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style=\"text-align: justify;\">No. 1 In Deep Born Earth<br><br>Carried in minds that harbored hope and imaged gleanings<br>To caverned, hollowed voids that yielded touch of fingered musings.<br>Deep within<br>The womb of Earth received our thoughts, on stone page wrought<br>Welcomed Child, home again.<br><br>They spoke in coloured images that voiced their souls first pleadings.<br>To Mother Earth they carried faces bowed and dumb.<br>In awe their minds made ritualed journeys into the place beyond the sun.<br><br>In cold locked stone they wrote the first unspoken words that granted thought<br>In time locked heedings.<br>In sacred red, and brown and black and dun.<br>Their inner course of life borne needings<br>In silence spoke with majesty of stark writ keenings<br><br>Beyond the cradled edge of seasoned day they paid homage to a future unseen<br>but full of meanings.<br>Gravid with the promise, locked in mind<br>They stroked the stone cold skin of Earth<br>and wrought a world that spoke their<br>hungry search for thought divine.<br><br>Evoking magic presences that summoned worlds beyond their minds.<br>A reach into the unseen places deep within<br>They painted stone with awe owned hopes<br>Spoke of death and birth and bellied hungers quenched as life continued and consumed<br>The slimmest margined edge of well fed days<br>Stored against the emptied stomachs that compelled the learning of new ways.<br><br>So grace was first evoked.<br>And human travels launched through time<br>To touch us here and lead us back through eons winnowed, filled, and thus sublime.<br><br>No. 2 Untrue Reflections<br><br>In time stroked Tides of restless days<br>Eyes see structures of the mind<br>Their unexistance, unknown, defrays<br>The anguish that lurks in God's design<br><br>Unmade memories that lie<br>Unfounded truths that suck us dry<br>Uncherished children born to die<br>Unlived days that Time denies.<br><br>A vanished dream that never was<br>A rush to find the edge of mind<br>Consumes the fall of sideways trust<br>Ashes made from ancient dust.<br><br>Nihilistic pleadings drain<br>The cherished source of human pain.<br><br>Aching anguish proves we live<br>Even when we've naught to give<br><br>Our pain is pleasure in the void<br>When mind- made spirit is undeployed.<br><br>So grace was first evoked.<br>And human travels launched through time<br>To touch us here and lead us back through eons winnowed, filled, and thus sublime.<br><br>No. 3 Cusp<br><br>Imagined place of reredemption<br>You beckon me with echoed promises of what is lost<br>Beyond the pall of hope and dust<br><br>This place of pause owned cusp<br>A breath long pausing in a journey, womb to tomb<br>Fulcrum of the future, be it paradise or doom.<br><br>A place of summing, crystallized and clear<br>Where silence touches home and removes the source of fear.<br></div><div style=\"text-align: justify;\"><br></div><div style=\"text-align: justify;\">No. 4 Pardon<br><br>Pardon given to amend injustices of fact and law<br>Discretion given, trust imbued<br>Into an office and a man<br><br>Nuance (March 19, 2001)<br><br>Within a pause of nuance where the lights are low and dim<br>I speak the words of inference that glow with thoughts most grim.<br>The cherished hopes of honor removed by what eyes see<br>Remake the shape of covenants, unconsidered by those unfree.<br><br>I managed to remember the source of undone dreams<br>And banished all the feckless acts that bore one destiny<br>Managed magic, cognite facts,<br>Remakes the future through rethought acts<br>Unseen the source of what is real<br>But true are thoughts to time honed steel.<br><br>Thus nuanced changes come through time<br>To banish cultures lost as crimes.<br><br>Oblivion remaindered into time.<br><br>Incised oblivion.<br>Reminded tiny cuts that sutured pain<br>redressing all the forces that rely on unmade gains.<br>Remandered applications that survive the edges: never sane.<br><br>The memory of love<br>Incredible, removed, disturbed, enforced by hands that found communion in the place of tempered sanction, replaced and then removed.<br>Love. Proof against the calumny of thought without reproof.<br>Still aloof.<br>But harboring the savaged need; a barricade of edged proof.<br><br><br>No. 5 A Fine and Cherished Grieving<br><br>When time is spun, through threads both fine and lightly trimmed<br>I blend the thoughts that cling to mind<br>Nowhere sought but owned through course of destiny<br>Removed by shadowed ages; borne in time.<br><br>In sanctuaried places and in neuologic condimented increments<br>Nuanced sureties release the echoing of thought<br>Distilled and tasted with the rites of passage dearly bought<br>In currencies of tears and languishing of years.<br><br>A baby stilled against a breast; milk filled throbbing that loving will attest<br>To still all hope; reminding emptiness is waged in place of scope<br>Surcease of love. Releasing death to wage its war.<br>The marks of Cain cuts cords of all reward.<br><br>Speak removes of heart and mind<br>All one; all lost; all one kind.<br><br><br>No. 6 The Tannin Taste of undone Trust<br><br>Trust ungiven lances pulsing boils ripe with angered grieving<br>The ties are cut.<br>To leave the opened wounds that knot my gut.<br><br>I need to cut off trust<br>Need to leave the monument of hopeful thoughts to gather dust<br>Refine the first and last of human’s first design.<br>For trust to early given is a thing that steals and binds.<br><br>When and where did anguish breed?<br>How did hope commit its folly<br>When did nature disagree<br>To touch the ragged edges seared by something less that truth?<br><br>In place of unkind making that inclines my mind to rue<br>All human touch.<br><br>No. 7 What You Cannot See<br><br>Unseen truths; sightless acts<br>Refine and still the thrust of facts<br>For unseen reverberations make<br>Our futured realm without mistake.<br><br>You cannot hide the truth forever<br>The Truth is Justice’s one sure lever.<br><br>Lies distort, give life to greeds<br>And implement our passions needs<br>Lies will try to remake the world<br>Turning sows ears into pearls.<br><br>But soon or later lies wear out<br>Leaving Truth untouched by doubt<br><br>So eyes see through the falsity<br>And justice wins its amnesty.<br><br>For lusts and fraud and violent acts<br>Abuses borne in shadowed homes<br>Stole the right to even mourn.<br><br>So Ugliness has short reprieve<br><br>The ugliness is there to see<br>The twisted lusts, the vanity.<br><br>The coarse and raddled grasping hands<br>That set in motion Demoned plans<br><br>Will be revealed for all to see<br>Thus making victims whole and free.<br><br><br>No. 8 The Unseen Course of Fate<br><br>The scarcely ventured, just begun<br>The unremitted and unsung.<br><br>(Written for Brent in the Morning)<br><br>Rampant ribbons tear the breeze<br>invisible skin of wind that bleeds<br>Out sounds dismayed, oncoming tides<br>of years and seasons newly died.<br><br>Autumnal fragrances, days grown cold<br>Promise life continues, holds<br>The winter's end long vise in Spring<br>Symbolled life rethought to bring.<br><br>Redeemed, unburdened, grace-borne dreams<br>That speak becomings to all things.<br>In winter-mottled leaves gone grey<br>Thoughts continue, fears allay.<br><br>In Time our thoughts remove all grief<br>Giving each its perfect peace.<br><br>No. 9 Return from Anguish<br><br>Voids of silence,<br>deep unbottomed vastness that denies<br>the breadth and depth of grief.<br>Echoed, airless phantasm where my soul could find no peace.<br><br>This, the place of evilled keep<br>That binds out hope, and life most sweet.<br><br>A place where I lingered in a state more drug than sleep.<br>Now a memory of futile longings, replaced by lightened vows.<br>Juncture found; that then, this now.<br><br>Now,<br>Beginnings wrung from whispered threads of chambered thoughts,<br>I grasped for them when sanity pulsed low and oh so thin.<br>I fed my hope on memories.<br>Rescued degrees of longed for intimacies.<br>Soul-fed touches; glimpsed insight; each of these had bred delight<br>Reminding me that narrowed paths through unfurrowed time<br>Hold potentials most sublime.<br>Deep in challenge; Breeding up my couraged will<br>To walk the path that's never still.<br><br><br>No. 10 Motion, Mind, and Muse<br><br>Incoming tides of ancient thought<br>revealed from motion, mind and muse<br>Create an opulence uncontrived<br>in steel toned truth from us concealed.<br><br>In us the future gestated; borne<br>consuming hours, days and sums<br>Contrives events that onward come<br>to fracture what our fears denied.<br><br>Majestic coming into sight<br>the turgid expectations still<br>Phoenix of the flames reborn<br>unmutes the tongues of couraged drives.<br><br>The median; forgotten shell<br>Astonished bridge that glows with light<br>Spins out dreams of finest gold<br>Illuminating edges of delight.<br><br>Finite Man with finite dreams<br>Conquers what's never really seen.<br><br>No. 11 Clash of Touch<br><br>Unbridled touches that exhume<br>delights consumed by dust and grief<br>Skin resumes its vibrant coils<br>Canceling pain; surceased beliefs.<br><br>Unwinding time that pulses, runs<br>inside the spirit, matrixed minds<br>Laughter ripples, lifts all eyes<br>to sights unseen by light of Sun.<br><br>Unrelenting, journeyed path<br>that teaches each the cut of rules<br>while bowed head signals not defeat<br>but promise of unbound renewal.<br><br>Challenged coming into Sight<br>The inkling of what Mind ignites.<br><br>No. 12 The Touch of Thought<br><br>Mind’s touch.<br>Encompassing a hundred thoughts of cognite lust.<br>Reminded needs<br>Inside the dendrilled compass that subsumes all human greeds<br><br>I touched your memory<br>Sighed in vanished musing and resided in the cusp of choosings.<br><br>Singular vanity<br>I forgot to misremember a more immediate edge of sanity.<br><br>Miracles<br><br>A different view admits the light<br>that culls out structures that can blight<br>The true dimensions of human sight<br>Keeping us from real delight.<br><br>Miracle<br><br>Reseen, revisited and thus known<br>The source of anguish, life and tones<br>That chord and blend the notes and joys<br>That internal truths can redeploy.<br><br>Miracles.<br><br>Light molded dances, owned and touched<br>Nuances of what was not.<br>Soul to soul they are the tongues<br>That give flight to things begun<br><br>Miracles.<br><br>Sighting of a world unseen<br>That Illuminates all that we can mean.<br><br>No. 13 Formulas for Rage<br><br>Explosions of discomfort that illuminate the dark<br>Release the mind to chaos with reproaches, crude and stark.<br><br>I gasp at the dimensions of a world I failed to see<br>And shudder at the images that bind that place to me.<br><br>Electric all the poses that redefine and speak<br>The untold cords of causing that commit me to belief.<br><br>The threads of other making realign what is not real.<br>Impacting understanding and the ground I did not feel.<br><br>So feet will refind landing and my mind with let in thought.<br>As the last of will commanding reboots and then restarts.<br><br><br>No. 14 Graphic Voice<br><br>With the trembled tones of dying that cancel out remorse<br>The pause of tongues done lying chokes the path of wrong discourse.<br><br>Evoking thoughts unmentioned to the touch of living day<br>The tip of their intention stills the hopes that mask dismay.<br><br>Cerebral their invoking of a future lost and gone<br>The pain of losses summing will spill out inside a song.<br><br>Ripped from places unconsidered lit inside the heart of wrong<br>The melody and timbre will still echo light and strong.<br><br>Reminding every listener of worlds now passed away<br>The long cold void breeds clarity as living goes astray.<br><br>Look inward to the surety; the gift that can’t be lost.<br>Live true inside your conscience and never count the cost.<br><br>No. 15 Honor and Old Friends (dedicated to Jack Dean and others unnamed.)<br><br>In the boiled shades of evening then the light is turned down low<br>I revisit with new knowledge all the things I thought were so.<br>The view of human honor is different in that light<br>It reveals the truth worn hollows, picking out what was not right.<br><br>Sharp pangs and integration using facts dear bought with time<br>Emerged exasperation with deceptions most unkind.<br>In that choice comtemplate of honor I recuse the might have beens.<br>And sometimes in that clarity I view dishonored friends.<br><br>I forgive the saddest tragic that I see in close wrought lives.<br>While I reject the wrong and ugly of the actions I despise.<br>Do right when all is hopeless, do right when life is fine<br>Do right to high and low degree; for honor must be kind.<br><br>When the takings and the makings distort, enmesh and bend<br>Other lives with machinations that sheer, abort and rend<br>Reparations are the actions we must take to made amends.<br><br>Admission of the failings is the first step on a path<br>For truth, the light of honor brings justice, first and last.<br>This, forgotten template that I hope you soon will grasp.<br><br>No. 16 The Logic of Empire (With thanks to Robert Heinlein)<br><br>There is logic in the takings that enable them to steal.<br>They use the forms respected to excise the things most real.<br>Through the magic transformation that turns gold to leaden dross<br>Through percentaged incrementals are our hopes thus gone and lost.<br><br>The promises are never meant to do more than generate some cash<br>The fool’s gold of freedom that though lovely cannot last.<br>Campaigns start with trumpets and whimper out too soon<br>You give your donors nothing after promising the moon.<br><br>Opining of the needings and the pleadings and our rights.<br>The fierce machine of takings continues every day its tryst<br>With special projects paying up and down and right and left<br>To stop and intervene, debase, where truth once did its best.<br><br>To the tiny lives of workers, to the highest and the just.<br>The rending and condemning continues on with scouraging lust.<br>Accepting in the forms that their opinions give them weight<br>The holders of the power ‘know best’ beyond debate.<br><br>The mailings keep on coming with their bullets bright and sharp<br>A rhetoric of dunning to ensure the checks will start<br>A rhetoric assembled to resemble what is true.<br>And to part us from our money and from what we thought we knew.<br><br>Oh, the logic of the government writ small, rapacious feeds<br>And in this Ponzied con game will Freedom stop and bleed?<br>Will the unscrupulous and the agile with word and wit win through?<br>Or will we wise up and stop them, the ones we thought we knew?<br><br>The questions still unanswered hang in breath of time<br>And the slow dripping of those answers paint truths that are unkind.<br>The heroes were all human and we need to learn the rule.<br>Hold them to their promises or fire all the fools.<br><br><br>No. 17 The Predator (dedicated to Michael Emerling Cloud)<br><br>The hooded eyes intelligent, assessing and unfed<br>Taste the likelihood of meat to be found, brought down and dressed.<br>But the eyes have human contours and the face is human born<br>Predators walk among us, their identities deeply worn.<br><br>Their goals are sex and power; all forms of human wealth.<br>Their means are fraud and violence and every form of stealth.<br>They smile, use charisma; they milk cajole and bleed.<br>Their goals: enjoy and prosper, make sure they’re first to feed.<br><br>They choose the weak and needy; they use our trust and minds.<br>They speak the rhetoric of honor to carry out their crimes.<br>They insinuate with widows and they take a cripple’s time.<br>They use the rhetoric of honor to pad their bottom line.<br><br>You find them selling cars and you meet them down the block.<br>They smile and drip charisma as they grimace, share and talk.<br>But their eye is on the income and their hand is in your purse<br>They will slander and defame you if it isn’t something worse.<br><br>But real humans have the power to remove the jungle’s maw.<br>The predators of the hour can be reformed through rethought law.<br>Reform the standards for deception; so the weak can see wrongs called.<br>Eliminate exceptions that allow abuse, misuse and fraud.<br><br>The statute is the enemy of freedom and the truth<br>The common law is justice that conforms to honor’s roots.<br>The predators live in darkness; their acts must not being seen<br>For what they do is ugly and the light defines their being.<br><br>I see a world a-borning where truth is not disgrace<br>Where children know that human is the world behind the face<br>Oh, the futured world of human promise, where doing right is safe.<br>A world of commerce and of honor; a place for human grace.<br><br>No. 18 Predatory Power (Dedicated to John Fund)<br>The truth can free your anguish and reform distorted souls<br>He spoke these righteous wordings, citing them as goals.<br>But his own life: don’t examine; and his own goals twist and bend<br>His inconsistencies need detection and his soul must learn to mend.<br><br>He walks the halls of power and he uses all the perks<br>He fondles and employs them; feeding all his quirks.<br>He insinuates in private and in public he travails.<br>Emoting standards and conditions that in his own life don’t prevail.<br><br>Oh, the truth can free your conscience and the truth will still all lies<br>But power used instead of truth is the ugliest disguise.<br>Pretense and the editing of your own life kills your soul.<br>And maintaining double standards, private; public, takes it toll.<br><br>The lives and eyes that trusted; saw a hero and a friend<br>The power that you wield for self was given you to mend.<br>Power misused destroys us, there our trust must die.<br>The truth abused and used for gain is just another lie.<br><br>The Truth can set your vision free: the truth makes justice right.<br>The truth is all and nothing; it is reliance and the Light.<br>The truth is what you take to God to show how you lived your life.<br>The truth is sharp and unrelenting in the void of that long night.<br><br>So remember in that long quiet, when lies curl in on you.<br>One Someone knows the sources and remembers what is true.<br><br>No. 19 Political Infractions (Ode to the SPT)<br><br>“We hold these truths self evident,” is engraved inside our minds<br>“All Men created equal,” speaks the vision there enshrined.<br>So we struggle and we anguish and we stumble towards the goal<br>And you tell me that the SPT will make that future whole?<br><br>Like a hamster hunting nuggets that remain just out of reach<br>We scamper and we tunnel; at our backs there looms defeat.<br>For the SPT is circular, just like the cage we tread<br>We'll donate and we'll donate, until our hopes are dead.<br><br>Oh, the SPT is verity; its wisdom of a kind.<br>The kind from all committees; the stupid and the blind.<br>It’s the sort of introspection that confirms what didn't work.<br>But the fun of its creation was just one employment perk.<br><br>The history of the Party we've glossed over and ignored.<br>What can you learn from history? The donors would be bored.<br>More fun to retread wish-lists; better to reprise.<br>This exciting science fiction in a shiny brand new guise.<br><br>The Strategic Planning Taskforce: a stalwart band of minds<br>Who nodded, wished and discoursed through comments unrefined.<br>That most sung band of heroes who risked life and limb to write.<br>A tome of monumental exhort telling others what is right.<br><br>Recycling is appropriate and politically correct<br>It’s also so much easier to fundraise than elect.<br>For candidates who triumph have expectations and demands<br>And members and our donors might start to understand.<br><br>The SPT is wonderful; its long and printed well<br>It speaks the tongue evasive and it confines our hopes to hell.<br>The SPT is callow; and it sings the song intense.<br>It is everything to no one; so it does make perfect sense.<br><br>To a clutch of unelected; to a flock without a clue.<br>It’s painful and it’s obvious what they thought we never knew.<br>But politics is verity and savants see the light.<br>And freedom has its rhetoric; its illogic that we fight.<br><br>History has a pattern, and a logic, formed in truth and will<br>We live within its covenant; redefining those words still.<br>Thomas Jefferson wrote his wisdom in few words that engage<br>That Soul of revolution would understand the war we wage.<br><br>“…whenever any form of government becomes destructive to those ends,<br>it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it…”<br><br>Revolution is the method; the place is set in time.<br>SPT the pattern? Is this a joke or crime?<br>Are we really stupid? Do we deserve the rule we've seen?<br>If so, the futures futile; if not wipe all slates clean.<br><br>So come to Indiana in the summer of next year.<br>And take the problematic and remake our course most dear.<br>Take the words of Jefferson; apply to local ends.<br>The vision still is Freedom; let Freedom finally win.<br><br>No. 20 - Crimson Blossoms Sheer and Rend<br><br>Crimson Roses rent the sky; bringing down the autumn sun.<br>Fracturing the pillared towers;<br>Sudden death writ red as flowers.<br><br>My mind arrested; could not accept, the changes sudden that deformed<br>The world I knew was shattered there,<br>inside an autumn newly born.<br><br>The scenes surreal, the tears, the shock; the frantic search for those we love.<br>Trembled tones and dust choked eyes.<br>The fall of towers from the sky.<br><br>Deforming shock of memories, rescinding trends of history.<br>From grief surrendered; steel bent scope.<br>Was reborn an edge for hope.<br><br>Our courage spent as offered gift; lives to save mean more than risk.<br>A shroud of dust had cloaked the sky<br>A cloak of courage, death denied.<br><br>A thousand little moments bled, in mind made journey, our griefs unsaid.<br>As human actions moved our minds.<br>Ears heard echoes of the divine.<br><br>Erupting roses burned our eyes, remaking worlds we will not see.<br>Recasting all our best beliefs;<br>replacing them with soul seared grief.<br><br>Transforming death; unbending love; our undeflected will to hope.<br>These the gifts that roses brought<br>revealing need for truer scope.<br><br>No. 21 The Price of Honor<br><br>No insulation numbs the pain erupting in your heart.<br>Not time, not tears not passaged years erases loss so sharp<br><br>The breath comes hard and grevious slow a constant wrenching ache.<br>. For none can mend where no amend is made for honor’s sake.<br><br>Fragile thing of human thought that speaks the tones of trust<br>Human acts mint mind and facts to mold a form so just.<br><br>Honor.<br><br>Forged in conscience, writ most clear, a couraged striving honed on pain<br>Life itself may be the wage charged against its absent stains.<br><br>For clarity in sight and thought are needed to paint courses straight<br>Against the ease of greedy needs honor’s fabric warps and breaks.<br><br>Remember when temptation looms and promises all gifts most dear<br>The loss of honor rends your soul, leaving empty words and fear.<br><br>No. 22 Eloquent Desire<br><br>The skin speaks truths the mind would hide<br>Conversant with the deepest tides<br>That flow and eddy down inside<br>The places where our soul resides.<br><br>Soul deep truths direct our lives<br>Conforming routes, unspoken guides<br>To sequestered hopes that still abide<br>When reason tells us they have died.<br><br>A covenant of striving drives<br>Raptured needing; not quite lies<br>That push the outer edge of time.<br>Into places nearer the divine.<br><br>No. 23. Birthday thanks to Priscilla<br><br>Magic moments tantalize<br>Laughter lingers on our lips<br>Life, the one sure joy we taste<br>Friendship, the best life-long gift.<br><br>No. 24 Birth Formed Linkings<br><br>Wombward on from source of time the flowering of joy bent thought<br>Remembers linkings back through life<br>Mothered moments; joy and strife.<br><br>The will to nurture, hold and love<br>Incites the fierceness of the dove.<br><br>Babies change the text and shift desire<br>Replenishing the inner fires.<br><br>I peer through shrouded, chance born acts<br>That drove us on to sparse becomings<br>Cojoining lives through birth hard facts<br><br>That make the world this morning’s summoned<br><br>Chance born.<br>Joined through pulsing cords of life.<br>Unsevered even by the knife.<br><br>Milk toned memories revere, the unseen wombs that brought me here.<br><br>No. 25 Pulse<br><br>The constant unread singing of the life beneath my dreams<br>Is the metronome of linking summing all still yet to be.<br>I hear its magic strumming as the surety unthought<br>Never questioning becomings that all lives together wrought.<br><br>A lullaby remembered from the darkness of the womb<br>It’s faint and burning embers throb even as death looms.<br>Directing and electing the unthought part of Mind<br>The pulse, unintellected, remains foundational design.<br><br>I snug into the blankets and take comfort from its song<br>With counterpoints selected outside all right and wrong.<br>The castings from the past, elastic compass yet to be<br>Give weight to choice from unheard voice<br>And form to mystery.<br><br>Oh, through censoring of silence, a concert inward plays<br>The conductor and composer balance all that life displays<br>And we all go on unhearing, oblivious that we<br>Are instruments and musicians in a global symphony.<br><br>No. 26 Seeds of Hope<br><br>The commerce of renewal that contends with voids of dark<br>An elegant refuel that supplies all forward sparks<br>Life is struggle and its needing and its summing leaves its mark<br>In autumns fierce abundance is its power writ most stark.<br><br>The seeds of future living; in gestational increase<br>The simple and the complex continue on their breeds<br>Explosions that remember that disasters are the rule<br>Multitudes are winnowed through the classes of Earth’s school.<br><br>Species die unnumbered; their niches filled and gone<br>Time, the Teacher’s lesson plan, marks them down as wrong<br>The cycles within living use both animus and greed<br>What works is right and proper that species strong will breed.<br><br>In the face of human congress; in economies of scale.<br>The fate of one lone person wanes, lost, within the pale.<br>But exceptions reform rules that were forged when Earth was young<br>Human action; mind wrought sanction; is a chord yet to be sung.<br><br>The beginnings we see dimly through the haze of unmade time<br>The course of living speaks to us, misunderstood, divine.<br>The Now a mottled mixture, repeating, arching, waves<br>Beyond control of Nature because Mind has come to play.<br><br>Oh, the autumn speaks eternal and the Human has its goals<br>The spirit is renewal; the seeds of Mind to grow.<br>A harvest prime and sovereign, misunderstood by men.<br>Balancing and knowing, the essence of Amen.<br><br>No. 27 Life Recycled<br><br>By the millstones now circumferenced in the untold times between<br>We remember what is sorted through the patterns of our dreams<br>We condense, reform and conscience all the places born in thought<br>While we rationalize the structures that elsewise would hold doubt.<br><br>Oh, the mind of Man remembers more than is comfortable to know<br>And that intersect of knowledge denies what must be so.<br>So we refract the wings of certainty, devise new fields of truth<br>To comfort what is raw and red, born in acts of youth.<br><br>The laughter doles and dribbles from a place most sparse within<br>While fear and drear redolent, draw life out most gaunt and thin<br>To remind the source of making and the hand of takings truth<br>So that this, the soul’s first waking might by wisdom be imbued.<br><br>I have tarried in the tumbrel; I have gazed with unseeing eyes<br>I have whispered in the echoes of a fortune in disguise<br>But before the very thought of aching need was truly born<br>The condiments of knowing were dry from womb well born.<br><br>So remember in the embers of a place where none may go<br>Are the fractures of the passions that delight and also own<br>Because shadows touch beginnings as they coddle our designs<br>Through unvarnished endings of the place inside our minds.<br><br>No. 28 Human Devising<br><br>With form and structures magic and from constructs of the mind<br>Are built the monuments of ages that hold thought and place divine.<br>Human made of mind-told musings they matrix, weave, concourse, and blend<br>And into place of human action they bring our hope and human ends.<br><br>Our beginning lost in silence and the future, unseen trust<br>The source of our devising binds the two as time adjusts<br>For the echoes of all history is the unremembered source<br>And the fractures caused by violence is just the easiest recourse.<br><br>In the forms within the possible, an unfound choice still waits<br>Rejecting blood and death recusing it remains the truest fate.<br>And as the human mind considers what steps are still untrod<br>The hope of peaceful commerce is still the unseen face of God.<br><br>No. 29 For Jimmy<br><br>Bright memories that turn back time, elected laughter, twists sublime<br>Refracted images abound, reliving moments most profound.<br>As ginger waifed and sunlight tarried, I got to know the prince of Faeries.<br>A truly honest human child, who saw through artifice and guile.<br><br>He spoke in tones of love warmed truth, confiding heart owned magnitudes<br>He lead a tiny cadred troop of puppet folk who spoke his truths.<br>He considered deeply in quiet pause, to test the truth of human laws.<br>He knew the quiet place within, admitted few as Silent friends.<br><br>From childhood his world was made, ensuing tides of time displayed<br>Portraying worlds that could not be, inciting imaged destinies<br>Lighting truths distilled from life, sure and vivid imaged strife.<br>The Prince of worlds we’ll never see, the soul of Jimmy; always free.<br><br>No. 30 Unhallowed Needings<br><br>When repression undermines your thoughts and breeds the unmade age’s course<br>When action, dissolute unmaker, takes the grief that knows its taker<br>When nothing touches skin make speech, and peace is something you can’t reach<br>When hollowed, emptied ungrieved ages, empties out the minds first wages<br><br>The past is flat, divining sage, this unmade hope defines life’s wage.<br>In this scant moment, the unbegun,<br>Remember this, the time unwon.<br>Remember flowers yet to bloom<br>Remember infants in the womb.<br>Remember all things yet to be.<br>Remember then the thought of me.<br><br>Touch and taste the untried truth, unsummoned sanction unbegun.<br>The jasmined scent of love is there<br>Beyond the increment of filtered air.<br><br>In that place of unopened eyes, the source of you can still grow wise. &nbsp;&nbsp;<br></div><div><br></div>","verticalAlignment":"top"},"metaData":{"position":{"left":-454.9999694824219,"top":704.9759826660156},"size":{"width":432,"height":14686}}},{"type":"freeText","id":"id1502214911463","elementProperties":{"tagName":"DIV","behaviours":null,"isLocked":false,"name":"Text 18","baseName":null,"templateID":"templateid1502214895762","templateName":null,"order":30,"customStates":null,"isElementWasEditedInMode":false,"showHoverEffects":true,"skinInformation":{},"isSupportsMobile":false,"isVisibleInMode":true,"isFixed":false,"topZIndex":0,"elementOpacity":1,"staticMargin":{"horizontalMargin":0,"verticalMargin":0},"sizeAndPosition":{"width":430,"height":15022,"left":35,"top":78},"lastResizingSize":{"width":430,"height":15012,"left":35,"top":78},"isVisibleInLastSection":true,"isVisibleInLastDataItem":true,"attributes":null,"metaProps":null,"metaItemType":null,"metaTitle":null,"styleBindingId":null,"styleBindingFields":null,"shadow":{"top":0,"left":0,"spread":0,"blur":0,"color":"black"},"glow":{"spread":0,"blur":0,"color":"black"},"isParallaxBackground":false,"parallaxBackgroundSpeed":0.5,"isParallaxElement":{"isActive":false,"speed":1,"delay":0},"effectsOptions":{"isParallax":false,"oneTimeAnimation":false,"duration":1200,"startDistance":200,"startVisibility":0.8,"distance":300,"measureDistanceType":3,"delay":0,"distanceDelay":0,"runInLoop":false,"flyDirection":2,"direction":"horizontal","movementDistanceHorizontally":200,"movementDistanceVertically":0,"autoStartDistanceSettings":true,"autoDistanceSettings":true},"effects":null,"binding":null,"innerGlow":{"spread":0,"blur":0,"color":"black"},"innerShadow":{"top":0,"left":0,"spread":0,"blur":0,"color":"black"},"display":"fixed","cellItem":null,"cellHorizontalAlignment":"none","basicUserCanEdit":true,"backgroundColor":"transparent","imageUrl":"","imageLayout":"stretchedToFill","imagePosition":{"vertical":"center","horizontal":"center"},"origImage":"","imageOpacity":1,"backgroundOverlay":"transparent","isVisible":true,"verticalLayout":"normal","horizontalLayout":"normal","fillLayout":{"fillHorizontal":false,"fillVertical":false},"margin":{"top":0,"left":0,"bottom":0,"right":0},"borderWidth":{"top":0,"left":0,"bottom":0,"right":0},"roundness":{"topLeft":0,"bottomLeft":0,"topRight":0,"bottomRight":0},"borderColor":{"top":"Black","left":"Black","bottom":"Black","right":"Black"},"borderStyle":{"top":"solid","left":"solid","bottom":"solid","right":"solid"},"padding":{"top":0,"left":0,"bottom":0,"right":0},"rotationAngle":0,"verticalAlign":"center","horizontalAlign":"left","horizontalContentAlign":"center","startSelected":false,"urlAddress":null,"openInNewTab":false,"openInTopWindow":false,"shouldUnderlineChildren":false,"namedTextStyle":null,"fontColor":{"mainColor":2,"opacity":1,"brightness":0},"textShadow":[],"lineHeight":{"pixels":14,"percentages":120,"unit":"percentages"},"letterSpacing":0,"fontSize":14,"font":{"themeFont":"body1"},"contentTextTransform":"none","isBold":false,"isItalic":false,"isUnderline":false,"textStyle":{"bold":false,"underline":false,"italic":false},"textDirection":2,"dataBinding":null,"formattedText":"<div>No. 31 Glorious Desire<br><br>When wrists brush stroking hairs that tremble gold<br>And skin alights with thoughts igniting untold needings<br>I remember you, untasted pleasure, folding into times untold.<br>Long past thwarted achings, and soft spoke pleadings.<br><br>I remember.<br><br>Heated hankerings that still consume chance ignited embers.<br><br>Never lost in time; untouched memories that sustain, remain and still incline.<br>A part and caused intention that repeats what is not crime.<br>But incites delights retold in languid tempers.<br>Insulated memories that still and will remember.<br><br>Consuming heat.<br>Delights that summoned mind and motion; displayed complete devotion<br>Votive flames that spoke emotions<br>That distilled, excised, denied, concealed.<br>The true evoking of my will.<br>Waiting spoken words unthought but not also unrevealed.<br><br>And the needings come unending, as the waves of untold pleadings<br>Course, exhort, remake and tease me, from the place that never pleased me.<br>To remake, retake and seize me.<br><br>All the moments unforsaken, that display, entice and lace me<br>To the unremarked but well told ecstasies.<br><br>That hammer stark contingencies.<br><br>No love but only needings that still stark must own their cedings.<br>Please release, consume and please me.<br>Please me,<br>Please me.<br><br>Please. Me.<br>In simple instance, ease me. &nbsp; &nbsp;</div><div><br></div><div>No. 32 Choice and Freedom<br><br>When breath seems bound by bands of fear<br>Then life condenses, hopes congeal.<br>And in the sudden pause of time<br>You see a choice that clears your mind<br><br>A choice that eases bands of dread<br>Giving leave to tears unshed<br>Promises that hope remains<br>Choice elected makes you sane.<br><br>Perhaps you doubted, questioned, paused<br>Considered vacuums in the law.<br>But heard the howled wolves on coming<br>Giving you scant time for running<br><br>This, the choice, confronted, seized<br>Someplace between nightmare and dream.<br>Perhaps you wanted health and hope.<br>Maybe wealth beyond your scope.<br><br>Maybe you professed your rights<br>While human agents denied you sight<br>Of choices, futures, born in your mind<br>Delusions of the freedom kind.<br><br>Past boundaries of State and law<br>You might have snuck in mindful awe<br>To witness what you never knew<br>Promises of life renewed.<br><br>In chance found whims that turn on fate<br>We see the promise; life rebates<br>We plan and scheme, and hoard our wages<br>That life might lead to higher stages.<br><br>These. The choices freedom lends<br>When couraged premises amend.<br><br></div><div><br></div><div>No. 33 The Snow Plant<br><br>In scarlet trendiled, coiled growth,<br>The snow plant, quiet, needs no hope.<br>It thrusts past earth and into sky<br>To live without the need of ‘why.’<br><br>It’s beauties curl, surreal small plant<br>In white and red its needs are scant.<br>It summons life from soil and air<br>And never knows the least despair.<br><br>Most rare and unexpected sight<br>Evoking laughter and delight.<br><br>No. 34 Journey<br><br>The pads of feet I trod are souls<br>They touch the surface and move on<br>The path they follow, no one knows<br>But walking makes them sure and strong.<br><br>Mostly I ignore their thoughts<br>Discount the prickling, stones and grass<br>Mostly I hear minded doubts<br>That focus first on what came last.<br><br>Embodied echoes of unseen lives<br>Each becoming ages long in rifts and strife.<br>And feet still feel, alive, aware<br>Unrestless servants, always there.<br><br>The souls of feet, the seat of mind<br>Divisions in the core of kind<br>Or unities that also bind.<br><br>No. 35 Unwelcomed Recognition<br><br>Delusions, soft and downy couch<br>The wishes that reject true doubt.<br>Myopic glaze will find chagrin<br>When even blindest hope grows thin.<br><br>This, the frigid blast of sight<br>That turns complacency to fright.<br>Devolution of life’s plan<br>Beginning in the truth of Man.<br><br>Love, hormonal vestal voyage<br>That sinks from sight as life deploys<br>The effervescent, waking sights<br>That render fat and melt in light.<br><br><br>Iridescent beauty that time forsakes<br>Loves a bubble, bound to break<br><br>No. 36 Solitude and Solace<br><br>When parts don’t fit<br>When means come plain<br>When overflows of love bring pain.<br><br>Pain is not the stuff of life<br>The ordinary emollient, found<br>When eyes and lips become unbound<br><br>The smiled absence is joyous sound.<br><br>No. 37 Remembered Cup<br><br>I heard the voices in the rocks;<br>water falling from great height<br>Laughter, chatter, lifted lives<br>The Waterfall still speaks delight.<br><br>Over rounded stones and trees<br>Fallen from the upstream sides<br>I could, if still recall the tones<br>Of children seeing things lost from sight.<br><br>I heard my father, not yet ten<br>Grown fearless in the Cup of Peace<br>Running through the meadowed world<br>That small forever, his to keep<br><br>I heard their certainties grown strong<br>Ventured hopes now lost in years<br>Rushed with gratitude for their joy<br>And grieved for echoes of those years.<br><br>I stood there, watching water fall<br>From heights and places removed and steep<br>Amazed at what our lives can keep<br>Through memories of hard won peace.<br><br>The Cup of Peace that healed their souls<br>Removed the wounds of life undone<br>Warmed their spirits with spirit’s sun<br>Restarted songs still yet unsung.<br><br>I watched the water falling free<br>And saw a world still yet to be.<br><br>No. 38 Amended Destiny<br><br>When breath comes harsh and throat constricts<br>And time removed returns and sticks<br>Within the craw, impeding time<br>This echoed place is God’s design.<br><br>Remembered days intrude to speak<br>The untold tellings that hid from light<br>And touch the unhealed wounds compelling<br>The soul to seek its former dwelling.<br><br>Return forgotten angers, aches<br>Return the sacrifice of life<br>Return the death that formulates<br>The world becoming One divine.<br><br>Amended thoughts stretched long and true<br>Amended memories renewed.<br>Amended grief for all I knew<br>Reborn to thought; minds blending new.<br><br>Amended destinies breed true.<br>Tomorrow made from One I knew.<br><br>No. 39 Course set<br><br>The details tumbled through many minds<br>That taste, construe the best designs<br>Compared and weighed the image clears<br>Through solemn murmurs of years and tears<br><br>A course of poignant, burnished making<br>The cost of which forbids forsaking.<br><br>Caballed yesterdays replayed<br>in lands that never saw them made<br>Unrelenting paths in time<br>That speak of agonies – yours and mine.<br><br>Set course in harmonies that play<br>Within the light writ large and grave<br>Set course that grinds our lives to dust<br>Destroying both gratitude and lust.<br><br>Set courses that defy just ends<br>Set courses that distort and bend<br>Set courses that unmake my lives<br>Reproving choices long denied.<br><br>A course reset through eyes that see<br>The full cost paid to destiny.<br><br>No. 40 The Winter<br><br>The Winter turned from night and cold<br>The pause of change hung in the air<br>Blending flakes of snow with anchored stone<br>The bones of Earth ignore despair.<br><br>The geologic pace of time<br>Reproves the anguish in human minds<br><br>The Winter seasons, kills, amends<br>That Spring might breed its next of kin<br>Allowing Summer to nourish change<br>And Fall to harvest life’s true wage.<br><br>The unrelenting flow of life<br>Both cancels out and speaks our strife.<br><br>The Seasons, times of human telling<br>The harbor of our human dwelling<br>The metronome that marks the year<br>With colors, fragrances and fear<br><br>Still touches us in every cell<br>Alive in ways we cannot see<br>Strategic comings that let us be<br>And grant hope to hold our destiny.<br><br>No. 41 Calls in the Unbottomed Night<br><br>Summoned from uneasy sleep to hear the tones of anguished fear<br>I wake again to Mother’s worries.<br>Familiar place, uncounted flurries.<br><br>Her voice was shaken, and I knew<br>Her pain held needs my words could ease<br>From miles distant love speaks true.<br><br>Now I wander through the house<br>Lighting here, a moment spent<br>To speak my fears for child’s life<br>Into cybered place that holds my pain.<br><br>Motherhood that ranges life<br>Subsumes the gravid and the grief.<br>Mends all tears with hugs encompassed<br>All fears rescinded on magic knees.<br><br>Testing places in our souls<br>Stretching us to forward reach<br>Amending preconceptions born<br>From thoughts untouched by life’s true griefs.<br><br>I sit and wait for time to start, the phone to ring and ease my heart<br>I wait to hear that all is well, I pray into a darkened void<br>To still the bindings sealed forever<br>That nothing ugly can rend or sever.<br>Mothering, the unpaid vocation, allowing for no ungraved cessation.<br><br>A voice through space that wakes my prayers<br>And takes me there to share despair.<br><br>No. 42 Rewrite of Jasmine 6 for today, April 19, 2002<br>To Save Mankind<br><br>We cannot change the leaders, they're lost in dreams of power<br>We cannot change or rearrange our history's sullen hours<br>We cannot use their self same tools without becoming them<br>We cannot do<br>and we cannot<br>retreat without amend.<br><br>The nots are many, often tried, marches, starving, asking why?<br>Begging that the war should end, refusing service, money, men.<br><br>All these means we have employed, to end the tide of unjust wars<br>Now we need another way, to bind the wounds that rend and slay<br>We need to take back all the power<br>Every second, minute, hour.<br><br>We to redeploy our inner power, rethink the course of history<br>Reclaim abandoned destiny.<br><br>We are not owned, but sovereign souls<br>Free to find undreamed of goals.<br>The vagrant might of those who rule<br>Must be challenged, changed, untooled.<br>Each of us has been misused.<br>Each of us, must now rechoose.<br><br>If we say that we cannot<br>If we give in, relinquish what we sought<br>If we excuse because we need<br>Savage others with our greeds<br>Heed our fears and not our dreams<br>Dreams will die unknown, unseen.<br><br><br>If we don't live the largest dreams<br>That misted glimpse of what life means<br>Do not find the place within<br>Where dreams all meet and know they're kin.<br>If we do not, give not, comply<br>Need we ask the reason why<br>Our core, our essence, had to die?<br><br>A world that shimmers, lives and breathes<br>A world united in One Dream<br>One living mind-spun long beginning<br>That, horizoned point that beckons, grinning.<br><br>Tempestuous and untried hearts<br>That doubt your power, please own and start<br>Become the living will sublime<br>And in this way become divine.<br><br>No. 43 First Plan<br><br>I walk into a past forgotten, see with eyes that understand<br>The pain is muted, nightmares slumber.<br>Comprehension clears the Mind’s first plan.<br><br>I learn to trust the faith unmentioned, learn to hear unspoken words<br>Study text in life forsaken<br>Dispassion wakened, owned and true.<br><br>This cusp of ancient making owns me<br>Drew me on through shrouds of time<br>Excised and tutored shells to hold me<br>Taught me lessons most sublime.<br><br>Laughter fills me, promise echoes<br>Gifts forsaken fill with joy.<br>Love the harbor now retaken.<br>Love the tool now employed.<br><br>No. 44 Fear<br><br>I listen to her breath so muted<br>As she slumbers on the couch.<br>Count up minutes as they vanish<br>Weight up both promises and doubt.<br><br>Will time unwind as once was promised?<br>Will harbors open up to keep?<br>Will Mother-arms confine or save her?<br>Will Mother Love relieve her grief?<br><br>I live the fear of Mother waiting<br>I watch and listen, hope and trust<br>I try to know before it happens<br>Try to cherish and be just.<br><br>I listen to your breath intaken.<br>Wonder at her restless dreams.<br>Worry, watch, my sleep forsaken.<br>Know that friends aren’t as they seem.<br><br>A world that eats a child’s heart<br>Does not deserve to see life start.<br><br>(Thoughts on leaving NY and a most fragile child much loved.)<br><br>No. 45 Response.<br><br>All the boxes artificial, all the premises absurd<br>The form of human living is inside the cusp of Word.<br><br>Laughter winnows anguish and redefines the Path<br>As onward we all blunder with reason as our Staff.<br><br>Eyes see and move on blinded to the fragile mist of Truth.<br>While perceptions that are dying struggle with the new born eyes of youth.<br><br>All the colors come up white and black as absolutes disclose.<br>That humanity is chaos, a free-form Spirit no one knows.<br><br>No. 46 Second response<br><br>Yes. I think life into forms sublime,<br>redefine and retrofit<br>with curried thought and winnowed wit.<br><br>I listen to the unspoken words<br>that screech and cackle,<br>trill like birds.<br><br>I choose to live the life intense.<br>To me that makes most perfect sense.<br><br>A stupid heart; a too smart head<br>Can leave the soul most nearly dead.<br><br>While one instructs its bodied mate.<br>To summon rapture and elate.<br><br>The other groans and drags its feet.<br>Life unlived, is sure defeat.<br><br>And still I summon and employ<br>Intensity that can annoy.<br><br>Laughter trickles, falls and speaks.<br>Against the faults that make us weak.<br><br>Do I feel lucky?<br>Yes, I do.<br>The unasked question is - do you?<br><br><br>No. 47 Survival<br><br>Survival<br><br>Source of visions that peels back grief, flash of ecstasy all too brief.<br>Hope unfurled to pristine winds<br>That calls the soul and knits amends.<br>In minutes, moments, flashes seen, the truth of living builds our dreams.<br>Instructs our souls in joy-born musings, that misunderstood can be confusing.<br><br>Raptured moments flush out lies; those truth restatings that gods despise.<br><br>Surviving showed our misspent hours; anoints the soul with redeemed fires.<br>Survival is the only test to which any answer made is Yes.<br><br>No. 48 Unmade Dreams<br><br>In unmentioned carverned musings I reflect on unmade dreams<br>My internal introspection cannot mask the heat made seams<br>That pull and strain the holdings of the vanished source of lust<br>I count untasted pleasures now faded shades of rust.<br><br>The ticking on of hours that bring on horizons holding death<br>Grow louder with the metronome that whispers my distress.<br>And the tones grow loud and raucous and deliver up their lies<br>Because dreams deliver power and only lies will die.<br><br>The human part of hero speaks the fumblings of age<br>While the spirit all internal sees past the end of days.<br><br>So I listen to the monuments constructed by design<br>And know that all our follies will falter and decline.<br><br>The bright hard edge of honor is honed on blades of truth<br>The light of revelation gives us back the core of youth.<br><br>For the disbelief in dying, refuted by our years.<br>Finds renewal outside of boxes, premised out beyond our fears.<br><br>I breathe the ancient callings and I taste forgotten sights.<br>Welcomed homeland calling for a future masked in light.<br><br>No. 49 Volokh Courage? Is that a joke?<br><br>In the tortured convolutions of a brain without a dream<br>Illusions replace honor to deface what courage means.<br><br>No edge of fear confronted; no threat to life won through.<br>The smallness of his spirit is the ego that he grew.<br><br>Pathetic his positioning; mean his view of life.<br>Power is his recourse to smooth his way through strife.<br><br>Power is the weapon that he wields with savage glee.<br>Enjoying all the glitter in a world that grows less free.<br><br>He mangles the intentions of the Founders he opines.<br>While using law as justice he rapes the truth of their designs.<br><br>Courage to consume and take?<br>Courage - threats to end debate?<br><br>No courage is expected when power drives the mind.<br>This, the scripted plot that lies beneath his spoken lines.<br><br>Squeamish on confronting because others may attack<br>He has mastered every nuance and can hastily retract.<br><br>No courage in convictions and no sterner stuff employed<br>He weasels and he waffles when statutes aren’t deployed.<br><br>With the opulence of ego nurtured from his earliest of days<br>He trembles when confronted when the price of truth is paid.<br><br>Little cut-outs hid in paper and the pictures that bare all<br>Refute his sad pretensions with a force that surely galls.<br><br>Privacy the concept that shatters on the First<br>Public figures, public voice, and swelled pretensions burst.<br><br>In ape encrusted disguise and in pretense that belies<br>The smallest little faker that fell for his own lies.<br><br>So speak with muted ego, consider what you do.<br>The amendments you once defended have got the drop on you.<br><br><br>No. 50 Skin and Quiet<br><br>In the muted place of quiet where the light is dim and low<br>My mind inclines to fantasy and hears in tones unowned.<br>In that summoned source of ecstasy, when needs resume their glow<br>I remember passioned glances that remind me I’m alone.<br><br>Your smile lingers, lancing, my need to touch amend<br>Your lies, pierce unsanctioned, the course that marks my end<br>Your hollow truth, abstracting, reminds what living trust can rend.<br>And in the dance of makings, there is neither love nor friend.<br><br>But I remember lips that lingered on my own<br>I warm with fair illusions that tell me you are home<br>I wish the fantasy of magic that speaks the lies unsown<br>To fields of love born holdings driving anguish to the bone.<br><br>Your lips are eloquent with lust<br>Your eyes are lies that broke my trust.<br><br>No. 51 Gold Answered<br><br>The touch of thought remembers elegance and dreams<br>Woven incrementals of the place that pain redeems<br><br>The cost of sad compliance with the emptying of time<br>Draws spirit's own defiance as the count of grains decline.<br><br>Yet our lives are written firmly in the book of God's peruse.<br>Every moment for our usage, every thought our own to choose.<br><br>Never near but never absent; never far from thought removed.<br>The cost of certain gladness contradicts and so reproves.<br><br>No. 52 Time Inhales<br><br>Let time inhale the sweetness of your smile<br>Breathing in the nuanced flavors that beguile.<br>I see your need<br>Escaping untold takings that responding keep me free<br><br>Lips and loneliness discourse and then beguile<br>Every inkling shadow first explains and then evidences denial.<br><br>I feel the touch of fingers as they trace passage on my skin.<br>I hunger for the blendings that would not divide us then.<br><br>I mull on mannered moments when our thoughts touched through our eyes<br>I transcend the sound of pausings that refuse, excuse and sigh.<br>I wander through what will not be, rejoicing to be seen<br>I find the source of waitings, choices making me most free<br><br>In the silences of siftings, in the musings never said<br>Are the echoed hours marking the choices of regrets<br><br>Remember this, most truly, in the moments ticking down<br>Choosings rued most newly were the first your heart once found.<br><br>No. 53 World Peace<br><br>Shock, surreal and unmade dreams,<br>Awoke my mind to silence screams.<br>A shroud of dust removed the light<br>As towers melted out of sight.<br>One year ago our nation bled,<br>and mourned in anguish for the dead.<br>Today we will remember grief,<br>But also cherish hopes for peace.<br>Peace be with us, peace amend<br>Make strangers family and all our friends.<br>Let peace for worlds begin at home,<br>all world peace is local grown.<br><br><br>No. 54 Moonlight<br><br>In the moonlight, silvered magic, that reflected sun-made sheen<br>Are the tones of life honed ecstasy that winnows out our griefs.<br>Misted orb of ancient portents speaks of silent throbbing needs<br>That cut past barriers of anger and breed up laughter and relief.<br><br>A draining out of hurting and a filling up with joy<br>A rare and fragile trusting that is easy to enjoy.<br><br>In the glow of night time velvet pulse the raptures of the skin<br>In the sheeted place of meeting do the chasms nearly thin.<br>In the softest kisses pressing; from the lightest touch of eyes<br>Come the sentiments elected that teach us to be wise.<br><br>From the meetings of our bodies to the meeting of our minds.<br>A distance uncircumfrenced that considers all that binds.<br><br>Remembered and recounted to delight, again, again<br>The sating of our hunger can leave us unfound friends.<br>So consider well the circles that hold convictions and define.<br>For truth, the fiercest warrior, moves through all kinds and lines.<br><br>No. 55 Earth Tones<br><br>One tone<br>Wind carries me into the silence<br>Alone through rushing clouds of mist<br>Alone through eddied weavings of the air<br>Alone through hungers and through needing.<br>I climb the columned wind in search of feeding.<br><br>One truth<br>Gliding, arching, diving, stretch my wings<br>Keep tempo with the pulsing blood inside<br>Keep eyes on movement; hunger always driving.<br>Keep talons sharp; I pleasure in the kill for meat inside me.<br>All hungers one; the living will incising.<br><br>And then:<br>The flight divined from need lifts from the Earth<br>Uncounted tones each add the nuance of their worth.<br>As lines of life revise, devise and blend<br><br>The Earth a single symphony with no end.<br><br>No. 56 Raptures Capture<br><br>When need builds into rapture<br>suffusing every pore<br>When elemental capture<br>forgets what came before.<br><br>When the laughter and the anger die inside the scope of need<br>There the helix-honing nature of the species sates its greeds.<br><br>When the rapture of the moment lingers on into the mind<br>Then the stature of the principles might be another kind.<br><br>For the sating of the senses is a matter of the seed<br>While continuance of discourse fulfills our other needs<br><br>The elegance of thinking writ out in acts of choice<br>Defines the higher values giving mind its finest voice.<br><br>And the meeting of the organs is anything but new.<br>For Mind designs the courtship that speaks its tones most true.<br><br><br>No. 57 Discourse in Contemplation of Nature<br><br>In the cycles of the living, in the tones and truths of breath<br>Do all improve dominion enjoined through many deaths<br><br>For life renews through dying, and all links forward need<br>Consumption of the fruit of life so their’s might onwards breed<br><br>The same through microbe probing, for place in sylvan soil<br>Same for cougar and for condor; the same for man who toils.<br><br>Intelligence our tool, but meat sustains our life<br>The vegetable that we boil may still resent the knife.<br><br>The hopeful pledge continues past struggle eons long<br>Our own seed must continue or be written down as wrong.<br><br>No. 58 First Word<br><br>Smiles fade and blossom;<br>eyes narrow and evade<br>Shoulders hunch and caution<br>follows from the place that mind has made.<br><br>But the suckling lips of child spoke a language all must know<br>The breast then comforted, beguilded in a language all its own.<br><br>The skin of magic feeding with its nipple smelling sweet<br>Was pillow and intention, the place where generations meet.<br><br>Eyes dancing in unspoke meaning for the pause in constant toil<br>Strokes exchanged then brought all meaning to minds rewriting coils<br><br>The rapture and reflection wrote the verse most first designed<br>Lips pursed to suck say Mama and so launch a course divine.<br><br>No. 59 Star Made Sojourns<br><br>Through pine and cedar framing, through dark and layered air<br>I watch the stars parading, eternal mask for human cares.<br>The madness and the mystery meet in tears that wash my face<br>The inside soul of sanctioned silence tastes the whisper of disgrace.<br><br>Disgrace for unright thinking: disgrace for unmade lives<br>Disgrace for shirking duty and disgrace that’s still denied.<br><br>A human world becoming something more from place unseen<br>A human world resisting all the things that human mean.<br><br>I watch the stars abiding in a ceiling without end<br>I wipe my eyes and breathe the evergreen, aromas sweet that mend.<br><br>There is enough to nurture; there is enough for all<br>There is enough in balanced life to find the spirit’s call.<br><br>The unity of Truthing: The raptures of delight<br>The well-honed place of honor is the human core devout.<br><br>That time is coming closer through both loss and grieving days<br>It touches each impartial to which is lost or which is saved.<br><br>The stars walk on in silence, their light a harbored place<br>And I forgive the former friends whose actions are disgrace.<br><br>No. 60 Wolf<br><br>The portents were for killing when the pack began its quest<br>The forest stilled to silence; bellies needed death.<br><br>The hot, red blood would slake them and the ebbing life would mend<br>The need that held would fill them when their teeth began to rend.<br><br>In a trot that heard the flicker of the birds perched high in trees.<br>In the smell and taste of eddies did they follow in their need.<br><br>Not for flesh and eating but for hungers in the mind.<br>The beginning of an eon that consumed the source divine.<br><br>The hunting and the coursing that consumed the truth with lies<br>Remains most ancient of distortion that is yet to be denied.<br><br>To elevate the killing; to make war the truth sublime.<br>Is the source of human folly; original for crime.<br><br>The pack of wolves is nature; the pack of Man denies<br>The form of human culture that reached beyond its lies.<br><br>From the takings and the color and the wealth of stolen lives<br>Is the wolf-born face of savage peering out from human eyes.<br><br>No. 61 Autumnal Taste of Time<br><br>When worlds apart grow closer and touch inside the Mind<br>The promise of the winter, while fierce may seem more kind.<br><br>The sore sure ache of dying gives way to ancient trust.<br>When fertile Earth gives birth to life we see life may be just.<br><br>In the mild days of autumn, that portent the silver snows<br>The unseen worlds are pulsing, closer, near and known.<br><br>We hover in the anteroom that awaits us all<br>We taste the untried fruits of death, and feel the coming pall.<br><br>And in the moments mentioned when we know that we will die<br>We also see the echoed truth that all death can deny.<br><br>Continuance in rapture and spirit held in thrall<br>The first best glimpse will capture the soul that hears its call.<br><br>In the vivid days of autumn when we gather up our bread.<br>The other worlds are waiting to harvest us to death.<br><br><br>No. 62 Memory<br><br>From the silence undetected comes the memory of days<br>That release both joy and wretchedness each in its own way<br><br>For the cooling days of autumn hold the promise of respite<br>While the heat of angry calls bid the soul to endless night<br><br>From unsummoned place of passing, from the echoes never born<br>From the rage of hate and hurting are the images retorn.<br><br>From the long dead years of living from a soul in forward flight<br>Come all degrees of knowledge from the inner place of light.<br><br>Redemption of the promise and completion of the voyage<br>The threads of time are tied off on the edge of endless void.<br><br>So that all might join the rapture and understand the gift<br>So that none might miss the capture and be lost inside the mist.<br><br>So that seven voices rising might find peace and rest sublime<br>And that one united people may live in whole divine.<br><br>From a place of fractured anger and from a silence ages long<br>Come images that heal us, all threads inside one song.<br><br>No. 63 Source<br><br>From the first unfettered tryings to the last age-aching song<br>Does the hope of unwon power come to mark the metered tones<br>As the avenues of silence touch the source of pain<br>Are all the needy whiners told that whimpers have no gain.<br><br>In the still, terse sketch of never are the penultimate of greed<br>And the first come recouraged moment tells us all we know of grief.<br>For the taste of unshed grieving takes us beyond the grasp of time<br>And the echoes of unspent measures; small taste of the divine.<br><br>You walk with me awakened from a sleep stretched eons long<br>And the first best sound of gladness tells us all of right and wrong.<br>In the manner of the ages that stifled all release<br>Are the unpaid tolls of sages first discovered and then released.<br><br>So when your night-thoughts take you to the places never seen<br>Remember that your visions are the only thing redeemed.<br><br>No. 64 To a Hopeful Poet trying to Sell a Book<br><br>I take a moment from a day fraught with toiled needs<br>To read a poem that incants the urge that makes you free<br><br>Free to speak in worded tones<br>Free to live you’re life alone<br>Free to know pangs unrequited<br>Free to leave words unrecited.<br><br>To write the candenced tones of truth<br>To ripple laughter born in thought<br>To fight the battle to be heard<br>With emotions carried in your words<br><br>This, the banner taken up<br>This the life of wind milled devising<br>This the least and most of human paths<br>That echo words that do not last.<br><br>Tomes of poems are writ each year<br>No one reads them, knows or cares<br>Write for pleasings, not for gold<br>Books of poems are never sold.<br></div><div><br></div>","verticalAlignment":"top"},"metaData":{"position":{"left":35,"top":704.9759826660156},"size":{"width":430,"height":15022}}},{"type":"freeText","id":"id1502214942402","elementProperties":{"tagName":"H3","behaviours":null,"isLocked":false,"name":"Text 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style=\"text-align: center;\"><span class=\"theme-text-color-1-3\"><u><a href=\"https://editor.homestead.com/second-violet-series\" data-attached-link=\"{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;Pages&quot;,&quot;url&quot;:&quot;id1502233578754&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;Second Violet Series&quot;}\" class=\"wz-link internal-link\"><strong>Second Violet Series</strong></a></u></span></div><div style=\"text-align: center;\"><span class=\"theme-text-color-1-3\"><u><strong></strong></u></span><span style=\"font-size:14px;\"><span class=\"theme-text-color-2-0\">Sixty-Four to One Hundred &amp; Twenty-Seven</span></span><br></div>","verticalAlignment":"top"},"metaData":{"position":{"left":-171.99517822265625,"top":15852.98129272461},"size":{"width":350,"height":43}}}]}],"offset":{"left":230.9976043701172,"top":63.990386962890625}}],"connections":{"targetConnections":{},"sourceConnections":{}},"customStatesProperties":{"id1502214536115":{"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"width":0,"height":1068,"top":0,"left":0}}}}},"id1502214580679":{"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"height":23,"left":0,"width":0,"top":0}}}}},"id1502214536116":{"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"height":465,"left":0,"width":0,"top":0}}}},"rowsItems":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"1751288446206":{"id":1751288446206},"1751288446208":{"id":1751288446208}}}}}},"id1502214731040":{"order":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":1}}},"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"width":338,"height":233,"left":-405,"top":48}}}},"display":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"block"}}},"cellItem":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"id":1751288446207,"width":100,"rowId":1751288446206}}}},"isVisible":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"verticalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"horizontalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"fillLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"fillHorizontal":false,"fillVertical":false}}}},"margin":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"top":0,"left":0,"bottom":0,"right":0}}}}},"id1502214802724":{"order":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":2}}},"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"width":340,"height":328,"left":-53,"top":55}}}},"display":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"block"}}},"cellItem":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"id":1751288446209,"width":100,"rowId":1751288446208}}}},"isVisible":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"verticalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"horizontalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"fillLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"fillVertical":false,"fillHorizontal":false}}}},"margin":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"top":0,"left":0,"bottom":0,"right":0}}}}},"id1502214679054":{"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"height":15205,"left":0,"width":0,"top":0}}}},"rowsItems":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"1751288446211":{"id":1751288446211},"1751288446213":{"id":1751288446213},"1751288446215":{"id":1751288446215}}}}}},"id1502214895761":{"order":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":2}}},"isElementWasEditedInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"isVisibleInMode":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"sizeAndPosition":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"width":432,"height":14680,"left":-455,"top":78}}}},"display":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"block"}}},"cellItem":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"id":1751288446214,"width":100,"rowId":1751288446213}}}},"isVisible":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":true}}},"verticalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"horizontalLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":"normal"}}},"fillLayout":{"MobileResponsiveStateId1234":{"coordinator":{"stateValue":{"fillHorizontal":false,"fillVertical":false}}}},"marg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