Autumn RainRain touches my cheek
(It's the third day of rain this week,
And doesn't make me sad.
It's the best deep drink the land has had
This arid and dry-windy year.
I am heartened for the feeling,
For the cool fresh breeze
And lowered ceiling),
Its drops clattering on the dry oak leaves.
She can finally drop her seeds,
And I, I can finally think.
The others always shrink
Away inside to hide
And miss the forest guides
Showing off their friends.
A hunter's dream,
But I only take their pictures
Time the only victim,
A willing sacrifice.
--copyright J. Shidler, 2012-10-10
3When I look at you
I find life as it is
Not as it should be.
I look through your soul and can finally see
I look for a reason-- you give me sixteen
I look for perfection, you show me a tree
On a ridgeline
On the shoreline
You're the lifeline
In my day
--copyright J. Shidler, 2012-10-06
DiveHave we found the edge of the night sky?
Is that where you would go to die?
I might prefer the ocean depths
With witchlight fish and whale-wreck,
Or caves so deep they're never cold,
Where the walls are lined with crystal and gold.
For I won't need my eyes,
And wealth won't be my drive,
And to the depths are where I'll dive,
Where I never could, alive,
If I could hold myself together.
--copyright J. Shidler, 2012-09-22
Minutes of The Last MeetingLook out at the setting sky.
The forms swoop seaward, skyward, down.
The carcass on the beach is god,
And we didactic pterodactyls,
See how we tear the flesh and fly.
All in time to Nature's rhyme,
Brittle children, a little kind,
Who stands to stop our playground games?
To prevent us firing mortars
Over the gates of love and time?
The wisest of sisterhood and men
Can do no more than stand and scold
The youngsters forming up in lines
So the blind can lead the blind
On the brutal attack, and so we must defend.
But see! We are nourished and rise again,
Our souls replete, no one can fail
And lie there lifeless, for still we stand
Next to one another and offer our hands,
So the young grow wise and the old grow young.
And god is not extinct, nor disappearing daily,
Nor are our swift-winged ancient friends,
Who crowd the trees and sing at morning,
Nor love of bright beauty, and walking in the rain,
Only strict ideas are failing.
There was a meeting in the caves
While you were out
This DayWe are nothing in the wind
And yet I hear your words again
Murmurating through the void
With the billow of a flight of birds
And you hear mine
Sing for me
This day will never be again
Again we find the patterns
Of our hearts' desires
Thoughts which help to make us who we are
Written on the days like golden fire
And we so often let them die away
In unconscious rote
And flitting butterflies
Of our attentions
Which could so easily alight
On the flowers in all dimensions
Such are our choices
Such are our voices
Blown away by fear
But they are what endear
And hold us
In love and journeying
In a space for all our souls
Sing for me
This day will never be again
We use defense as an excuse
Not to feel, to be obtuse
And so effective are our shields
That we are never required to feel
Our inner joys
And so they slip behind the days
Through cracks, in floors of mental pathways
Scratched on little notes
Tucked in pockets in our closets
Of things we'll
A Language without LiesThis is the last place I can go,
The very last place I think I know
Where shards of hate can't follow,
Where all my wounds are sewn.
When I step outside I'm free.
There's no one in my place but me.
Some would like to claim my soul
And some just wait and see.
Watch the wild man walk first.
Which visions will he choose to work?
Slips through the skin of time and trees,
Gathers them from best to worst.
We can choose to test our strengths
Or leave it up to fate.
But the truth will always find us,
And put spin-rapists in their place.
Imagine our stern surprise
When we find that half the world is lies,
We might or might not have wanted to know,
But which carve us like a baby's cries.
Today we walk that razor line
Between confidence tricksters, thieves of time,
And the guardianship of the dawn's first breath,
Where magic interweaves like rhyme.
Life is not a secret sacred verse
From a doctrine, scroll, or something worse.
It's a sensual repast,
And only vaguely a language to do with words.
The Daily ArtistShuffling another week, another ever smaller dollar,
Trying to make it right
Decisions, dealing in the days, one, two, three, four, five
What kind of hand is this? *poker face* "Crap.
Two more cards and maybe we can make something here..."
Two of a kind, and we've lost the bet. Negative net worth.
"Maybe the next hand..."
Trying to KNOW what it's about,
And days carry bills inside, like hidden ticks, embedded
Underneath the arm,
Bills go out and people marry,
Friends divorce, and the obituaries
Come through telephones,
The caskets lowering slowly, slowly, slowly, down,
Trying to bury a set of memories, but they can only steal
The ones that haven't happened yet.
And one day when one least expects it,
An aircraft hanger door begins to slide...
Click, click, click, the ball bearings roll awake,
That gaping hole of habit
In the raw side of the year.
And inside is that old, sleek, gleaming silver plane...
MAGIC, FAITH, SCIENCE and WARWe belong to the universe. It has a vast story that encompasses every living process and every non-living one. They are all part of the strong undying spell, and they are, and we are, all connected through historical and everyday magic. We are bound by polar forces, and yet free to move.
Through science and religion we seek answers and have found much that makes the world bright and beautiful, and yet sciences and religions barely scratch at the surfaces of the depths of our existence in the great weave of all things, and in the depths of time and space, and as we drill and dig and play with molecules and genes, as we release energy without balancing our books, as we sometimes treat each other as criminals rather than friends, as we lay waste without care, as we look at the heavens and sigh at the beauty and wonder of the messengers who have brought us great Words, and then turn and shoot each other for not sharing our realities, we walk out onto
Children of LightInstitutions all around the world
Seek to gather its magics together
And hold them in sanctums
In the heart of town,
Selfish and dear,
And deal them out in tiny measure
As if we were beggars at their door,
And in want
Of a shadow of a mirror
Of a mousehole through which to peek
At their camera obscura,
Projected hazily on the wall,
Completely upside down.
Children of light your fertile minds
Are not the fallow fields
For tame wheat tithes,
And full sheep pens,
And fawning at the feet of other men.
Stand tall, stand still, and stand your ground,
Like the sheltering trees in the world's great lands,
For life and love are there for ALL,
Each in equal measure,
With every other living thing.
That which the universe gives
To those with eyes
To find her magics fully formed
On earth as in the heavens
And interpret them into our mindful souls,
The power fresh from the dawn's sweet dew,
To take on anything she gives
In any given season,
And not to run to hide behind