Sweet beautiful angel, I adore thee,
Thou art divinity in human form.
I will take thee to the highest mountain,
So clear, so bright, so far above this storm.

Here dwell the mighty gods and goddesses,
Forever free from petty human strife.
This is the forbidden ancient kingdom,
And thou, most lovely royal heart, my wife.

Once upon a time, did you dress so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime?
I sure did, Bob, I threw one at a saint
In Puri who blessed me for the insult.

I guess the brightest angels burn hottest.
Gotta lotta gall to be so useless
And all, muttering small talk at the wall
When you never turned around at their call.

 

Yep, ya might look useless, crazzii even, muttering at the wall.  I've seen those goings-on before. I've been that too. Like Leonard sings, "like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free."  It is a deeper truth though that Redemption is always available, and so if ya don't turn around to answer the call, the heat will just go up. You too will soon enough be one of the brightest angels, now so glorified in your estimation. Resistance makes for an amazing formula like that. Look at Lucifer for instance.  As far as I can tell, we are all sizzling in oil, safe in the alchemical crucible, waiting for our time to become beauty to become nothing, to become  the beauty turning in Your light.

---

The fabric of my life is the cloth with which it is my responsibility to polish the lens of my own perception

If it tastes like honey, and it's pure shit,
Why on earth would you go on eating it?
For heaven's sake, woman, when will you learn?
You haven't understood a word I said.

Come over here, sister, and listen close.
This isn't about what you think it is.
It's about the god in you that you killed.
It's about loving the love in your heart.

‘If it tastes like honey, and it's pure shit,
Why on earth would you go on eating it?
For heaven's sake, woman, when will you learn?
You haven't understood a word I said.

Come over here, sister, and listen close.
This isn't about what you think it is.
It's about the god in you that you killed.
It's about loving the love in your heart.’

 

Oh, Ramsses you have stopped me short. What you say is true. I don’t know who you are, still, you make me cry like a baby. How big is this ocean of tears?  Will I ever run dry?

 

I have written out your last gift, merely seconds old for all I know, and put it on my fridge door.  It is held there with Inukshuk magnets--- the Inuit symbol--stones piled in the barren lands to look like people.  These stones remind the lonely traveler that she is neither alone, nor far from what she loves.  You have reminded me too.

 

I have not learned this lesson, as you have so clearly pointed out-- though I know it by heart, and sometimes I pretend that I can teach it to others.  Secretly, though, I have stay focused on fairy tale endings, thereby sentencing myself as I do to be forever a victim, forever a shrew.  I can hear Hank Williams bleary voice in my head: “Take these chains from heart and set me free…” His mournful wailing is pitiful, and so is mine.  It is time for this behaviour to stop.

 

I bow my head, kind sir, in gratitude.

---

The fabric of my life is the cloth with which it is my responsibility to polish the lens of my own perception

Love ya, Sweetie.

My engineer brain usually isn’t attracted to poetry.  I minored in lit and have really tried to get into poetry with only struggling success. 

 

Your words just exploded in my brain and opened something new.  The dialog that followed with your muses was incredible music.  No inner fight involved.

 

Bang!

More...

Thank you so much!

Say more, Beth, will you please? I'm fascinated by the existence of a lady-warrior-engineer with the heart of a Bhakta.

Embracing extremes in tiny, unassuming groups of one -
A woman's work is never done.

Jai Ram

Mascha:

Say more, Beth, will you please? I'm fascinated by the existence of a lady-warrior-engineer with the heart of a Bhakta. Embracing extremes in tiny, unassuming groups of one - A woman's work is never done. Jai Ram

Is this addressed to me? What are you talking about? Are you mad?

It's addressed to Beth, the numbers girl 1235 etc., but I was sweet enough to let you have the post points. Am I mad?
Possibly...

M

You lied.

First of all you are not eight feet tall.

You are not taller than me!

Not that I care about your height,

But I notice the lie.

 

Further, you claimed strength and fortitude,

You claimed to be a seeker of truth and beauty.

You claimed to be as eternal as the mountain,

And as solid as an oak

 

Phoooeee,

You blew over with the gentlest breath,

You melted angry and defensive,

Fighting tooth and nail 

When the merest speck

Of my radiance touched you.

What am I to make of this?

I cannot turn down the volume of this light

Any further and still exist.

 

You’re asking for the death of my soul.

Don’t be ridiculous!

It could not happen

 Even if I were so stupid

 As to try to give you

What you think you want.

I know this for sure.

 

I am this stupid, trust me.

I have tried.

 

Still, can you be so deluded,

As to believe what you said about yourself,

 Babbling on, proselytizing!

All the while, fighting windmills with one sword,

 Holding love ransom with the other?

 

Perhaps it is your hearing,

Petrified ossicles,

Making you deaf to the gifts from  Our Mother’s sea.

 

It is my experience,

You would not know a nightingale,

 If it flew in your ear!

No wonder my sisters

Caged birds by day,

 Make sport of you,

In the Piscean moon,

Luring your rickety leaky ship

Upon our rocky barren shores.

 

Smashed and bruised and bleeding,

We want only the best for you,

Trust me:

Indeed, we want you

To become the Truth

You so pompously claimed,

On the day that you set sail.

---

The fabric of my life is the cloth with which it is my responsibility to polish the lens of my own perception

Jesus. And I thought there was something there.

Mascha:

It's addressed to Beth, the numbers girl 1235 etc., but I was sweet enough to let you have the post points. Am I mad? Possibly... M

Apologies. This is what happens when I'm not as high as a kite.

Jesus, I thought there was too.

Are you packing it in?

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The fabric of my life is the cloth with which it is my responsibility to polish the lens of my own perception