Reading The Sky: treatment update

Reading The Sky: treatment update

hi

Just a note to say hello and my sinus surger went well, and the next few weeks I will be taking it easy and saying a lot of thank yous to the universe. welcome new follower to my blog and I will post more pomes so be patient and do pop in from time to time.

ramblin

my two followers, please tell yer friends about my blog so I can get more feedback on pomes and pics. thanks. I have a friend, that you both know of, who is going through some major changes, so I want to say here she is much on my mind, Melissa is her name and she is a real treasure trove of life and love for many people so let us keep her in our hearts. this is a new computer and I am learning to use it. It takes a long time to set it up and get all the bells and whistles working right, but I am about there now.the cursor still keeps jumping around the text but I am used to resting my hands on the keyboard and this is a so called lap top and I have to type more like an old remington from my grade school days way in the long ago I guess. not that I ever learned to type very fast. or very accurate either for that matter. , we are having cold weather, with some high clouds today,it is crispy, and there is still some old mud and snow patchs on the ground. tomorrow i go to get my loose tooth looked at, well it is a loose crown that came loose when I was flossing, now that I have finally learned to floss every day it only figures I guess that i would pull a crown loose. my nose is blocked and next week I get surgery to unblock it. I am on meds for the first time in years. they make my toes ache when I get in the bath, my one real pleasure any more, so that kinda drools. I guess that as we age, a lot of little things creep up on us. I still query the ching, and read the cards once in a while, but I beleive them both less and less. the world is more random than they can possibly convey. I pray to the three way goddess, creation, sustaining,and transforming, but she goes on her merry way giving what she will and taking what she wants. I believe she is a voyeur and lives in all beings, and enjoys vicariously all her creation thru us,but does not intervien much, except when it suits her sense of humor, cause I dont think she has much sense of justice. I have seen too many really fine folks go down to an early grave, and too many scoundrels live almost it seems like for ever. she has an odd sense of humor at best, but what are you gonna do? I dont get into Jesus, and cant stand Yahway. Buddha is ok but he was not into god either so I get along with that, and the Tao is fine when you can get out of the house into the woods a little. I am hoping for more snow,so I can do just that, I want to use my skis more they are so much fun. Evie, I really like your bluewomanunderguitar pic. I like your teacher who passed recently too, her pics in the background are good color and form and brush work, she must have been good for you, cause you have a very strong development of those features in your work, the freedom of your hand is quite enthralling. It is good we have the internet to pass our work around in. I do like it, but then I also tend to get kinda political in ways that the facebook folks dont like and so I see the other kinds of things that go on on the internet as being spooky. so I tend not to put my face or real name or stuff out there too much. I would like too, but I am just not that trusting. for instance I had a facebook page that was just a lot of fun, but when I tried to log on to it from a different computer they started to ask me a lot of questions before they would let me long on. that tells me they are tracking people who use fb by the computer mac address which is the hard address inside your computer. passwords are all that should be needed for entry to ones account, and they dont have any business following people around the world trying to pin down whos friends computer they might be using. so now I dont use fb any more, and I am hoping there will be a new social network place to play at. I kind of thought this blog would be great, because at first it kept my poem formats in order,but after I posted my anti-war pome, "a brief image" it trashed the format and started posting everything as prose. that is too annoying and also just kicked my paranoia into high gear, cause it makes me think it was not just a coincidink. On the other hand I dont seem to be getting any hits on this blog, so maybe I will just drop it. My social life is very small now. Just you two, and my friend Peter, and a few very casual aquaintances around town, really just people in the stores and library and such. the isolation was good when I first came here but it is getting old. I am getting tired of the solitude that has haunted my all my life just because I am an impossible person. doesnt the world recognize its need for impossible people? and where is my sweetie? I hate sleeping alone, as I have had to do 99% of my life. I pray that I will stop being so ugly some day, and land with the real ducks instead of the swans that I have fallen in with so often before. strange prayer for a two crows I suppose, but there you have it, ramblin on way out up here.

A Bedtime Story

The lamp beside my pillow drives the shadows back against the midnight rain's dark persistent tap. While condensation rises on the window glass, I sip hot gensing tea, from a ceramic demi-tass. A little bamboo thicket is dancing in the rain, just outside my window, where I dug its roots in vain, on long hot summer days, with my pickaxe and my pain. This cold winter night, it is growing back again. The book that I was reading, lies open on the floor. This house pops and creaks at night, in the dark beyond my door... Alone, I pull the covers close and tight, and shiver, as I reach up to douse the light.

These Roses

From Nature's bounty, freely grows the small, abundant, wild rose. These true and humble mendicants depend in love on providence. The convent garden also grows, each year cutting back the rose; from gnarled stump and twisted branch, springs love defying circumstance. The gardener from long habit knows, the cutworm feeding on the rose, so none may in this garden dance, but butterflies of providence. The horrors of this world disclose the fragile beauty of the rose; was rosewood used to haft the lance that pierced His earthly circumstance? Within the soil, movement flows, the roundworm loves to feed the rose, for gardener's work, along with chance, depends on timely providence. This convent speedy time may close, and weather wither every rose, consider then, dear penitents, the wild rose's circumstance. Her hips have virtue, wounds to close, infused, her essence rivals cloves, though convent blooms have elegance, their fruit yeilds less of providence. His way passed through this world of woe, in natural life true roses grow. Retirement's rosy eloquence, disguises deadly circumstance. When convents from Dame Nature grow, retreat may help all roses know; nor wild, nor tame, their circumstance, will be secure in providence.

One for the Eremetic Tradition

One comes to the mountains to research the empty mind, turning over very slowly the sound of whales laughing. One spies out the true recluse, not amid the pines and chill, but languishing in university, a scholar sounding in the night. One returns home full of nothing, ceaselessly revels in the internal outside groping with change in the sea; the tide is a weal of destiny.

Walking the Shore

Walking the shore of the bay, sand, mud, looking for a gem, some tangible evidence that the feeling within is reliable. Feeling reliable, released temporarily from the grip of thought, convinced through the sound of lapping water, that truth lies just beyond the reach of the senses. Looking for that special confirmation, finding, rusted almost beyound recognition, half a pair of pliers and three old bolts, along with bits of broken bottles, masqurading as gems on the mud-dusty shore. Then, two pair of discarded panties, awash on the tide; all these, little obscenities of mechanical and synthetic engagements. Shells on the shore, somber clouds, indefinite horizons, my myopic phantasys. A pelican floating rare on the water, I sit, he flies away. Seeking magical confirmation, I am surprised to find that this moment of spiritual perfection only lets me move a little above the dusty potatochip bags, crumpled beside the waters that each Ulysses must traverse anew. Little birds, little snails, little waves.