Something Etched Upon Your Soul

you came here
for a purpose

something etched upon
your soul continues
to speak to you

the same notes
that sung
Moses awake
through a
burning
bush

the same
voice that
Ashoka gave
his life to
the guarding
of

Christ bore
a Cross to
amplify it

a King
stood on a
"mountain
top" to
sing it
awake in
his children

sit quietly
each day

and
find yourself
on its map

The Taxonomy of Sound

the licking and lapping of a pomegranate --
a crimson yearning for the condensation
of the morning dew

a dog barking in the distance
is a yet to be unearthed miracle

mitigated against silence,

the creaking of millions
of houses, still making
their decision to settle
in one spot

or the beatific coronation
of endless car horns against
a beleaguered but
welcoming
sky

undulating ocean tides
lap and lament the births and deaths
of a billion sea creatures --
saline musicians
conducting their underwater symphonies
that push against continents
and the occasional
floating landmass

it's the sound grasses make,
rubbing up against their cronies --
the scratch beats of countless
slender green drums

or the startling absence of sound
as a moon careens, hovers,
then scatters across a
bewildered sky...

tonight,
one lucky soul
will have discovered sound,
as if for the first
time

and that will have been enough.

The Mud Flats

Once upon a time...

We lived in mud flats --
shallow organisms
ringing that bell
inhabiting the land
white water liquid crystal displays
pledging our loyalty
by photosynthesizing
a planet

time passed...

sunset madness,
then the moon songs --
campfire meadow cries
echoing across canyons
meandering through valleys
sheltering the young and old
from the Great illusion

Ganymede makes love to jupiter
and grass warms the feet of trees

while in the stillness
the wise ones steal heaven
and share it with the strangers
still living inside
of you and me

Union

Dear Lord,

Give me a poem --

A poem that will shatter my mind

and rip open the ebony doors of my heart


may my chest explode from your heavenly light

ablaze in rainbow feathers


I wish to be like Belize,

with its winged ones

that circle the canopy of jungle

to alight next to the soft cool

chatterings of waterfalls


humming the tune

a forest sings to newborns.


Sometimes, like a poem

I can't help but bleed into the God around me

No memory of being separate


circling like sages

in the dawn mist

dancing to the Ocean

begging to be drawn back in again

awash in the foam and the crackling rocks


to ebb and retreat...

ebb and retreat...


spending eternity


brushing up against

my own skin

The Squaring Knife

my shadow's wake
plum and full with longing

and the silent moving meadows below indicate
my altitude has grown even more pronounced

the sea of consciousness
has feathered me

my fears have morphed into
confections of sweet honey laughter

patience,
like a squaring knife
has aligned me, perpendicular
to that strange and lustrous
Light

that now peers out from behind everything.

My New Book of Poetry Is Now Available

Greetings all,

My new book of poetry is now available.

Here's the website:
http://www.luminaia.com/poetry

Peace,

Michael

Understand Yourself as Liquid

understand yourself as liquid

although the other forms of matter will do

it's a stable breeze that suspends us here
high above the cliffs

caught up in the thermals

we withhold our judgments
to be lifted higher

what we think of the world
changes it

why not stop thinking entirely

and allow the world to be
exactly what it is

beyond our limited projections

understand yourself as liquid

lie down at the feet of rocks
and small children

allow divine gravity to mold
you into a shape not unlike
Moses or Niagara

understand yourself as liquid
and yield to everything
that wishes to make you
part of it

and it
part of you.

At Home In the Silence

It's as simple as this...

dawn is your wake-up call

the stars are the lamp beside your bed

shake your bones regularly against the earth

to ensure the life still flows through them

properly


you should melt more --

water yourself a tree or an ocean

or a parched stranger


maybe you'll become a saint

or be a bastion of sweet laughter

for a frowning world


and no words in any combination

can match a well-timed smile.


Learn to be silent

and traverse that inner cave

spelunking across the great granite

crevasses of your soul


because not even a Senegal,

with its drum troops

and thunderous rattlings of

griots with koras


can equal the goliath reverberation

of the one that makes their home

in the silence.

The Ability to Explode

I drip like seeds
onto your fertile soil
splashing in patterns
of refined thought

Laughter will catch
up with you, my friend

Seriousness,
like a cancer
has rendered you
inert

while the
ability
to explode
is what you're
really after

Combust!
Let creation
throw pieces of
you everywhere
so that no one
can tell where
you end

and God
begins.

Planets and Poems

still,
on this earth -

lover's moon
gazing down
whispering her reassurances
in beams of light and
arcing and ebbing ocean tides

you stand inside me,
the millisecond before
"let there be..."
intoned a world into motion

a sky before a sky

the God before God

towns that blaze eternal
from inner light
beg to call you their home

like some palm branch
making love to a passing breeze.

it's you,
ya know

it's ALL you.

my sweet,

there's a game we can't
seem to stop playing

that always
leaves us

knee-deep

in planets

and poems.

Stay Close to the River

Look!

I built a shrine to you. Right here.

Right

here.

At the end of all your brave and brilliant quests for something better,

I'll still be right here.

Right

here.

Although you've forgotten. You've forgotten to lean close when you weep,

when you weep from your lilted loneliness.

Touch our hand to your cheek and feel the river that has run through a million billion wondrous earth bodies -- this majestic membrane that masks our starlit eternal glory.

Such is the game of remembering.

If you somehow lose the link to this poem, don't worry. There's a billion more where this came from.

Just look around you.



Stay close, Dear One.


Stay close to the river.

The Art of Opening a Door

The final approach is most important

the seconds before skin meets brass

timing is everything

and that twist must be subtle yet firm

sometimes feeling a slight tug and then that satisfying snap! of the little lock undoing itself for your entry

now the big question, does it open in or out?

not to repeat any of those embarrassing moments
exiting gas stations or walking into restaurants

those painful nose-against-glass
soft shoulder against stubborn wood fiascos
that echo through your mind like
cannon fire many painfully self-reflective
minutes after.

and now, mindful to remove your hand at just the
right moment to encourage the proper velocity
of hinged wood sailing away from door jam home plate.

if done properly,
you should have the benefit of inertia in your favor
slightly propelling you forward.

Now it's just a matter of strolling...

A topic covered in-depth in previous chapters.

Speechless, Among the Flowers

Speechless,
among the flowers
until I too
unfold into
Pure
Light

Playing Catch Up

Monks,

with their one hand clapping

and gong-like silence


witty as hail storms

on Spring mornings


sit,

open minded


like

a Gershwin

or a Ganges


flowing into

uncharted territory


waiting for the

rest of us


to catch up.

Stardom

Maybe we'll find it:

that one choice

that one
UMMMMPH
of a choice

that clear
White-to-Black

"I will go THIS WAY!"

And the invisible
crowd roars

and some beautiful
woman or man
hands you
the award

Forgotten friends
and neighbors
appearing
out of
nowhere

"Ya know,
I always thought they would make it...
Just somethin' about them."


The yearning
for stardom

is the memory
of the stardust
we came from

a faint
remembering
of being a light
that could be seen
all the way
across the
cosmos

But look at us now!

Strange bodied creatures

Sticky and awkward

so specific

with a name

and strong political views

wandering a planet

searching for something...

soft and tender
diffused light

that can now be held

by another's
yielding
skin

and then peace said

"My most precious child
the war is over...
the war is over."

Dedication

With a tongue
wet with kindness

and a heart blessed
with eternal sunshine

I speak these words to you

withstanding all
life has to offer.

I billow in wineskins of reverie
remembering that white light
cadence we all sprang from

before we were flood into orbit

before we became a nationed Earth.

I tell you this,

I will chalice myself
upon the parched dried
lips of the Christ
inside of you

and feed myself to you
in words and sweet songs

until your Urkraine
and Denmark

and Great acres of Kansas
all resonate in unison

with the words

I AM LOVED.

OK, Try This...

It all began like clear glass -
a reflection without
anything yet to reflect

the meandering meadows
were the first to arrive.
blazing flowers -
marigolds and whisps of lavender

white snow-flecked petals
gave way to what we now
refer to as "morning"

It was Tuesday,
to get specific -
although the term "Tuesday"
wasn't yet coined

then I appeared

Well...
not so much "appeared"
as realized I was standing there

ahhh yes,
taking in that first sweet morning -
the sun "just so" in the sky

and a thought of oceans

yes! "oceans!"

then a huge tale overtook the foam, breaching

a "whale"

although he referred to himself as "Ned"
back in those days.

There was just one of him, you understand

in fact, the concept of more than one of
any animal wasn't something that
occurred to me until much later

still, I can't say much
for the world back then...

no ferris wheels or shopping malls

no complicated plot structures or
wicker furniture

no multi-attachment bagless
water-based vacuum cleaners
invented by some guy
with a thick indiscernible
Eastern European accent

Nope,
not even the concept of "eastern" existed yet

We're talking "way back"

Still though, the essence was there -

and a determined desire to manifest something
out of nothing.

And Love...

Yes! Love was there.

She's pretty much the one that got it all rolling

In fact, there's this little kind of "trick" I know...

Ya see,
Love always leaves a little "calling card"
to ensure her presence was noted -

although, most tend to overlook the obvious

OK,
all that is needed is a little quieting down --
becoming still - where ever you find yourself...
just focusing on that space in between thoughts -
in between you and everything else

that place where "I" becomes "other"

the place where "I" stops being "I"
and just is

yes, I think you've got it!

Now, just stay right there...

forever.

Yearning for Something Wet

thrice I came to you
bearing gifts of
precious oil and
good tidings:

sweet air and dusty feet

the mountains are
prisms of grass
turning pure
white light water
into rainbow
wine

lining the bottom
of every laughing
gurgling stream

what were once
sun-tormented rocks
yearning
for something
wet

Swimming Lesson

She stood
just outside
of view

like a memory

or a scent

a thin
wafting
presence

all of the
available
light
curled
up by
her
side

in the Dance,
it becomes
clear
that

love

LOVE

isn't just
a game

it's a
circumstance

an atmosphere

and Greek Gods
and the fairest
of maidens got
it all
wrong

it's tangential

like an equation

an ocean one
must learn
to swim
in

great flocks
of children
kind of Love

cloud exploding
vibrant shafts
of light
kind of Love

no more of this
drowning business

there!

that island!

go!


She hovered,
just outside
of view

like a memory

or a scent

a sweet
uncut jewel

refracting
light

the way
stillness
holds the
sound

and I
went up

and took
her hand.

I Don't Like the Look of that Mole

You've come down with a rather unique ailment.
Your mind is obsessed, night and day, with cataloging all those things that might be wrong with you.

"SARS? yep, I probably caught that off the drinking fountain the other day"

"Foot and Mouth Disease? It could be making a come back!"

"I don't like the look of that mole."

However, behind the eye that reads this there is a much more serious condition afoot,

an insanity more prevalent than any mass contagion

You see, you've mistakenly identified yourself with the name on your Driver's License.

You somehow believe you are separate from that which spins planets and hatches new galaxies just before the morning tea.

You've already won the lottery and yet you still live like a pauper.

My friend,

If you can become the sweetest tear you've ever cried, I'll have no choice but to make a few phone calls on your behalf.

With any luck, we'll have you jumping up and down like some crazed game show contestant by sundown.

A Mouth To Feed

Trained to search
siphon the world
empty handed,
I look within

Shy

In the shallows
I become afraid

all the small talk

I'm not sure
what to say

a strange and
majestic sea
creature

longing for
the deep

I Travel Light, She Says...

she lives in a magazine, full time

just adjacent to the impulse buys at the front counter


she watches the vagueries and well-defined lines of human life pass before her eyes

safely tucked behind bent metal wire


beyond a name -- just a smile -- making the most of her two dimensions.


a baby's wandering oceanic eyes --

then a careful old woman

visibly loosening her grip,

nestling a bit closer up against the Great mystery


water drips from somewhere in the storeroom -- but you can only hear that at night when everyone's gone home.


a neon light buzzes blue --- remembering when its molecules were a cicada or antelope fur -- or the creaking bark of a blue spruce, making room for the thin lines of water determined to work their way back up into the heavens

clouds are born

and the asphalt becomes wet -- emitting a curious odor.


She greets the morning crew

as the slight morning breeze filters through the automatic doors


and points her in a slightly new direction

this time facing the chewing gum display


"I travel light" she says...

The Old Man

I abide
like still
water

gazing
into you

an
empty
old man
filled with
Eternity

Come sit with me.

Grow!

OK, here's what's on my mind.

I was up all night with the incessant
thought that the wildebeest
(as a collective, mind you)
are really holding out on us.

There's something they’re not letting on,
and it's really getting to me now.

I see them on the National Geographic Channel...

Ya Sure! They look simple enough - huddled
around in their little "herds", shaking off flies,
pretending to be some insignificant tributary off
evolution's headwaters.

But what's really going on?

I'll tell ya, plain and simple... Snickering.

And the tigers? Ya, they're in on it too!

I hate to break it to you folks,
but we're the only ones that
don't get it.

We're too busy using cell phones,
collecting beanie babies, and
inventing shoes that morph
into roller skates.

How often do you even take
the time to notice that blazing
god of a sun that bursts through
your window every morning,
pulsing its light codes to
10 zillion plants,
saying GROW BABY!
GROW!

Nope,
we're far too busy erecting
concrete gardens that
hermetically seal us off
into a world where
LOVE must have
two arms
and two legs
attached to it.

When the real love,
The BIG Love, is off
building thousands
of corpuscles in your left
elbow and navigating
famished hedgehogs to
their next meal.

We’ve accomplished
quite a feat -
to shoehorn something so vast
into a holiday that equates
chocolates and roses
with that which furnishes
entire planets with
Life.

So it's time for a field trip, kids.
Back to the African plains!

Best bring a notebook and
something to drink.

We could be a while.

Perspective

I stood there
in the lobby
eyes bloodshot

worn out

cinematic
screams,
blood,
betrayal

deceit
bitterness
cruelty

death

is it over?
am I safe?

now,
outside -
the sweet
cool
air

and a tree
comforting
parked cars

somewhere,
a laughing beach
no one ever colored
with time,
makes birds
and blue
skies

now,
outside -
the soul
comforts
the body

the way
mothers do

the way
fathers do

with a story
or a warm
blanket

now,
outside -

the vast vast

vast

Ocean

Anvils and Archangels

Courage
and a soft wind
and white buffalo

Miracles
invade my life
like marauders

stealing my
anvils and chains -

replace them
with butterfly wings
and winged Archangels

The place where soul
meets flesh is a
tricky place -

a shaman's open hand
to a rising sun

warmth,
the only
true sign
of contact

The Moment I Gave Up Trying

It was a Sunday,
I think

There were just too many
loose ends chanting me
down, accosting me
like beggars

encircling me

I felt like a clown
in one of those
Fellini movies -

out of place

a somewhat
surreal presence
in my own life

There I sat,
head in hand

as if looking
out over a
precipice

"That's it!
I Give Up!"

A funny five
words, don't
you think?

Not much on
their own

Like the gesture
a demolitionist
uses to cue
the explosives

The bottom
floors were
first to go...

the daily
to-do's,
impending
emergencies,
the way my hair
looked

then, the
bigger things -

like
loyalty,
sense of place,
purpose, direction,
security

sense of self

Yep, that's the one...

"sense of self"

everything got
real quiet after that.

then,

the distant
flapping of wings

Sliding Into Home

There's a stone
in my pocket

and a storm
on my lips

great field voices
of cane and wheat

songs from the
Southern people
inside me

equinox and
solstice folk
deep inside
the Earth

Deep inside
my bones

growling for
that summer wind

an air to
ride the
back of

sliding into home.

Wizened

careful breeze

wrinkled pelt

moonlit vagabond

lucky tree

Another Reminder

The next time you pick up your car keys
or turn off a light switch
you'll remember this poem.

How do I know?

Because many years ago,
when you were still very young
you caught a glimpse of this moment
staring at a computer screen
reading these words.

One of the many reminders you set up for yourself,
like so many bread crumbs marking the path home

And the reminder is this:

If you've forgotten to look with awe and wonder at
the world around you

If you've forgotten that you are eternally innocent,
no matter how long the list of bad things
you think you've done
is,

Then bookmark this poem and come back tomorrow
and I'll remind you again.

In the mean time,
try to have some fun.

You're taking things WAY too seriously.