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Text of the page (random words):
revolving masks a billy goat gruff resting upon a dylan song weighed down by a poet i could never be the devil s trump placed across the brow to signify the long awaited freedom a chant to mutter as the pieces are assembled carefully arrayed for this new ruler of the closet shelf may his heart find its ease may his mind be clear may his feet be unstuck so he can move forward may his hopes flutter from bloom to bloom to sip the sweet nectar and move on move on 2002 melissa songer posted by melissa 7 02 pm 1 comments searching for the ineffable does god have an office somewhere in the galaxy a celestial ontology in the center of a supernova or a black hole to an other dimension or is it closer on a mesa somewhere in the desert or in a saint s heart toiling for the earth s wretched in a wren s trilling song or the rustle of leaves the light in a child s eyes the lust for new flesh manifests in the mundane stones rollicking from steep hillsides a car horn bleating plaintively in the distance the refrigerator s monotone whine the mechanics of the universe the space between my fingers the expanse between the exhalation and intake of my breath in the gap between thoughts resting in synaptic crises between heartbeats divinity in a flourescent light a plastic coaster on a faux wood table the contrived the artifice of our minds abstractions of gargantuan concepts not easily wielded by the less sophisticated god the thingless random and connected spiraling through a single mutant cell the emptiness between things a canvas of nothing from which all energy emerges chaos organizing itself and dissolving back into chaos let the mind rest on what seems empty and unfulfilled and there find absolute real pure potential and that is god 2000 melissa songer posted by melissa 5 45 pm 0 comments friday february 10 2012 raffia dances grasses ruffled in a world where birdsong outplays the sounds of cars paled by distance the cypress trees reflections weaving across the water will cling as i return as the prodigal and leave as another irrevocably altered by these experiences the liberation of my spirit and the aching in these bones parallel the aching heart sobbing beneath my breast as gnats besiege me i am reminded that wherever i go small irritations will surround a culmination of trees progeny cleaving tirelessly until they drop off one by one whatever became of the hope filtered by caution a heart reaching for something it had almost forgotten god in the trees in the waters small motions holy rolling in a bird s soliloquy the emanating symphony of devotion i hear seconds pounding as thoughts in doleful throes diffuse concentrically in mimicry of the grassy ocean i am a chameleon dancing from limb to limb and yes the sky is full of azure dreams today 2000 melissa songer posted by melissa 9 27 pm 0 comments tuesday january 31 2012 life is all super realism pervades all essences it s the image sought for the image s sake tonight it is the forgotten sentiment its ease in growing until the pressure vents an impotent nostalgia builds until the soul flares dangerously unable to shake the hopeless sense of created alienation lost people sigh and the found ones crow no other way to consider it tonight the surreality of ultra joy bordering on hysteria renders all dreams fulfilled thus null death comes and life is all the moment expires more rapidly than we imagine hold joys closer they renew release old tragedies they deplete that woman has heaven in her chest she loves that s enough she s dying and she doesn t give a damn she told me so a thousand times if once i don t want no one s pity she said as she looked into the eyes of compassion we drank until her head nodded get you a beer kid says she i shouldn t have done it but i did then she lay down to rest actually what has been iterated here is merely the culmination of the history of the enigma imago ignota that incomprehensible suggestion second language of the self declared cries of joy beneath crowded midnight skies or is that too hopelessly poetic is the image of a woman crowing too much should her utterance be a sound slightly more than a sigh no squeals of pleasure this is no sensual delight this is the sexless joy of one woman s reality it could be one man s it is as if within the breathless candor of one s life there resides an eternally unanswerable question one considers then reconsiders the muttering replies that rise in the brain like the steady ferment of blackberry wine hidden in cool cellars always working never at ease is it the image we have of ourselves that eludes us or does it delude us self awareness stage fright mystic delight what are you the saints little cherub overawed certainly severely dazzled to the podium find thy soapbox what was it you had to say that marvelous message bursting from your being has it dissipated so quickly with no explosion lost your prime target you say what stepped out of range are you sure you just didn t lose your sights or your nerve crowing you spoke of crowing isn t the image of a woman crowing too much shouldn t her sound be slightly more than a sigh no if it s crowing she wants let her crow but for god s sake no squeals of pleasure so she crows does she jump high jump joyful high sing sing sing loud hosannas high joyful hosannas hallelujah hallelujah dance dance all life is a perpetual pirouette come choristers chant the paean the pantheistic paean all life is sacred so slay the sacred cows one by one line them up in their neat little ideological rows and then kiss them goodbye is the dance of opposites sacred shoot it down the church the synagogue the temple the mosque raze them raze them i m only an echo of the universe what can i say that is new unrealized nothing yet i intend to keep saying whatever i learn say it and say it again no need to let it simmer within until it ferments and makes a pressure that escapes like a blood curdling shriek and what is important after all there is within each of us a tiny rootlet a cutting that wants a fertile base it wants to burrow to send its thirsty fingers in search of cooling liquid relief as far flung as a micron from whatever point of existence its will is to be which is the way which way is that where do you want to go i seek paradise seek not without seek not within but carry with you always the knowledge that you are paradise knowledge is too frail only if you doubt the validity of your senses senses are only individual perceptions born of a collective entity what entity is that the universe uni verse one song a song comprised of many individual notes i am i am i am there is no other in me other than the innate collective love of the universe no denial can endure we are one thou art god 1977 melissa songer posted by melissa 9 15 pm 0 comments monday february 07 2011 lotusland tending my own personal lotusland where i can repose and no one s clamoring for attention and no one cares what i m doing and no one knows if i m crying or laughing or dancing or flying or making my own magic just for me not to save the world change anyone else look at a dead face and regret that i didn t know them better not to look at anyone and say i need to know them better not to listen to the crap and the carping from the tv set whoa just where is it i m headed past the rose gardens and the city halls the schools and the meeting rooms full of politicians who have already made up their minds and my cause ain t on their agenda that s for damn sure you betcha if someone needs me tell them i m busy contemplating my navel 2000 melissa songer posted by melissa 9 39 pm 1 comments sunday may 09 2010 mother she always said you had to push a man and that s why dad was so good from all she expected of him she took credit where credit was due i guess he did so much for her for all of us he didn t seem to mind didn t go off with his friends to drink or carouse he took her fishing instead i remember when he had a good job at a nuclear research lab way out in the country he could fix anything from broken tvs to broken hearts he would tell us funny stories about his time in the marines as a radio operator in the philippines mother was bipolar often she would sit brooding buried in a novel or lying in bed detached from her existence we would all creep around then fearful of the lassitude slumped about the house how many times i earned her ire for being out of earshot too long down in the woods playing or she would be bright and full of songs sewing until dawn so i d have something splendid to wear to church on easter sunday shaping icing flowers for a birthday cake canning or making jam shoveling in the garden tending rows upon rows of vegetables flowers and fruit trees her life was a disheveled garden chaotic and intense covered in morning glories and the stings of pack saddles the moments she loved best were stints by lake or stream casting lines into the depth rapt in her own season she knotted herself to the triumph of the catch dreams she had for her children to be more than she was so she could hold us as trophies too none of us lived up to her expectancies it has taken years to forgive ourselves for that each of us had to learn to stand up to her me more than the rest i could never stay angry with her i had to learn not to love her so much it was a good day when i finally untied the strings of guilt now she sits by the window watching the birds at the feeder and longing to go fishing my father abed in his last gasp patiently hovering waiting for her permission to move on she considers her harvest the sweet fruits of the fruit she sowed forbearing the weeds she didn t pull as she strains to grasp for that which abides just beyond her reach she understands finally the sumptuous garden she grew 2001 2007 melissa songer posted by melissa 8 18 am 1 comments tuesday june 16 2009 the time of splendor 1 from where she stood the shimmering bank appeared a green gold plane laughter s dreamsong hedging the distance in her mind she longed to lay upon rustling grasses sequestered by the reeling torrents her heart ached from within watery movements beckoned the river nymph whispering i will deliver thee hence she shied her doubts and entered the swirling flow grasped the laughing midge s gray green hair surrendering feeling the gentle currents sway into the deep she dove deeper than deep it seemed into another world there she met the keeper of tides his hand an offering of friendship and faith a smile belying the hidden intent beyond him lay shadows twisted by the river flora writhing tongues to snag her in a refractive dance dragged into a deeper place the flux tugging at her feet into a desperate breach abandoned to energies unforseen adrift in the darkest night she d ever known 2 out of the warm ground he dreamed her heard her murmur in the susurrating leaves smelled her in the fragrant jasmine felt her ever changing motions in the river s swirling spume he stretched out to embrace her raiment fell face forward into the shining grass he saw how light pressed gilded kisses upon the blades how they yielded to its weightless touch the green rebounding into his retina beyond density of rooftops and trees he inferred the backs of things and contemplated profiles not seeing or feeling the frozen other the side which did not smile back through the distorted lens a vibrancy tucked away to surprise the finder the premise on which he stood was not crusted and heavy but soft as ploughed earth awaiting his seed etched by rivulets of yearning all richness bloomed before his awe wisdom s plumes rippled in the breeze discontent ripped from his garden and acquiescence planted in the vacant lot it grew into a canopy bestowing grace upon his head finally all things became a metaphor for the love springing from him life s sorrows were love s sorrows life s joys love s joys the fire that burned away night s deepest passions kindled the pendulous hope that swayed his universe as the dream unfolded 3 the two souls circled looking for the center of all things and they never saw each other through the swirling foam reaching toward an unsuspected truth almost touching the other s fingers but never more than a dream drifting upon a cryptic desire years passed through days as she thrashed within her story passing by the bright times and the dim with less than a second s pause the river pulled her until the green grass faded winter s struggles lay ahead and she wept for what was left behind he stood upon the bank and felt something slip away her nearness evaporated leaving a chance not taken rustling in a beggar s wind 2001 melissa songer posted by melissa 9 26 pm 1 comments saturday april 04 2009 blackbird sitting in the pine straw statue still black eyes glaring under the watchful gaze of the bob tailed cat the baby waited its fate to live or die by parents succor or the claw s honed grip the suspense was too much so i scooped it up as it pecked my fingers instinctively and carried the ruffled bird inside to nestle in a shoe box with its sibling similarly gathered earlier in the day fed buttermilk and bread from a dropper until it stopped showing the pink lined spread of its bill when morning came only one was alive and i wondered if the other would soon die it didn t and slowly grew into adolescence taught to feed itself and drink water from a cup given trinkets and a swing to sway but i knew its heart s desire even as it sat upon my shoulder pulling at the shiny dangles hanging from my earlobe i observed its gaze toward the outside world the azure expanse the tall pines its kinsfolk lined on rugged limbs so one day i carried the cage outside and hung it on the frame of the outdoor swing opened the door and waited half of me wanted it to be free the other half wanted it to stay a prisoner of safety and security it hesitated confounded by the smells and sounds and lack of walls then hopped on the threshold raised its wings and flew in ever widening circles around the yard i held my breath and watched as it sprinted from tree to tree until it was gone from view the rest of the day and the next i stared into the dark pines until my neck hurt wondering if it was there regarding me knowing me or if in its joy of ultimate release its former world had been forgotten but i noted as if for the first time how blackbirds perch on the topmost sprig and sing to the sun 2000 melissa songer posted by melissa 7 29 pm 0 comments saturday august 30 2008 emergence the wind that drove me from the cavern stopped blowing a long intermission poised drawing my eyes into regions where light had been filtered by jigsaw effects of the surrounding trees to see inside myself meant halting the apparent gaze meant arguing with the fractionated aspects all gathered in committee to decide who would deliver the final product as if i cared it was all a sham illusion and smoke and focus pocus a multicolored cape swirl beneath the spotlights as the audience gasped in pure amazement all fac...