Monday, November 24, 2008
In the early morning I go out
to walk the dog
in a wooded area near my home,
the light of the day is fresh
the breeze is crisp and cool,
the sky is so big,
and I wonder who could possibly
had made this amazing world,
the thousand trees,
the soft, dewy grass
the passing birds...
I leave a muddy foot printed trail behind me,
I sit with my dog on the quiet knoll,
silence surrounds me in the woods near my home,
silence, Oh Divine Love, surrounds me near my home.
Take my hand that I may help you bring back the holy muse
back into your life,
and at ease she will look
for your lost dreams
and bless your inner fortress
with scents of everloving and firegrass.
There are flowers in your garden you have never seen,
there is an opalescent primrose and a red mango tree,
three thousand petunias riding proud in the eventide wind.
I will light a candle to show her the way,
a pinch of cinnamon and a sliver of amber will do the trick,
We will make wreaths of sage and lavender
to welcome her in.
In the woods,
among the rustling trees,
we will build an altar for her to sit.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Fall is icumen sing cuccu! To paraphrase an ancient Middle English rhyme I read many years ago.... (It was winter instead of fall but that will do for now). An amalgam of thought have been hovering over me these past weeks. They all come like a boisterous thunder, all entangled and ready to awaken me in the middle of my ever present slumber. The election, the gay protests, the exile, the cold weather, loss, wonder, new environments. Change is constant. The Pink Cowboy is not melancholic as suggested by a reader, he is pensive, a little bit inhibriated by the diversity of change...the proverbial kaleidoscope of human existance a true example of this notion. I can hear a sad song followed by a silly children tune...it's not sadness, at least it's not sadness all by itself, it's celebration, dwelling in my humanity. I cannot bear being someone else in order to calm people's anxieties about me. I am a storm. I am somewhat easygoing and entertaining in the outside, but let me tell you: The fire flickers like a madman in my heart. The amazing display of changing colors makes me think about my life. Splendor before death. I see the changing trees that will be barren in a couple of weeks. Oh Nature!, you are a mother to us all. The Pink Cowboy rejoiceth. My poetry has always dwelled in change or rather the observation of change. To rage before the dying of the light like Dylan would have said. Rage becomes the climax of an irreverent coupling between man and sky. Leaves of many colors, friends, lovers, casual acquaintances, fleeting people on a rainy day, God, you and me.
Posted by The Pink Cowboy at Wednesday, November 19, 2008