Here, Now

The world didn’t end yesterday
I guess that’s good news
Nostradamus where are you?
we wait for the next prediction of doom
the rapture perhaps, good for some
but for the rest of us … not so much

“When will we ever learn” somebody asked.
never is my bet
we go on missing the obvious.
Life, it’s here, it’s now
But some day, some day
T he sky will indeed fall upon us all.

Again, forgiveness

 “Forgiveness means it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back.”
― Anne Lamott


How to forgive a Mother for dying too soon
How to forgive a Father for living too long
a brother for betrayal
a sister for neglect
The noisy neighbor who causes you to loose sleep

How to forgive your body for enveloping you in pain
How to forgive a friend who thinks you dont need one
the lover who leaves
the lover who never was
The child who quietly screams, they hate you

How to forgive yourself for believing it was true
How to forgive yourself for thinking it was all about you
No betrayal or neglect
No noise or pain

forgiveness   forgiveness   foregiveness

It is a daily ritual
done without ease
forgiveness 
again and again and again

The Gate

First there is a gate
then there is no gate
then there is.
Everything  a gate, a mountain, a doorway
it’s all the same
every person we meet
every task in front of us
every fear we create
a doorway, a mountain, a gate
step through and it disappears
only to form again

Alacrity

I have none.

Line

“Line … line” came the actor’s plaintive cry,
the rehearsal had been dragging on,
it was late, the lighting crew were arguing
as dark shadows crossed the actor’s face,
everyone’s muscles ached
“ly’n” came the script supervisor’s response
“what?” the actor looked up, face askew
“ly’n, as in, he’s LY’N, he’s always ly’n”
the actor went back to combing the actress’s hair
her head jerked when he hit a snag
she woke with a start.
she had been dozing, had been dreaming of long silky hair,
she always dreamed that she had hair like that
in stead her head jerked again, another snag
“line” she asked
the script supervisor just sighed

Diabolical

This plan was simple and to the point
let it in and then let it out
failure was a possibility but not a deterrent
flow in
stop at the gate and flow out
seismographic records and current periodic elements aside
this attempt meant business
line
line
Who will hold the line?
Diabolical
Kiss me: and hold my broken spine together with your sly Baleen smile

Pequod Redux

The fog covers it all.
slow ocean swells,
on this glassy sea, a boat
filled with worshipers of
the behemoth of the deep
the barnacled brow
breaches the surface

“Oh” the collective gasp and
they move as one
as if beckoned
and the ocean rises to meet them
enters the boat
their last screams muffled
as the fog covers it all.

Sweet Whip Cream

The Marine Layer is sitting
On the coast of The Monterey Bay
Thick condensed moisture
Sweet whip cream for the soul

My soul
Your Soul
The world needs some sweetness
Right about now

By the time I put down my pen
And recline into my chaise lounge
It will be dark and the coast
Will have disappeared from my view

An Alternative Ending

The film sound stage quieted. The director squirms in his seat, as he whispers “action.” Lit on the dark stage, a figure sits in a soft winged chair contemplating a large cigar. His beard is neatly trimmed. His fin de siècle horn-rimmed glasses sets his face off from his comfortable gray flannel suit. Blowing a neat ring of smoke towards a figure reclining on an ornate chaise longue, he clears his throat trying to awaken the snoring actor. He finally casts his imploring gaze towards the director. It has been the thirty-seventh take and it is three thirty in the morning and everyone was very weary. The sleeping actor could not be roused. He was exhausted. Everyone was exhausted. They could go no further. The director gave in. “Cut, It’s a wrap.”

Freud my Archeologist

 


My Archeologist told me I am too deep
too compressed and too complicated

I flex my brain and attempt an expelling
of said deep, compressed complication

My Archeologist tells me next: fear not power
your own or others as well as might is right
power is but an illusion as well as dust

With precise optical brushes and miniscule velvet pickaxe
the dig has begun without my consent or desire

My Archelologist reaches out to me with gloved hand
confidently turns my wrist over to expose my veins
and touches each visible blue ghost with tenderness

Ach du lieber gott......
I have no fear
Just a thought
Will there be tea and toast afterwards?

After the Storm

a low grumble following a flash of light

the storm moves further down the valley

electric air stirred by a gentle green breeze

branches bend low discarding

            the last drops of the past hour

small soft animals peek out

expectation in their eyes

the archeologist of our mind

            slowly reassembles

the shards of this battered world

it is the second dawn of this day

Ode to Platypus

We are all Electrical Beings
some bear the burden well

My eyes can sting from too
much ambiant human current
as it runs across my occipital lobe

Oh! Platypus! as you run charges
not meant for human exposure
and seek food purely on the impulse
from a small errant move in the
body of a crayfish shell you
sing songs of mysterious ambiguation

Platypus is everything that ever was
from ancient waters and low flowering trees
you are still here and the more we try
to discover who you are the less we know

Eat What You Eat

The red squirrel looked at the echidna in disgust. “You eat living beings.” The squirrel raised its nose with distain. “While I only eat seeds and nuts.” The echidna stopped sniffing the ground and looked up at the squirrel. “ I eat what I eat. It tastes good and I go on living.” He thought about it some more and added, “I have no teeth to chew seeds and nuts. My mother gave me my toothless mouth, and she got hers from her mother. Before that I’m not sure.” The echidna slowly pondered because that was all it could manage and said, “I am not disgusted by you. I just eat what I eat, just like you.

Silver Squirrels

Without you alive, We have a complicated relationship
Guitar, keyboard, multi track console no longer
react to your fine strong musician hands

Just as the Silver New Mexican Squirrel
tries to select a host that is the least toxic
we sought that in each other and tried
to mitigate the poison in our work environment

When you come to me now
as a Ponderosa Pine Loving Squirrel:
It feels to taunt me!

Was it you who stood in the doorway
dressed in Silver Costume?
Was it you who slowly crossed the kitchen tiles?
Was it you who spread the contagious
but necessary spores into my new life?

When my mutation is complete
we will encircle the Gila Forest
pupate in the secret Kiva
adopt Mimbres culture
and slowly return to Being Human

The Glow

trembling from the cool night air

he awoke with a start

confused, his mind started to

reassemble a sense of where he was

a forest surely, and oh yes,

on a walk in the late afternoon heat,

tired, he laid down just to rest

an effortless sleep

followed his slowing mind.

penetrating the darkness

a faint light, a glow

voices quietly chanting

something unfamiliar

something comforting

he rose and stumbled

towards it

he was not alone

small and not-small animals

drawn to this, this, he wasn’t sure

but he did know his soul wouldn’t

be complete without …

Ouija Board

How smooth the hand of God as it
glides across the Ouija Board

13 stood naked that virgin night
clothes ignored near cold feet

They crossed the graveyard in pitch black
running to The Tree
 
A delicate wrought iron fence encircles it 
ancient by all accounts and
no bigger than the human form

"From her heart it sprang" was whispered
no one knew the rituals origin, just 
that is must be performed 

Yellowed headlights shaft through the forest
scorching full blown milky innocence
scattering the moths burnt by the flame

 ouija     ouija     ouija
 

Word Spider

The word spider crept across the page

turning this way, turning that way

looking for the meaning of its existence

and placing one leg down a little too hard

as if stepping on thin ice

cracks spread out in every direction

she did not fall through

but it was more than she could handle

shrinking back to her corner

she pondered what it all meant

A New Consequence

This is the beginning.

Would this also be the end?

Moving on

The blog "In Response To You" as produced my Brian Bielefeld and Tru Dillon will be saying our
Goodbys. We have done this blog since May of 2011. We did not know each other when we started this project. We would write our posts without consultation of each other. Once a month we would get together and do a recap of the months postings. These meetings would be quite lively as we learned what the other had meant or did not mean in their post. We learned how we can as humans assume too much or not enough when not in actual contact with each other.  We would talk about how we felt about each others post and what had prompted us to write our response in the blog.
This project has been a long and interesting journey. Through many emotions and personal situations we have persevered and continued to write to each other. One lesson learned is this: it is difficult to produce a creative work on a timetable. We had it set up so we would try to respond the next day. We did not always meet that mark, but we did create some beautiful works that would otherwise have not been known.
We present this small slice of our time together to you, our readers, and hope you will find some things of worth. To get the most of what this blog has been about, start at the beginning: May 14, 2011 with this first post called,
take your pick

Candlemas

Candlemas, February 2nd, the feast of lights, The commemoration of the presentation of the baby Jesus At the temple. More importantly it marks the Half way point of winter. Six and a half weeks Until the calendar marks the beginning of spring So much for the shadow or not of the illustrious Ground Hog. No matter, it's sunny today, seems like Spring.

Reduximus

REDUXIMUS

like a baby

a cat sleeps like a baby

all day long

and then at night

she roams the house

jumps on the bed

sniffs my ear

licks my cheek

and I wonder why

I can’t sleep.

Sleep like a baby

Forget who said what or what was wanted to be said.
Move around alot during the day.
Have someone or something soft and cuddly next to you.
Sensual soft somatic breeze enters, say thank you.
Invite amniotic dreams.
Smile, sleep like a baby.

the crack of light

when we leave the day of

            hopes and fears

we enter the soft night

            a dream field with its

sadness and resignation

only to wake and

repeat the cycle again and again

            until at last we stumble

upon the crack, the sliver

            of light which will

lead us home

Sleep

The world out         there        sometimes it doesn't exist

 

                  when the noose of night begins its quiet hold

        there is a ghost over your shoulder

and you, do not even know it

Needlepoint

Mrs. Lindemeyer sat down at her work table. This is not the famous Mrs. Gladys Lindemeyer that you are undoubtedly thinking of, the one who is known for her dinner parties and her back yard full of dwarf lemon trees, the one who conducts classes in knitting. This is Mrs. Harriet Lindemeyer. She is actually the lesser known sister-in-law. While Gladys knits, Harriet does needlepoint. Gladys has boxes full of unwanted frumpy scarves, while Harriet creates exquisite landscapes of rolling hills complete with cattle, barns, farmers driving tractors. Her work has even been displayed at the American Folk Art Museum in New York. She started this craft when she purchased Rosey Grier's Needlepoint for Men on EBay. She had been fascinated by the title. It was one of those rare events that happen to a fortunate person when grace drops something in their lap and changes them forever.

Sunday Supper

We had Sunday Supper at the Lindemeyers
while I am trying to go Vegan as well as Gluten Free
I ate the baby pot roast and the Sourdough bread

Not wanting to offend Mrs. Lindemeyer
I sat for 60 minutes while she taught me how to knit
strands of gray merino still cling to my wedding ring

Cabernet Sauvignon called my name sweetly so I drank
and got drunk listening to the men plainly and neatly
discuss everything that was important

As we rounded out the night with a tour of the yard
a grove of miniature lemon trees made me happy
I took home a brown paper sack full of yellow joy

bitter orange

The slow flapping of curtains

a half open window

the scent of bitter orange

carried in on notes from Brian Eno

and so the passing of winter

vernal hopes reach out

past the confines of my heart