Perpetual Revolutions Shimmer

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
a worthy operation works
upon each of three hundred
and sixty-six midnights
soar through dark's blackest reaches
fathom the staircased bowel's depths
of the Great Pyramid
seek out the calm eye
of turbulent Jupiter's hurricane
which no hazy mist obscures

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
the magical rite performed
screams its birth on the final solstice
when a cold wind gusts
through the northern winter tide
and judgment bells bellow
the highest neap captures
greed and lust in ebb's onset
and the dreams of the meek
etch future's glyphs on the blank wall

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
time circumscribes impregnation
gestation a mere
fifty-one spins more
until the door to Aquarius
creaks open gaping-eyed hearts
witnessing the Great Wheel
perpetual revolutions shimmer
a constant seed
an eternal garden

Your Reign of Love

The sun beats down, boiling the landscape
into a thick stew of fertile potential, while sandy
pathways wind through mesquite bushes as
saguaros and chollas scrape at the hiker's bare
legs. He dares to trudge along a ridge separating
a sere, summer, waterless gully from the lush
hillside vegetation marking off islands, pockets
of rich habitats where hares and quail scurry,
carefree. But in the gully's dry streambed, lizards flit,
here and there, slurping up insects, ants and flies
while rattlesnakes curl and shake, poised to strike
at any warm-blooded creature passing nearby.

Overhead a lonely Red-tailed hawk eagle-eyes
a ground squirrel and rapidly dives, claws clutching,
talons piercing, squeezing the life out of its prey.
The rays of the sun sap the hiker's lifeforce,
sweating it right out of his pores as he seeks
a middle ground between predatory strategies
of elitist succubae and the quicksand foundation
of the gully's waterless, streambed floor. The hiker
hears echoes of formative suppositions taught
by society's professors of conventional wisdom
in the cries of the hawk carried on the hot, dry
winds over the gully, "Predation is the natural
order of the world." But the hiker dreams
of a spineless cactus, harmless and medicinal,
spiritual and psychoactive, to calm the savage
inclinations of capitalist, territorial barking dogs
expressing their infantile demand, "Mine!" All
they want is to eat everything in sight alive!
Fear induces all living beings into stonelike
catatonia. The searing heat stains the hiker's
skin blood red, cooking his flesh, unseasoned,
for some coyote pack's dinner, sans place setting.

The hiker reaches the summit and looks down,
all around him. Only the hot blue sky blankets
him. The hiker takes off his boots and dons
a pair of mid-calf-high moccasins. He lights
a pipe which exudes a perfumy, peyote scent.
The hiker dons the head of an eagle, and claws
at the sky with sharp, white talons. Then, he spins
in circles, arms extended outward, weaving
about like an eagle on the air, soaring, chanting.
"Oh Father Sky, Brother Sun, Mother Earth and
Sister Moon, I weave the dance of rain before
your eyes, I claw at your skin that you might rain
your watery blood, the liquid of sustenance
on the world before me, and rein in the strife
of brother against brother, allow us all to revel
in the sweet nectar of Your Reign of Love."

Her Drummer's Native Chant-Dance

Venus radiated like a glowing porch light,
her diffused brilliance swam across the pitch sky
in the moonless, pre-dawn hours, draping my gaze
with her alluring, fascination-dripped countenance.
As a warm spring wind buffeted all around me,
the haunting specter of a familiar, feminine face
filled my half-awake, heavy-lidded eyes' field of vision
with her full, pouty lips and big, dark, cavern pool eyes.

As a breath rasped between my gaping lips,
I recalled moments from my now-ancient past,
requisite recondite glimpses between flashing
flame flickers licking from a candle's lost longing.
The rhythm of my heart pounded to the beat
insisted by her drummer's native chant-dance,
furtively howling into the vast star field expanse -
a black-robed, velvet-throated sacrificial oblation.

A still silence eternally coupled us like links
in a macrocosmic chain as intimate confidantes
in a realm beyond tactile encounters, where spirits
soar on wings of fire and bloom like lilacs, alone.
She challenged me with chants from her erotic
Demiurge to weave stranded patterns of golden
light waves across the sands of time, and to unlace
the bonds of ignorance, permitting salvation's reign.

The waters of my world froze solidly and ceased
to flow years ago, after the current of our magnetic
dynamism spontaneously combusted in the fusion
of cause and effect, dispersing our electric charge.
In the pre-dawn, solipsistic hours, her silent chant
beckoned to a long-dormant, fissile facility to strew
gnosis' seeds upon fertile ground, and heedless
of benediction's constraint, I returned her gaze.