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Showing posts from October 30, 2011

Play the Wind

Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum…

Bring the fingers out to play, let them rock us all awake!

Oh, music, my Love, play a song for me before I have to go.

Music, my Love, play with the wind, your notes, her fingers moving my ache.

Wake up, my dear. It’s time to have my Love, the sun and water, the wind and rain, your latest creation.

Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum…

© 2011 by mark prime

The Kingdom of Love

The thoughts that tiptoe now are like a ballet as they sway to and fro’ across the dance floor, the ocean of Love calling to us from the edge of our madness, across the threshold bowing in the sudden wind.

Step across the span, enter the kingdom of Love, eternal lifetimes to correct our human mistakes. Stand up and say it with me! Come! Speak of your sorrow, your Love, too!

~

The emerald shone through the glass as if it were its heart living two lifetimes at once. One is now the other is now, spirit and flesh, flesh and spirit, fused into one that holds Love.

It all started out as a question, unseen, but felt from here to infinity. Friends get to know strangers, like brothers hug one another in a warm embrace, life and laughter beneath our feet, our rapid breath.

Life without belief is like hope without Love.

Listen to her dream in her sleep.

“Enough” is the word you never try to say. It’s the hardest lesson to learn.

Belief has become a disease to Love.

© 2011 by mark prime

Visions, Swift with the Dawn

Dip the bowl into the well and draw back her love in buckets. Do not tarry at the waning light, you’ve got little time left to fly straight my brittle girl.

We live together, we die together into our next turn on the wheel. So imagine if you say nothing.

The loudest cry will be mine at not having seen myself before now, having ignored the truth beneath my feet. Who can craft a punishment for that sin and not imagine themselves queen or king?

Do not go. Stay…

~

Seen, now move. Seek the harness and relinquish fears hold on you. Fear is the mind-extinguisher.

None of it…

~

The reckoning is upon us, our gallant feet clanking along as if it’s adrift- No! We are asleep, unfeeling for our destruction!

All that we are, stewards. All we’ve ever been, stewards. Children bow to all she gives without asking for anything in return…

~

Agony is where you are and Heaven’s where you must stay, leaving her would jeopardize eternity by the laws that do not obey…

~

Creation is ripe with fruit and lovi…

Exhale/Inhale Her Creation

Oh that breathes so much better now that we’re not standing on Love’s neck, beauty down.

Pluck! Pluck! Pluck upon your strings seeking her grace and forgiveness. Her heart breaks! Her love screams! Her love quakes! Call, call, call, call, love…

~

The End. Swaying to the music, lifting our spirits where they may.

If you hang on spirit, you sense the urgency in her tongue. Crashing, broken heart, along the way we’ll figure it all out, Love…

~

Creation damns it now. I should have understood from the beginning, I do have a choice to make.

How can it be a choice when your mind’s already overrun with lies?

Waft now cello, let go thy breath, exhale in when death, inhale after death, exhale after death, until they become more than less than nothing. See her cry? Her shores, her streams, her majesty, look at her rivers! Look at her rivers! Look!


© 2011 by mark prime

Rising to Greet Me

Whoa… She’s rising to greet me in her mist covered meadow with her Love made from Love, crafted of laughter mixed with a solemn vow, formed of joy, mixed into worship’s hymn.

One worship, one. My eyes have finally failed me, after all the other animal things within and upon went to ditch, I’ve failed and I’ve crushed the last of the good lives inside of gumdrops as trail left by the wind and the rain. Let me come soon after and traipse a lie on my way back… for tomorrow and tomorrow.

Give a man a home where the piano pounds, and out pours its joy with the air of gravity, where the laughter pours as smooth as the drinks, as smooth as me and you in our dance of Love. It is what you are, it is I. It is we. She’s the long mirror all the way to the back of the soul, nothing hides, nothing chides, if after we recognize ourselves in Love, we rise to her care.

She is injured and we are the invaders who needn’t try to conquer that which we seek…

Let me fly away with you inside the wind an…

Be

If you don’t like where you are, then stride on over to the bartender and ask him kindly to tell you a tale, pour one out like whiskey rolling across the ice, like Love's lungful swimming in your veins, the man behind the bar will bring you round to laughter and to realizing where you are. He’s the man behind the bar -so to speak and speak to sow what to your lips, the genie lays you down to peace. Now go.

Behind the bar, the tap room of affections, she, that holds our sorrows, reaches back our glee and slings it to the stars- Yet still, she sees our love as on its way back, so we can be. Remain. Just be. Last call…


© 2011 by mark prime

Medicine For The Soul, Love's Sister

Boom...

1.

An angel stole my heart.

An angel stole my heart, a petal dropped from the storm, the wind blowing through its warbled tongue then fell upon my spirit. It held me dear like a child, hungry from the waste that I’d made.

Oh! The child spoke of freedom! Did you hear his wind blowing truth like a song meant for all of those in creation’s arms? All things beneath the sparkling canopy, lifting up for us to gaze, for us to love.

All things computed by my mind are of self and not in harmony with life. Living and life mean many different things. Love has but one. It needn’t be defined, it breathes its beauty through everything within, it exhales beneath us, it moans from its aches and loves with each and everything that is her.

She, her laughter, her glee, her life tumbling in joy with our eye on the prize, her love as soft as mist kissing our downturned lives, her arms and lips envelope us in this world without end.

2.

Fear enters with a slow, mysterious dance standing before …

Way Ahead of Me

Maybe it’s way ahead of me, beyond my thoughts of what just might be, beyond the beyond of beyond. Yes! It’s ahead of our time and we’re so far behind by our time.

Time!

Take the red pill for anxiety, ingest the green pill for the polar opposite effect.

Hello, spoke Grandmother, is anyone listening, reading, and thinking on any of this, yet?

Speak!


© 2011 by mark prime

Editing Dreams

I’d take out all the words, thought, written, uttered, divine, all words conjured in man’s mind ...and stay with Creation's original silence.

To get to silence isn't easy, or so we’ve made it. Silence is earned, like trust, by giving up our thoughtless hold on her. Oh! Let go her reins, that she might rise up without the fearful beast of our dreams!

I’d take out all the words, thought, written, uttered, divine, all words conjured in man’s mind ...and stay with Creation's original silence.


© 2011 by mark prime

Bringing Heaven Down to Earth

You've got to bring Heaven down to earth before she reaps what she alone has sewn, life run amok, man incensed at his own folly.

Thinking about the years I’ve spent leading away- how much further do I have to go?

Thinking on the final verse-
Worth screaming?
Worth beginning?
Worth the suffering?
Worth the ending?

Together, not at war with one another?

Peace is an open door, it stands waiting for us to enter with laughter rising in our throats. It then comes full throated and warbling the Mother’s tone. She beckons to us, smiles her air and loves her sun, her loves the strength of Love, a peak that few can climb.

We’d better be ready to give it all up, to relinquish lethal control from our children’s loving. Look on her! She calls your name! Look at her! She pleads for your feet to sense her tapping! Oh! This riddle is too backwards for there to be an answer, at least one that’s worthy of a creation we cannot fathom!

Pray you dance…


© 2011 by mark prime

I Can See Her Moving

I can see her moving. I can see her breathe when the moon lights my way from beginning to never end.

Help me cope with the night music composed of human thoughts. Overflow, stone blown, I can walk all the way to Maxine’s to find their Love.

Maxine’s Tap Room- spirit dancing all night, music lifted by the treble, flung by the bass, enter the cat, fly the parakeet, scurry the mole, emerge the man.

Rich as a thief we’ve filled our emptiness with deceit!

Let’s roll with the tide! Let’s bake and sew and plant the seed that borrows all.

Let’s flow with the current, think of Life as Love, breathe in with Love and exhale your new-found Love. Come one! Come all! She’s dancing long and dancing bit by bit, her feet are tired, worn away with our use, our last refuge painted gold like the sun and black like the deep, purple as the Orchid, white as the swan, head raised in defiance of truth!

The tail comes off the lizard and it grows the same one back, yet, it’s not, its equal and as varied as n…

Time Cello

Starting, the band of color that’s stretched taut without a sin- Why then, skip the best part, that which flings your wits to Heaven only to go on shrieking at what you’ve created at your feet. Alone we cello the depths to find eternal life that’s always been just beneath, always lapping at our toes, under us the whole god-fouled time!

Bow.


© 2011 by mark prime

That Stands Between

My love for you has not finished with its lesson; that rigid thing that stands between Love and greed, between affection and fear.

The mother, Grandmother and Great Grandmother, and her mother and hers that is created from air, from her that is before her and before her and before her and before her, bow, bend upon your knees and kiss her weeping loam.

Hold her near your breast; suckle her wisdom forever that she might feel when her ship’s come home.


© 2011 by mark prime

Dream Come True

If it’s my dream come true, does it really matter how it ends?

If I love my dream come true, does it truly matter how it ends?

If my dream come true is green with life and blue with thee, does it matter how it ends?

Oh! Bring me a glass of water to quench my looming desire! Place your cool fingertips to my forehead, the brow by which I worship at the temple that hears my prayers, that I might love you evermore.



© 2011 by mark prime

The Thread of Love

The thread of Love’s forever blossomed; the thread of fear is most cumbersome at the bottom.

Who will dare to ask that they be absent from this trial? Have you better things to do? Are you so wrapped up in your ideas you’ve no room for truth?

Can we commence our spirits to walk with Love? Come! Let us begin anon. Take the lead that all might follow. Eternity kisses our wits and chides us for being so sightless, only to caress our striding limbs, bidding us to slow our pace, listen, reflect and love.

Dearly to that which is beneath our glance, glance her in your waking dream, glance with her as lover, kiss her like you would your mother, on the cheek just because it feels as right as rain.

Step. Step. Step. Good! Now mommy’s going to let go of your hand… only for a moment or two, but don’t worry, it won’t be like its forever.

It’ll come to you nodding at your bed. It’ll creep into you like the picture of your devil. It’ll bring you sinking just beneath her grip. And in your story, t…

If You Think She's Pretty

There’s derision in the snow that’s set to come, melancholy in the rain. Oh! Won’t you feed your giant and topple him from within? The next begins in twenty years, after this one finds its end. Without belief in eternity where we stand, she can’t, she won’t contain her children gone insane, mad from horror they've made themselves, but it will not be eternal, of that she makes known. Hell, she says, is the last thing that is Love! Creation is Love. The Creator is Love. The Mother is Love. The Grandmother is Love. The Great Grandmother is Love. You too, are Love.

Come! Won’t you dance for such Love? Come! Dance with me, dance as one, that I might find the voice to spirit which speaks of you so well.

Shush. Shush now child. Do not weep for your doing, weep for what you’ve done and weep for what needs be undone beneath the blazing sun...

I will come to you in a day, I will ask you if you think she’s pretty, I’ll ask you if she’s despoiled in any way, this, mere mortal man, I say.

Fro…

Trickle-Down Tyranny

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(Peace Revolution Podcast -|- Trickle-Down Poverty)
Trickle-down tyranny trumps the sweet and natural hum, the wind and howl, the air and breath slain by boom, rattle and thump!

Come and sit beneath the stars and heed the whisper of all, bring your power in numbers to a fresh and vital call.

No more can we linger, no more can we remain, while they hone the sword of tyranny and plunge it through our veins!

No more can we hold our speech, no more can we wait for death to rear its head from waste surging hard beneath!

Come and sit under the stars and talk of things that matter, come camp with your brethren and bravely hold back the clatter.

The landscape, it is shifting, turning red and orange, calling on us to embrace her loving wind and begin to be the change.

If we fail her now, we’ll lower our Love to her crypt to never rise again, she’ll breathe away our memory and once more begin.

Come! Sit beneath the stars and watch the shadows glance, move with the wind as music for a loving sur…

Lightning and Storm

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(Gemstone Lights.Com)

You thank your god? You thank your god for life, why not thank Love? She’ll be here long after we’ve scrounged her reaches of enough life to sustain her and her alone. Our kind, omitted like a faulty wire, starting the fire that sang her praises. The earth would be Love’s life, that she would produce her fruit for our tongues, her water for our mouths that stand agape at her might and that her stars, her children, shall not needlessly die…

Her rage and sorrow pours forth like broken clouds, awakening to the things of legend, sending truth to cleanse the earth; to join the rumble of a thunderous bass, the ricochet of chords and rattle of percussion… The electricity can’t fly fast enough!

Love holds the lightening, we hold the storm.


© 2011 by mark prime

The Angel's Aria

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(Empowered by Angels - Divine Light Within)

The air rises to greet my lips in solitude then blows away as soon as it loved me. On to the next green field, to the next warm “hello” pursed upon a strangers lips, foreign to you, these lips without hatred, without lust, without greed, without thankless emotions that betray her sovereignty. From Love’s ears to a stranger’s lips, let this maddened sea fade away and worship the sea, land, sky, ground, soil, plants and trees- the cello busts a string, but we don’t miss a beat- Love! Love! Love, forests, mountains, the children’s innocence! Their blameless frames we shaped with our fists, our wars and our greed. We scorched a frontier within in an inch of her life, innocence seems to rise, not fall with age. She ascends, her strings vibrating Love for me. Yes? I think I said. What would you have me say to the most beautiful angel, eartH and Love ever dreamed by man. A trilogy that rings an unfamiliar bell, there for all to read:

We come to the …

Chapter One

Image
(Tree Art from Spoken Stories)
Chapter One:

The legend’s tumbling from out of our prideful mouths have become stale and Loveless. The tales are no longer able to stand without quaking, dance without falling or Love without failing.

It’s the grand Love we’ve need of remembering.

Chapter Two:

The legend’s tumbling from out of our prideful mouths have become stale and Loveless. The tales are no longer able to stand without quaking, dance without falling or Love without failing.

It’s the grand Love we’ve need of remembering.

Chapter Three: The…


© 2011 by mark prime

Bring Me Back

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(Art, Eternity 1, from Razzberry Press)
Don’t drop me off at the curb, cut me some slack-jawed slack and bring my mushrooming memory along for the ride. Hold her fast that she might not embrace the tree with her death, but her Love. (Her spirit’s been looking for mine for a very long time.)

Shhh… She dances.

The message is clear: "Sneer at her dance! We are the inheritors of her; it is we whom she owes a great deal! We worship her, do we not? That’s worth something in return! And what of our work? We can use her as we see fit, there’s no deed of sale!"

Tomorrow and tomorrow…

Bring me back to where I’ve always been. I’ll stay this time… Yes. I will. I’ll put up a tent and live for eternity loving you.


© 2011 by mark prime

November One: 11-1-11...

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http://nart.rivendel.nu/reizen/indonesia/Indo_2003/Jateng/Sriwedari/Wayang.htm
November one: The air is tightening in the wind, woven of the rainbow, fluid, purposeful.

I remember...

November one twenty-eleven: woke up with a start, familiar fangs whispering my name, Love ready to emerge in her gown of flowers, her slippers of Love and her crown of thorns, an imperfect perfection.

I remember...

III: But how can this be, a gown of flowers and a crown of thorns? Could it be that imperfection is the most overlooked perfection?

III II: Might we merely be cogs in the machinations of man, assembly lines to the dumping ground of noise; cart loads of loveless human flesh stomping by without so much as a hug, men and women, zombies trudging another along a mirrored fate?

I remember...

November one.

© 2011 by mark prime

Evening After

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(Earth Loving from The Eco-Goddess Temple)
The witch’s brooms were seen gliding the perimeter of heaven. His and hers, a matching pair, equal through and through, enough to pass for siblings carved of the eartH’s flesh, stars for eyes, bark for skin, feet of moons and hands of Love…

Frankenstein trudged the lab as his monster slept. Tick tock goes the clock. Tick tock goes the clock. Tick tock... Wake-up, giant! It’s time to make good on your promise, Love…

Superman and Superwoman gazed upon the living circus and found their souls showing them naked, to her wearing their only skins. Up came Love from within, at that eternal step just beneath their feet, she motions to them, Love...

Man and woman lectured the beast and spilled her drink, one by one, two by two, all the way to truth, of which there’s only one, until they found themselves face to beautiful face, flesh to flesh, bone to bone, hate for hate and Love for Love...

I prayed for her Love. I beseeched the moon to use his influen…

The Light

The wavering light seems to be calling to us with the green breath of Love.
She moves like her mother, her glitter rounding the bend long after she’s passed, her breath tickling my throat that’s hunched in wait as I seek the next meal and offer my hand for the next dance with the shadow spirit come to watch me dig in the gutter for food.

I glimpse her in the child that comes to play from time to time, eyes beaming with curiosity, small hands thrumming the floor of heaven.

The glancing light is best to show who I am, the vivid beams are for who I’ve become.

Choose.

Light my way back to me or light me back to my former beast, either way, I’m on this journey home. When I arrive, I hope to see you there, with your hopeful whispers in my throat, an undying Love still etched inside your smile.

I get a glimpse of the self when I love. It’s nice to see you, too…


© 2011 by mark prime

The Cradle of Creation

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(Image found on Things I Learned Along the Way)
I’m going to end up paying for my tongue, paying for my deceit like a thief shackled to his own treachery, like a marauder stumbling along into the night, forgetting that the lanterns that poke through the mantle draping the cradle of Love were meant for all life too.

My promise of, I will, I pray for her to relinquish me, that I might be alive another night, another day forgone of my dreams without decline.

I’m going to pay for my actions, pay through the throat of my disbelief. I’d eyes enough to see it, senses enough to gauge her rocky flesh as theirs, and mine.

Let us begin to fly…

© 2011 by mark prime

Any Name Here

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(ScenicReflections)
Take your name and put it into the beginning and the end and it will surprisingly fit right in, if your veins can handle all of the broken pieces from the last failure.

Can we find a place within to live without our finding Love?

You stay and play with the children, I’ll go to the end and back thinking you’ll be there to greet me. You stay and tend the fields, I’ve got things I need to get done before any applause meets my deeds! You stay here and clean the water, I’ll be silent... if you’ll but remember I had no choice. You stay and protect my diamond and forgive me for the better part of me not coming until now.

I didn’t know who I was, didn’t know who you were, just two spirits dancing with the other and the other and the other and never breathing as it should be, never loving as was meant to be, always dancing sadly and painfully across the span.

What is holding me back?

Unseen questions part my lips not knowing where I’d been or who I’d seen, the face that …

Veteran Insurgency (Head-Lines 10-31-11)

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After serving her country, female veteran struggles to find a job
The veteran stands straight-eyed, staring forward, scanning the crowd with an awareness of a lengthy battle, bruised skin, busted limbs and broken spirits.

The wounded insurgency extends around the city like a naval blockade, faces ashen, waiting for a Coup de grace.

Dozens of Occupy protesters arrested in Texas, Oregon
The wolf hunts with packs. Yes.
The bird flies with flocks. Yes.
The elk run with herds. Yes.
Activist rebels with love?

Early snowstorm hits US East Coast killing at least six
The first snow came early that year. It sat forlornly upon her lap, upon her confident Love.
The first snow came early this year. It stood with a heavy caution upon our disgrace.

Why Zombies Never Die
Would you?
Yes.
Would you die only to live forever?
Yes.
Would you live only to die forever?
Yes.

If you were a zombie would you never die?
Yes.
If you were a zombie would you die to live forever?
Yes.
If you were a zombie would yo…

More Time Is Needed

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(Just Glass Site)

More time is needed if we are to imagine ourselves precious.
More time is needed if we are to dream of ourselves in Heaven.
More time is needed if we are to dance within her cleansed spirit.
More time is needed if we are to offer her our remaining reverence.

There is no more time to consider a belief built of lifeless straw.
There is no more time to trust in a faith without a loving beholden.
There is no more time to snicker away a laughter that’s self-seeking.
There is no more time to disregard worship being drained of all humanity.

Make time to hoist your Love to its original tallness.
Make time to haul up your waning goodness and joy.
Make time to elevate her riches that your eyes might see.
Make time to lift the spirits that dance to her tender rhythms.

More time is needed…


© 2011 by mark prime

It Is Time

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(Wrinkle2)
It is time to believe in something.

It is time to speak peace instead of the loudness of bombs.

It is time to feed the hungry with our spleens filled with hope.

It is time to bring nourishment to this, our deadened worship.

It is time to laugh while we’ve reason to be overflowing with joy.

It is time to cry while we’re flooded with a self-inflicted sorrow.

It is time…


© 2011 by mark prime