Tarot Tell True

10/21/19


What could he even see in me? 

He asked through the cards.

Cards that he’d never,
Thought of or seen. 

His intent must be channeled then

From wherever elsewhere.

Plucked from the collective’s

Vibrational conscious sonar.

Revealed by the stances, 

Landing as they happen.

The Grace's synchronize 

Surreptitious arrangements.  

Blithe anecdotal questions,

Aid his interrogation. 

As he pursues this connection’s,

Most favorable evolution.

So what would he hope, 

To want the answers to be?

If the stories match up,

This advice is for free.

And he values perspective,

The lay of the spread.

If this routes out pitfall disasters,

In the quantum ephemeral realm.

And of course there could be

Outcomes that'd never, 

Occur to him to think.

Why does it appeal to be told 
The one is insecure?

That his other is hiding his feelings.

Using them like manure.

For sowing his wild-oats.

Foundation for the empire,

He envisions from afar.
That's by unseen hands then built,
And that all unfolds.
Going up. Steadily, 
Manifesting
In fits
And in spurts.

Oh, Impressive Emperor Ace,

He is best left unbound.

In fact freedom is the prescription,

To spread all around.

Then all associations,

Are vetted even as placed.

As only free can we value,

The magic of exchange. 

Each unique idiosyncratic 

Habitual saving grace. 
Of our respective information harangue,
As we each teach each other our mutual minds,
'Til we fall into our graves. 

That's the wisdom of the telling, 
At least the crux of the gist.
As the cards that represent the seeker
And the sought.
Speak of a turbulent bliss.
The hands play off each other
Toned in language of growth.
Describe a cord braided loosely and thornless,
Meaning more compass than rose. 
The Hierophant, who's not a pachyderm 

Although a Cleric of Ganesh.
To the High Priestess enthroned between
The pillars of Eros and Nyx. 
Emperor toes to Justice. 
Venus the Empress card enjoins.
Two Sun Signs in love's truth by her reborn.
And are as Venus' of the two stars;

The Eve and the Morn. 
Promising fruitfulness in a future,
Even between just two boys. 
The Four of Wands, Lover's gateway, 
Of matrimonially joined souls. 
The Strength Card is a shared tag, 
For each their house of the moon. 
Which shows solar axiom opposites 
juxta or super imposed.The Symbol of silver in
The House of honeyed gold.

As the stars keep the planets as wanderers.
Portents of bolder emotional weather.
And his interest's Ace of Spades birth card,
Cognates to the Tarot's card of the Reaper.
Which at first blush seems a doom. 
But in truth it speaks to a bond forged much deeper.
Beyond mortal ordeal in this the ordained 
3D life room of a realm. 
This hellish not heaven 
but still not a hell 
That we live in.

King of Cups is the querent. 
The other we know is an Ace.
Who can stand below or above,
Depending on the rules of the game. 
So much like a wildcard as to be close enough.
Innate Magician energy verses an Innate Sage anointed.
Between the two there's no room or energy that is pointed.
Together a surplus of kundalini serpent coil dance of union. 
Separate there's still something to it that is worth perusing. 
Minds meeting, in astral space dreams; 
And mending the soul wounds presented.
Healing by sharing; of presence, and essence. 
These are just some details to satisfy, 
This poems hastily chosen title, to omit that would be lying. 
This whole final stanza and the one just before,
Were just kind of, tacked on here after. 
Hope the droning didn't bore.
As reading through it he realized he needed 
Back-round to circle.
As he'd abandoned his premise, 
Seemingly far too busy recollecting his ardor. 

A Listing of Thoughts as a List

Poem: A Listing of Thoughts as a List

I lust/love your body.
I admire your drive.
I treasure your stories.
I respect your time.
I desire your future be
Intertwined around mine.
I know that sounds selfish,
If it could threaten your climb.
I promise there’s something
In it for you.
Not just the regular serving of
What my booty can do. 

Tho’
I fear that you’ll judge me for what I’ve
Let others take.
I fear I’ve set the
Impression that in me,
Unfaithfulness is
Innate.
I fear I’m too much of what 
I am, to seem civilized.
I fear the future, 
I dream-glimpse, 
Is one to deride.

I hope that you’re meeting your future as flow.
I hope you’re pulled along the path that your feet yearn to go.
I hope you're a man who's mystery is something you'll soon see solved.
Already tall, dark, and handsome,You don’t need it all to enthrall.

Oh!
I hate that I miss you, 
Your presence I barely know. 
I love how when we lay our hands on each other,
The energy grows.
I am confused by the whole thing, 
In truth I’m confounded.
But I like a good puzzle 
And this one with you seems worth solving.

I trust that this all isn’t just in my head.
I trust that the timing will sort it out in the end.
I trust you to be all you so far do seem.
I trust that the future can turn out as I dream.

That is of course if you’ll join me in trying to see it.

Winsome Wontsome

Today I will not write out an ode.

I will not profess, or vow, or of love groan.

Instead I will just power down, then off, then go.

Shut-down emotion and desire.

Temper impulse to admire.

And just review what this has actually been.

Acknowledge how much of it is just in my head.

As everything else, so that’s no dire statement.

But thank you for your time and detached patience.

I’ve pestered, plagued, and plotted,

To inspire.

Your commitment, or for control, or maybe just, 
Confirmation the universe is no liar.

Perhaps just a proof of a great synchronistic equation.

Resulting in something ultimately tradition adjacent.

Yet still and no matter, through patience practiced as virtue.

My center of self impels me always toward this effacing skewed view.

To throw down my freedom, with the rest of my clothes.

And slave after that which inspires lofty goals.

If it weren’t like strolling in Eden to walk by your side, 

Then I wouldn’t be hung up on ancient out-dated paradigms.

Woe to it all if this life lesson be.

That I must forsake you, and all others, to truly be me. 

But that may be the way, and I can accept that.

As it seems to be your way, we’re joined if I reflect back.

No thought to a future, or guarantee expected.

Just allowance of a nature whose cycles encourage resurrection. 

Oh I’ll pressure this tie, until there’s clear breakage.

Wielding only the truth and such weight as is in it.

If that is enough to split free all the tethers.

Those transient senses of goodwill and affection.

Or the deeper more persistent cord of lust and fulfillment.

Then so be it. 

Indeed

 c’est la vie, c’est la vie.

I think I’m by now indifferent 

to caring 

If you could ever love me. 😘

Wordplay I

Refuge in the deluge

Constructed of dysfunction

Allows what follows

The way to say

Your gag is flagging

Sound has been unbound

Objection of rejection

The mode of that dome

Gloom’s the doom

That sidles idly 

Slanting askance

Just talk the walk of the way

A Poem about a kind of Horse.

Now an Akhele-Teke, 

that’s a rare breed of horse.

Unique to Turkmenistan’s

Arid geo force
Brutal baked desert environ.

Which as an artisan’s chisel

Does carve form from marble.

So generational distillation

Infruits a beguiling
equine marvel.

One that looks just as if
heaven has spent 

a fortune alone on the
Shine of the glitz
That’s to remark
Admirably on the
Beasts’ glossy coating.

These steeds are also
uncommonly hardy.

Highest endurance
of any hoofed body.

They also are speedy,
 hot blooded and quick witted.

But refined,
And nearly catlike in their 

Gracious deportment.

They excel in dressage
Their supple motion an homage,
Horse dancing is indeed 

An event in the Olympics.

And though they are domestic, 

Their temperament is nearly feral.

They bond with discretion

And aren’t that prone to herding. 

And that is the Akhele-Teke
As I would dare to endeavor
To try to described them. 

Political Poem

If others must starve for your largess
I’m afraid I can do little else but detest
The fact of your very existence.
I must wish it expunged from this earth.
That it no longer abort the world's rebirth.

—-a resentment simmers
Sharp and keen,
As a love unborn
That might have been.
Such is the settled detriment
Of my staid and strident sentiment.
In one moment true
The next reversed.
Though to you belongs
A blessed curse.
Or not to you?
That is to say,
At least the consequence
of my regret,
Is not a brunt you’re meant
To get.

I'll remain detached,
Or pretend I was.
Anxious as my pulse’s buzz.
The way I learned to cope
With stakes
That cost enough,
They could break
Potential’s bat.
The aggregate.
Twinkling, flapping;
T-room group of
Buddies fapping.
There’s nothing beyond this
But more of this.
Rinse repeat,
Then clean the sink.
The Wankasaurus is of course
Extinct.
As his fossil brethren.
Bones desiccate.
The mummy shambling past
The brink.
The world undone by stripped mind greed.
Bathed in wash of spilled
Back alley seed.

This poem may not quite hang together.
But neither will future reports
Accurately reflect, 
Extremely patterned weather.
Which is the face of consequence;
When environmental systems collapse.

And all for what? This fever dream?
The cuckoo’s egg of Capitalism.
That turns our children into bombs.
Or drains their lifeblood pursuant to
Meaningless jobs.

I simply cannot stand for the 1%
Atop this heap,
Who charge the broader base for rent.
And keep most souls born,
Trapped below.
The staircase they climb,
False progress,
Built on woe.

I cannot fathom how we all got here.
The slavers held aloft to be revered
By Forbes,
For their gift of fear.
Of penalties,
Of purges
Paying plight of lip-serving
Pernicious urges.
That enforce the circumstances
Of endless labor.
The common coffers
Are offshore drainage...

It’s time to see past that.
It’s time to agree.
That the future they’ve charted
'S'not where we want to be.
So let’s stop the nonsense.
Just keep slowing down.
Until we summon from somewhere
The flow of the Tao.
Need little.
Want less.
Claim your time as your own.
Remunerate with your attention.
Direct your own Ode.

We can't stay so hung up over
Process of exchange.
Or the Dithering will just continue;
Until we can no longer configure,
Ways to respond.
Ways to arrange.
Ways to keep lives being sunk
Into premature graves.

As the Sun goes down,
At the end of the day.
The only real guarantee
For the future they say,
Is one that will seem
Expectedly strange.

For we are where we are
Unguided by our augured future.
One where the very drinking water
Induces a leaden laced stupor.
In tests made by litmus,
We're status: SOCIALLY FAILED
We could still recover although much change
Is entailed.
And for that simple reason, that failing to see...
That only by the expansive application of the imagined
Approached practically.
Can we redress the sad state of our
Whole social system totality. 

A night time wishcantation

Why would I wonder?

What’s it to do with me?

I’ve no notion the particulars, 

Of your malady.

From what little I know.

I’ve stoked a concern.

The ember of which,

I let glowingly burn.

Remote as a twinkle.

Up in the sky night.

Wishing wellness to you,

May restiveness treat you right.