Posts

Showing posts from May 22, 2011

The Homeless Saint

Image
(Portrait from Lazarus Speaks)
All of the cities are ablaze with celebration. The ragged and homeless Saint Labre nods as I, the inflexible spectator, look sideways to avoid his tattered gaze of expectation.

The streets of the world still come alive at sundown, laugh and laugh and circle round and round without a care or vital thought piercing the ragged spirit. The tables are set, no time for regret. The lawns are cut, no time for rain. The streets are full, no time for silence. The children are dead, no time for pain.

Parents of this racket wail their consent with their indifference to murderous war. I've the blood of children on my hands and must put an end to murder evermore or the ground will certainly swallow me up and the sky will collapse upon the reception. Prospering from murder, greed and deception will relinquish my solemn vow with creation.

I declare to you that these things I do not know. I’m not supposed to know. I’m meant to believe. If I knew, faith would cease to…

To My Lovely Love...

Image
(Love is the Best Way via Concentric Clothing)
Many lifetimes ago you and I held hands.
I let go first that I might come around again.
Creation’s been waiting a long time for Love;
Hope now holding for hope, lips pursed upon joy,
Each affection kissing creation’s lovely neck,
Loving smiles upon your waiting self.
Let me enter your kingdom, your arms of Love,
Every lifetime, not just the one we know…

I am humbled by your grace, your undying smile

Leaving me breathless with an undeserved joy.
Of destiny, of Love, of joy, with an exactness
Vibrating noiselessly without end or question,
Even as you yearned for my return to Love.

You proved yourself a healer with your remedy
Of acceptance permeating without deliberation
Until I journeyed back to you, howling of belief.

© 2011 by mark prime

Mortal Kings

Image
Egyptian Pyramids Found With NASA Satellite As many as 17 pyramids, more than 1,000 tombs and 3,000 settlements were uncovered using infrared technology. Archaeologists have uncovered as many as 17 buried pyramids in Egypt with the help of NASA satellite imagery, according to a documentary to be aired by the BBC on Monday.

The sand is old. The crypts number one thousand. The imagery is new. Scores of pyramid and settlement covered by shameless flood or time’s scratching wind. They reappeared the same way they vanished, devotion.

Technology’s come a long way, but what of me? Have I grown, or shrank of my plan like a coward? From beneath the ascending stone I have risen, yet not high enough for dreaming of time without end. Clocks tick like time bombs above the granite vaults that are used to conceal such shame, my love’s dullness. Nature will lay to rest all the eyesores built upon the (H)eartH with the same swiftness as my flight from peace. Nature will find me begging on my human knee…

The Big Top

Image
Jared Loughner found mentally unfit for trial (Image - The Ringling Circus Fire) A federal judge ruled Wednesday that the suspect in the Tucson shooting rampage that wounded U.S. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords is mentally incompetent to stand trial, putting the criminal case against him on hold indefinitely.


Who am I? Why have I come to this? I’m many. I’m few. I’m me. I’m you. Take my hand and I’ll give you a tour through the circus I've built of a sour wish.

Surrounded by barbed wire, see all the politicians, notice how they’re howling their own perception, snorting and sniffing themselves like foul beasts buying up, drying up and slaughtering Heaven? To the left and the right of this hellish carnage are a twin pack of jackals whom imagine diversity where there is none, scratching and sniveling their cheerless way to the grinning gallows. There is no lion tamer. The cats are declawed and docile, tails drooping like broken flowers, stems no longer able, breath pinched from the we…

Peace is my Prayer

Image
(Sparks.com)
Peace is my prayer. Peace is my worship. Peace.
Peace is my flower. Peace is my stone. Peace.
Peace is my child. Peace is my master. Peace.
Peace is my mother. Peace is my drone. Peace.

War is my priest. War is my beast. War.
War is my corpse. War is my grave. War.
War is my skin. War is my grin. War.
War is my tyrant. War is my knave. War.

O! Disparity’s the noose around peace,
the guillotine’s blade falls upon me!
Must I lie to myself of my sworn duties,
hoodwink my eyes into their blindness?

My tears soak up indifference with truth.
My lips point down in a disfigured grimace.
My love feels my wrist for a living rhythm.
I’m the battlefront inside/outside my head.

War is my scar. War is my wound. War.
War is my tornado. War is my flame. War.
War is my shadow. War is my blight. War.
War is my weakness. War is my shame. War.

Peace is the air. Peace is the wave. Peace.
Peace is the wind. Peace is the stream. Peace.
Peace is the puppy. Peace is the sand. Peace.
Peace is the …

The Tempest's Collection (Head-Lines)

Image
(Discovery News)
Swath of New Tornadoes Strikes Central U.S.
Afterward, the geese trilled their song for me. Curving eastward, the pointed flight rode the squall, a trance of sorts, a column of meditation lifting my thoughts skyward, my escape moving just ahead of my baffled wits. I could sink or swim, do or die, remain powerless, or begin to fly...

Comet Chunk Slams Into Earth’s Atmosphere
The rumble seems commonplace now. Eerie and shrill, with impending misfortune imprinted on unfilled temples, buckshot discharging nature’s objection into the tapering air, above my prayer, exploding like confetti formed of sorrow.

Search to Resume for 4 People Missing After Flashflood in NW Arkansas
Is anybody out there? The dark and wind hide me from view, me from me, from love, from you. Is there anyone out there? Death comes too soon!

(The water told me I need remember her influence, understand that her breath laughs within my animal, twists up inside me like a party balloon.)

Holes Feared in Two Ja…

The Grandmother

Image
All of this waiting that stands between, swimming against belligerence, is the living spirit of that which came before. Before the birthday, the holiday, the week, when my kind knew the earth held secrets; valleys wielded something greater than consumption. The Great Grandmother takes my hand and walks me to me. She wrestles my ego, rage and hate and sightlessness from my stale grip and lifts my eyes to grasp where I am.

I know nothing. Nothing of who I thought I was. Nothing of who I imagined I had become. But the waiting, the hesitation for no real cause, bares nothing fruitful, nothing green or living. Love’s missing from the skies. It's shriveled up, blooming no more its admiration, its goodness. All of this waiting like a mannequin in a storefront window, eyes wide hopeless, missing the call for tranquility, now ushers in a most hurried and depraved war as substitute. Peace cannot be defeated by the bloodiest of wars and only instructs to see that I haven’t the will to finis…

A Dead Living

Image
(Photo from CBS News) Missouri tornado deadliest in decades Deadliest tornado season in 50 years - but why? Frantic search in Joplin as more storms loom
Dead was the rain. Dead was the wind. Dead.
Dead was the forest. Dead was the stream. Dead.
Dead was the soil. Dead was the mountain. Dead.
Dead was the hound. Dead was the dream. Dead.

Living I'd not have grown to want. Living.
Living  I'd not have grown to greed. Living.
Living  I'd not have grown to steal. Living.
I'd not have grown to murder, rape and war. Living.

Oh! This rage is too much! Not hers… mine! The sickle twists its frown down to face me. Must I extend my hands only to touch a lifeless screen? Must I line my path only in barbs of glass?

My melancholy eyes drain indifference inside tears. My cheerless, screened in face glimmers without hope. My dead heart is in all of my charity and cannot weep enough, they’re the tornado standing ankle high to my lovelessness.

Dead was the bloom. Dead was the child. Dead.

The Nature of It...

Image
(89 dead after tornado in Joplin, Missouri; number expected to rise) The tornado that touched down in Missouri last night struck a town that I’m quite familiar with… Joplin. I live just forty-five minutes south and have several friends and relatives that live there.
With that in mind, I began to write...


The storm screeched its merriment over my eyes as the hail beat on its drum and the lightening flashed its grin northward. The wind exited center stage with its opus incomplete. Wait. Wait. Wait.

Her aria commenced again upstage, her lungs unfastening their violent breath down upon strangers, people known to me by their proximity to bereavement, by their plea for help, rising with a collective voice! Nature called down her trumpet, my kind, their neglect. Peering inward, hunger infects the air and soil as rage compresses flesh, weaves bone into dust and points skyward and calls it murder; sacrificial blood.

It’s the eartH’s prayer that brings me to mourn, not some divine plan, save fo…

Cry-O-Volcanoes

Image
(CNN World)
Volcano eruption forces closure of Iceland airspace

Oh! Cry your magma! Eject your lava, I’ve better things to come than your shattered escape. Your sky of soil can’t sway the vow locked inside of me; the bend of my tectonic pate, a brow of coiled wishes oozing forth, whispering of a serenity and crimson Love. Congregating with humanity, diverging from what’s old, newly honoring the earth, escaping the scabs of battle, my plumes of affection erupt across rifts of doubt, spoke I.
Howl allegiance with the mountain and the tree, sing the universe with praise and burst forth your care, divide them among my brethren of blood and affection that waits on a merry Love.

Remember the eruption when it flees my torrid mouth. Hold off any deceit that gushes like magma from you, instead, join with the surface calling out for kindness, spoke the coiled prayer.
These tall rifts speaking in a natural dialogue cry their speech in a familiar tongue of unspoken language stirring the truth of m…

Behind the Silent Door

Image
(Explorers Percussion) It comes into me with the wind. The door, having closed after me, stands now as my entrance to escape with me nestled safely behind it.

Behind my door I sense angers loss, unhappy chains rattling like a Kai-chilampu, fists pounding out their truth upon the skin like a drum with taut flesh for cover. I know I'm ready. I know I'm all set, waiting on the procession to finish throbbing. Her arms reach for the door with questions, I remind her that I’m here, my vault of tears. She stands with me in her great silence like a statue, her eyes filled with old spirits, hands reaching down to touch the path she knows I cannot walk alone.

Her answer spoke in the gust of air. The question no longer seemed relevant. We took the other’s hand with great care, her silence moved through me like worship. Her spirit comes into me with the breeze. The door handle begins to shudder, beckoning me through the unknowable veil where the lessons of love echo their flesh.


© 2011 by …