Dear Readers:
Looking for
something new from the SilkStress? Here's the results of the past five
months or so:
I guess they
can sit here until I make up a new area for them. Meanwhile, please see
Silk's Archive for an index to the rest
of my web-published work.
Remarkably, I have managed
to get quite a bit of work done on the White
Wings site today. Much of it will not show, being in the form of code
clean-up, but all contributors will soon be getting new banner graphics
that use the "embossed wings" design, instead of the boring
and outdated white-on-grey version. Some will even be getting improved
art. I also hope to put a navigation bar on every page, using new button
designs. This will be accomplished as time allows.
Your comments, critiques,
and general chattery are welcome in my mailbox, but please refrain from
sending commercial solicitations. After all, this is the Silk Road, not
a spice trail to line pockets ; )
Peace
out,
Anne
Covert County Mystic Blessing
Leave your love under the overturned canoe.
Conceal your bliss from the evening star.
Breathe no word of paddles dipping into water;
no syllable of spinner baits tinkling on the river.
Let laughing eyes only evidence firelies dancing,
scintillating like stars in swirled cream of gloaming:
no two-step cottonmouth will poison the fractal horizon;
no torpid tree-frogs harangue your perfect passion.
Speak only of broken beer bottles polluting.
Mouth loudly reproaches of front porch politicking.
No evil eye need spy your secret treasure -
rough diamonds in tackle boxes without measure.
Weave a cloak of darkness over your loved ones.
Conceal them in a blind under camouflage.
Cover them with rifle shots at distance.
Protect them with unyielding shields of silence.
Load not the scattershot slugs of your enemies;
let them pay in dear coin for ammunition of envy.
May they overestimate your wretched struggles;
underestimate your cache of precious baubles.
The New
I have drifted down a stream of liquid jade
parting loving oaks and willows
over the sycamores of summer
leaning protectively.
I have gazed into her depths
shafts of sunlight refracting
through verdant crystal
bass and catfish
jumping carelessly.
I have lain in a circle of stones
moss-green and russet clay
hair flowing behind me
bathed in clear mineral water
pale skin bronzing in the same sun
that energizes filigreed algae,
delicate kelp and river-weed.
I have soaked til soft in fresh water
its bed so ancient
it gives birth like the sea.
I have lifted handfuls of sand
without my eyeglasses I can see
rudimentary planaria
crustaceans almost microscopic
tiny nautilus snails
demure little clams
freshwater oysters
mother-of-pearl gleaming green
limestone and crystal
tumbled in the river
releasing silt until small and smooth,
harboring and nurturing life.
I have walked with the New
lapping at my ankles
washing my calves
tugging at my thighs
cascading my hips
tempting my lips
sparkling at my eyes
drawing me down, always down,
downriver, on into the north
drawing me inexorably
into stillness, acknowledgment
of everything of beauty which remains
and is sustained
by awareness, acceptance, benediction.
I have bathed
in the dragon-in-motion
in stillness soaking up her energy
blessing her who is nourishing life.
Flourishing sapphire dragonflies
light upon my knees
blessing my wordless meditation.
I have been borne up
by the dragon at night
dipping my paddles silently
so as not to disturb the faerie dance
twinkling millions along the bank
defining the shapes of trees in the darkness.
I have driven
the hot asphalt world of man
and have noticed
no fireflies festoon the oaks along the highway
where the ill of this illusion
festers and grows
poisoning the fetid air
with rampant, selfish growth
all out balance –
the only true sanity.
I have returned
laden with clean laundry
to my tiny basement home
burdened with an infestation of apartments above
and have smiled
to see a firefly
rising outside my bedroom alone.
OK, Thunder.
OK Thunder,
you can simmer down now.
I hear ya.
You’ll forgive me if I don’t rush outside,
fall witless to my knees and worship yer almighty bravado.
Where were you last weekend when somebody’s gramma died in the heat?
Probably blastin’ some poor shmuck’s computer modem they could barely afford.
Many’s the time I had to wait on you
just to get a breath of fresh air.
Many’s the day the lousy ceiling fan did nuthin’
but sorta move the sweat around a bit.
Many’s the time I couldn’t move a muscle in this inferno
until you deigned to come a-calling,
and I would open my open mouth fer yer miserly raindrops
after long afternoons of yer infernal stallings and hemmings and hawings.
Oh, So All-Fired Grateful.
You’ll forgive me if I just sit right where I am,
in the air conditioning,
picking away at my salad and muenster cheese and braunsweiger.
You see,
I got tired of waiting.
I went out and got me a real job,
so I can pollute with flourocarbons like ever’body else.
So I hope you’ll understand if I don’t come a-runnin’ outside in my bathing suit.
Yer gonna have to.
The Wine Speaks:
I see your hearts of darkness
Like ebon pearls they shine
I see you cold, half-lifeless
Reminding me of mine:
Those days of wasted efforts
Those weeks of tangled twine
Those months awash in culverts
Those years of bitch and whine.
So if you ever come around
The bend and see me there
With strange flourescence in my eyes
And lovers in my hair
And if you ever change your hat
And find you want it fair
A-wandering in your oubliette
What color is the air …
And if you wonder why I’m here
Just how I came to mind
Just step right out your suffer-ring
And come to pour the wine.
For I have walked thru streets of muck
And I have kissed the night
For I have talked of shit and fuck
And I have pissed in flight
What’s more, I’ve bathed in water’s fire
And I have fought the fight
And I have paid for my desire
In waning of the light
Poetic wax has levied tax
And vouchered me with pain
I’ve lain on tacks ‘cuz I was lax
And tried to sidestep strain
By riding derailed trains …
If you don’t know why I was spared
To write these straggling lines
Just step right out your worldly care
And come to taste the wine.
The dragon’s frown had dragged me down
Until I earned the stain
Of skipping town in vestal gown
Composed of threads of flame
The simple truth is read in ruth -
In ashes of survival.
No longer wail my misspent youth
But celebrate arrival
Of middle earth in middle age
Head crowned with threads of silver
That speak of yet another page
That’s writ upon white sheets of rage
By scribes that breathe the breath of sage
Unfettered even in their cage …
So if you’re wondering why I speak
And what I’ve come to find
Upon this windswept mountain peak
Escaped from every bind
Just reach out once and skip your lunch
To come and meet me there
Forget the grunge and take the plunge
With soul and body bare
It’s not too far: around a star
Beyond the empty stair
Behind the dragon’s lair …
Where without rules the happy fools
Dance with the breath of time
Come bathe in pools of living jewels:
The flowing, sparkling wine.
1999 SilkCocoon
Last changes: Thursday, October 28, 1999