In the valleys between the blare of sirens And the bite of flashing lights Sometimes you can still hear the sound of bells Ringing, ringing, asking Will She come to visit in my open door tonight? I’ve left the hinge ajar in waiting
No anticipation can be greater, She claims the moon as child It’s complexion is sweet rice milk Standing in the night sky’s gravity Spinning, spinning, giving Soft illuminations to those tired in their travels
I have prepared a gentle bed for Her Perhaps She’ll come and rest awhile She has been churning the milky ocean, the galaxy of stars Blinking, blinking, calling to the denizens in their shelters made of hollow trees
Though I’ve sent the invitation, I would think that She ignored it For I was born in ill repute And small.
She paints the color of sky, Midnight black Taking, taking, owning Every color in the spectrum We are mere ebullient playthings thinking of our ends.
I prepared a kindly meal, The instruments of brass laid bare Bone dry, sterile, Sparkling, sparkling, hoping For the dinner guest to bring Her flare
I fear that She will never come So Giri says, I will wait alone awhile, and then I’ll wait again. I’ll make a meal the next day, And leave the door open Hoping one day She’ll arrive.
The roses on your voice turned to chamomile
taking choices of betterment over aims of soft temper.
Ever mindful of the blue and black occlusions
You took it all. You kept it for yourself.
I had hoped you would pick a better venue
sparing the raucous chorus for the vernal spring
when the sky was coated in clouds
hanging on the mountains like mists:
The only meaningful friendships in Eden.
I was doting on the little cracks inside the concrete,
head held hanging in the wind chimes of Winter
The Never Ending Topiary: The trimming
of all the loose ends. All the obligations to another.
John Jay Flickerwrites out of the bitumen under the buildings of Los Angeles. He has previously published poetry in Haggard & Halloo, Egg Poetry, Carcinogenic Poetry and LabLit Publications. He currently works in the veterinary industry as a doctor’s assistant and holds a bachelor’s…
Elysium, elegia, Oak arms reach in silver skin I wear the skull cap of a Buck and pray that our gods take note in their world
We try to reach it with our effigies, Stone carvings of human faces, Animal bone, candle wicks, and polished brass: The water becomes new, It takes in its ambrosial beatitude In one cupped palm we imbibe And then we ring the bells
I have uttered sacred words counting seeds in the hand bearing flame and incense, The crone and the witch come to visit: I have taken liberties in this life bearing the witness of harm, those concoctions and inebriations. Though I’ve survived to meet the woman who holds time in one hand, and space in the other
Born under the sign of Centaur They have told me that god is a man and he died hanging on a cross of wood but my god is a woman and she bears the form of wood She lives in the torrent of rain Under the willow bark, She is the speckle of life that breathes In the waters and the streams She wears twigs and barleycorn Tucked in the furrows of her hair And she dons the rags of Birch bark With stones in her toes
They said that god is small, That he lives only in their house of stone But my god is the stone itself, A wild woman, Clear of color, sometimes dark as night, She whistles in the sound of wind, And she is the the hum of thunder The Bristlecone, the briar friend, Mistletoe and straw
I offer these bones of oak the children of the tree To the wooden woman in the hearth and home
I strike a match, the sulphur fills the air, in trails and wisps, a crackle. I hold the flame to candle
I spread a golden goblet of sand on a bronze plate of symbols Then place the candle there
I take a branch of oak fallen in the black street outside and write the shape of a leaf an epigraph in sand Carefully,
I place an acorn there Does the wooden woman smile? Does she know? Has she seen me through the veil of Dew.
Let the candle burn through night: I hold my palms in praise folded over the blade of the rib I bow my head to Her Dear candle warm my winter I’ll carry this acorn with me when I require strength.
The old grey mountains outside Live inside our bones Where the heart swells in its home And the wild smell of earth Comes to coat your nose like a light stint of rainfall on the mountain trail road
You do not belong there Tucked away inside your Painted box of wood All your senses locked in their quiet Obfuscation - your mortal eyes Trapped in the long line of stop lights Under these towers made of glass where the worried heart forgets its real nature
John Muir says the mountains Are calling and I must go. The journey begins where the road ends: This smell of earth lives Inside the codons in our genes It makes the lungs swell with air It lives inside the electric current In the apex fibers of the heart muscle
You do not belong there. The mother talks to you in turbid dreams That leave a sheen of sweat on your skin And a roll of blankets lie covered in your water made of fear This mountain calls - it speaks - This is God’s country: Where the old rainfall left a mud trail Where the birds take to the mountain breeze Like little autumn leaves - elevation gaining And the great cliffs drop away in their vertiginous longing for the mother dirt
How long will you stay in your temple of occlusion? The cold air outside enlivens the bleating heart strings And the skin bristles in its gooseflesh When the golden protuberance of sunlight Touches down upon its surface And this case of bone becomes alive again Walk from your cage, your dying body These trails have written your name In the mud Where the paved road ends And the rocks of gravel start to grip Under your toes.
In these wild wanderings we begin to find the tune of our music like lotus water and red painted sindoor paper folded cranes in a sun stained window and the shadow of the master standing on the wall
Bhavatarini: a woman dances in circles and screams at her mother. We all touch her feet in this carnal church adoring only this rapture: this tantric window that whittles away the barriers at the tops of our skin
We confront those stained glass windows that cover the cave of the heart like sun shadows moving in the daylight: I’ve got no where to go I’ve turned right at every fork in the road all these cobbled pathways lead back home
Sea of pine and waves of oak
The Forest is a home
And I will always go there
A cold breath moves the branches
In the wood,
Cooling the rocks with patterns of moss
The oaks are old gods and I thank them
Nonetheless,
fear is thunder
It beats the drum of the heart
And for a time
I am its muted prisoner
Though this sound blisters,
I can still hear the old muffled whisper
The hills and trees are alive
With a kind of thought Unknowable.
In the Other World,
They arise and fall
Arise and fall
I declare my love for them,
Old gods, old noble creatures
Though fears tympani beats continuous,
I see faces in the wood
And bones in the mountains
I call these beings my long time friends
I shall sit with them a while and wonder
At the rocks stuck between my toes
One thousand times I have failed you Folly in that notion of a mustard seed This body wrought of insufficient faith And this heart of pulp seems covered over by Father stone like asphalt redolent from the new smell of tar
Still this nascent string of undivided love moves inside like the coil of a spring brick by brick along the vertebrae of bone
What creature stirs in that eternal cavern? I’ve no sense of justice bitumen - a Red Sea of taillights incessant dragging wastrel in the tortuous Highway
He was a man they said - that Lord - called God in iron wrath who dangled His creations on the tip toe of His Finger Held in utter horror aghast over that Lake of liquid fire - well I never wanted that from start to finish Fear ranks high among the qualities of survival.
Then they - saving grace over the ages called It woman. Oh hold at bay those night terrors the jackal of sermon leaving white pellets of spittle on the mouth corner:
Wait. What fear is there of Mother? Oh Dear - will you speak to Father for me? He always seems to follow your command.
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