.
A wilder wind sways, ancient ambrosia sweet
in this rarefied air.
Trust your equilibrium
in this walk 'twixt and 'tween
this walking on air,
Peril in a misstep.
Viewed with hawk-eye
encircling thermals
spiral 'round your head with
primal possibility,
Tantalizing, hypnotizing head spins.
Accumulating cumuli
beckon to bed your wariness,
kiss closed your Horus eye.
A whirlwind now,
whirling dervish rush,
blinds you with remnants
of dead stars, fragments of chaos.
You feel the hot rush of your bowels
as you savor this treacherous beauty;
Mindful of the jagged promise
that falling entails.
In this air of the impossible
to fall or soar.
Falling, soreness
Soaring, flight.
You sprout wings.
(or not.)
2/28/02

Written at my favorite place in Atlanta, the Clyde Sheperd Preserve, my piece of paradise during Lunar Eclipse....03/03/07

Eclipse

To the River,run,
run from work, day.
Feeling the current rush me
eddy and swirl to a quiet pool.
The sky, cerulean and peony parfait
swirls upward.
I arrive through tunnels
of shushing bamboo,
over the foot bridge,
around a gentle curve and
the sky opens before me.
The chorus has begun.
Father dips below the horizon,
gold reflections in the water;
Mother slowly rises into the
sun swept sky
to be eclipsed
by solar flare.
Cicadas, tree and bull frogs
begin their overture,
this mating call of Spring.
The pond, last seen dry, arid
refilled now with green, refractive light.
The bamboo,shushes,
the cicadas trill and
float on this early spring breeze.
I watched and waited for you,
the shush and sway, delicate dance of bamboo;
my only company, a pair of Canadian geese,
floating in companionable silence,
only their reflections move in this quiet pool.

I'm drawn into the forest,
carpet of rust,
Red Riding Hood entering
the dark of possibility and though
wary of what may lurk
amidst the leaves and boggy swamp
I am drawn deeper, deeper into
this ever darkening green.
It grows cooler as I walk through my brother trees,
they whisper their secrets to me.
I whisper my secrets to you;
to bring you here,
on this ambling path, darkness perhaps,
but, I embrace the darkness.
A kiss, windblown soft.

03/19/ 07
The Solar Eclipse, dancing to Gilberto Gil's Luminoso, a 30 yr revisit of voice and guitar, in my backyard with my Rat Terrier pup, Panda aka Pandemonium the Circus Dog.....

Luminoso

Tonight I danced.
Under a constellation in copper,
reflected off needles of pine,
Here and Now
is my home.
North Star,
my mother,
navigates me back,
back, back to the edge
were my past and future
find they are the
same destination .
A language known
only to my heart
speaks the legend
of this strange map.

It takes three points to
triangulate your path:
your soul,
the direction of fair winds,
and the soft seas of destiny.
I find these points reflected
in your eyes
and the moon.
My eyes diffuse
in this balmy night
where my soul
floats, cries and
dances,
in this strange world of
possibility.

....A vicarious trip to the beach....

Destin(y)
Breezes soft, flicker and lick
at the remnants of your aura
left staining my skin.
The sting, as the sand journeying
those currents of balm and salt smell,
a grating luxury polishing my skin.
I am centered
in this land of long horizons, aqua and lavender.
A veil of clouds, so unassuming, slide
across the sun.
The murmur of the sea's breath,
yours, quiet in sleep.
I'm drawn to that murmur and shushing
as the sea laps the shore,
a beckoning tease,
a small kiss, wet.
Drawn into the arms of The Mother,
I drift in her saline womb.
The sunlight, red light, colors my sensation;
The curtain of lids alters my perception,
my sense of direction.
I am fluid, one with the tidal breath.
The cool liquid undulation below,
basking in The Father's warmth above,
merging two disparate elements, fire and water.
The salt and water that comprise the human skin
lost in the vastness
of this primordial connection.
There is no time.
It is a constant moment of beginning.
I am the creature, curious, as I find my land legs.
The fire above me, molten waves over my head,
mercurial drops that refresh.
Catch my breath, hold it, release,
I am one.

Bahia

I drive to feel
the breeze, Bahia sway of
Portuguese in my ear.
The soft shush,
known, but not understood
insinuates itself around
my cochlea,
A lover, long lost.
The sounds
of lover's breath found in
memories as ancient as the
Sea's love of the Shore.

The murmur and caress
of night's phosphourescent wave,
nipping, teasing kiss
in the night.
Soft saline embraces me, as I drive.
Home
02/27/07

And finally....the first piece read in Atlanta, Gravity Pub 08/2000.

Ruby from a Courtesan's Ear
A plum pit, tongue polished
slightly acrid
hard kerneled remembrance
of once savored
succulent flesh.
That fruit, barely ripened
dangled ruby
from and aged courtesan's ear.
pierced, tantalized and
seduced with a
thousand and
two tales
my ear.
My tongue begged for taste,
a small knife, please,
quicksilver,
to pare, to peel away
the skin of those words
that flesh amber.
To pierce the skin,
the heart
To savor drop
by drop
the succulent flesh,
the pit.
Hard kerneled remembrance

may 2000