half-awake half-dreaming
this be proclaimation
the story in full glory
shall be told when it is semi-old
and safely tucked away
I will finish the book
that paradise deserves a record of itself

what a lucky thing!
what a beautiful thing!
to have ever known it at all......
o! reverence!

now the volcano is calm again
the lava has cooled
to form a thick basaltic layer
on which i am standing
the cat who walks by himself
stronger, forever changed,
for the permutations of
the source of light
for a while.......one being dies
another is borne up to serve in love
his time is not done
but his purpose is fulfilled
that is, to be and to have been.......
a meeting, a cocoon
the caterpillar is butterfly now
flying away but with memory and tenderness
intact.........I am wishing it safe journey
until we meet again......

now, standing silent and reflecting upon
a half-year (nearly) in another place,
another time a sacred wormhole
and now I will choose direction and walk
through wet wild woods by my wild lone
but always remembering.......
love is eternal, yesss........
but its face does change
malleable all the time
but never dead, never forgotten....

I am animus incarnate and I love it to death.....
it suits me.......
priceless conduit I will wave your flag high
a cat who knew too much, felt too much....
is grown up now, and able to smile again.....

still and always full of love
and always a wisp of a future wish
but in this moment
strangely relieved.......
and ever-grateful to have ever
been to heaven........and back.

animus~, profoundly noticing the difference
between sweet and sour,
and knowing I needed both of them.

Inside the Chalk Circle

balanced, librans got nothin'.......

the main arteries of life
that are your undisguised worth.......
some are real.
some are not.

twin daggers thrown with devastating aim
the one makes a clean slice
and affirms the undying truth.
the other pivots on entry to
expose the festering lie.

and I don't wear anything
I can't
wipe my hands on.

morning at the end of the day...in timeless woods.....

steps.
(steppes?)

oh no, don't count them.
just walk.

slow. with purpose.
a prodigal bull.

winds whip unhinged hair about my face.
changing. changing back again.

the blood of the poet lies gleaming on the stones.
the ink in the well is fresh and warm.
ever-present lightening in my skies
cracks, hisses, dares me to run after it,
questioning even itself.

the secrets of the beehive give way
and I see clearer than known.

welcome me father who blesses the angels

welcome me mother who knows no name

I follow the pollen path........
my name's on the gun
as the wine goes to your head,
let the happiness in

gone to earth.......(in a rusted pinto)
pain and the damage is done,
but earthbound and starblind are eternal

climb the ladder.
kneeling on the road to grace-land.

heaven may stone me, but
throughout, like water under sun-glint,
i still sing the shining of things.

the width of a room

they smile
they dance
they invite in innocence

quantity is categorised
scrutinised
but quality has no measure
and it blinds......

twirl around
that motion an Air Play
of history and learning
trapped in time and circumstance
the legacy of summers

his face is mine
his attitude
but his thoughts
are his alone

moments take on increased value
when they are not constant
you learn to hold them precious
and you haunt yourself
knowing you should have done that
always

what an ugly word "granted" is
it has its place like all words
but it is one he will never hear
from my lips

his ballet transcends as it always did
it speaks a language and a lesson
i sit enraptured in his eyes
waiting, patiently,
willing soothing whispers
to a father's heart,
to learn.....

He will be teacher
I have given him tools
shapes
a hole to see the rainbow through

wherever I am,
the saving grace is
the simple truth

that he looks back at me.

--for Carey, in a moment of season~

the vortex of essence

spin spin spin!
he will soar,
riding the air like
a dulcet autumn breeze.
does it appear to be
out of control?

he knows what he's doing,
trust me.

all the breath in the world
lives in that boy.
the winds of restlessness
caress his searching heart
like the tongue of the mother cat.

you can get very tired.

don't ask him to pose,
you have to catch him verite.
he moves.

a blurred image whirls,
a wisp of blond as bright as eyes
that sparkle blue with life being
truly LIVED.
savoured.

with more zeal than a fledgling,
flockless messiah,
he dares one and all to tell him
why not.

but just when you think he'll never
slow down,
a body at odds with a mind
that outraces it
will curl up in your lap,
resting his trust and fortunes
in blissful safety.

for him, love is to be felt,
less than spoken.

besides, he could wrap its pathos
in the sweetest tongue,
and it STILL would not
outshine...................

all that he says with an impulsive
burst of ALL worlds' most
breath-taking

smile~

---for Wynne, on precocious cliffs of pure wonder.

Forever Oblivion Corners

dip drop swing
it's almost worth
the nausea just
to feel the
aire
on
my
face.

panorama of hope narrow
under every rock is a slug
and i have met it but I do
not seek to spoil the
circumstance
so often occurring that
i know more than it is
known
that
I
know.

a hollowed heart's pervasive autism?
balloon-prick hyperspace of cruel truth?
yes, and not without their own horizons.
can you see well? do your eyes sting?
once i lived on a mountain and the aire was
so thin constantly eye-water'd
and an Actifed diet was all that
quelled the itch.

It is a sweeping view up here,
if you come bring lunch and
a sweater and a letterbox
lens.

i named them precocious cliffs of wonder
for youngest son.
they always are precocious.
squinting through a special blindness,
I do see what goes on down there.
I do see the pattern repeat itself.
I know the plunge I know the drop
and I know that in the face of a
compacted betrayal I feel a strange
compassion devoid of the self.

as for us, anthemised apologised
actualised and artillerised.
we are in stasis.

we are hungry and without air.
we are spinning we are daring
we are harbouring a fervency
we are redefined emergency
we are poised and we are broken
we are poison'd hist'ry soaken.
but we will walk.

hold the line.~

© animus~