Though the Gods have the power of speech
more often they choose a flower or plant:
elder leaves pressed on a blotter,
or spring buds emerging from a winter stem

These messages they send-
so ordinary we usually miss them:
an easy laughter and lightness,
or legs casually crossed and touching

The way a serpentine dike blends seamlessly into bedrock
or the way two possible lovers move,
starting and stopping, passing and pausing,
on an April trail

The subtlest oracles are always the most obvious-
seeing what is clearly in front of us the most difficult:
a butterfly hatching from a ruptured dream,
or a splintered tree rooting in the soil where it fell

- Dale Pendell

We are so different
It is hard to believe we are the same
I cannot believe how different we are
Yet the same royal blood animates our veins

We are both so different

I lay in the grass
My arms reaching out
The Sun casts her rays through my fingers
She shows how permeable I am
Translucent as a shadow puppet
She threw me off the cliff
Tumbling over the edge again


Cast your warm rays through me, Sunna!

I struggle all the time
Me against the world
But today I am drunk
In honor of my dear friend who killed himself
Because he was an alcoholic
And a Surfer
and a father

The Sun is burning my face
The Alcohol animates my veins
The fake-bees, that pretend to be bees
Are buzzing across the sky
Sea Gulls criss cross my blurry vision
swallows siz zag lazily
Cutting up the blue without a single fuck

Hummingbirds hate me in the garden
I tell them this time I'm not moving

I am alive, so I give a fuck

I looked in the mirror and laughed at me
Who am I to ware a vest with patches
to say I am this and that
And put on clothes
That make me who I think I am

The sun shown through me today
And I found out who I wasn't

Constant and permeable

I thank the heavens for this form I've borrowed

Please shine through me ever, Sunna!
I am a shadow on these dusty planes

the poetry of the dancing bee that tells us where the honey is

Blow out the flame! The darkness softens

These torches render us blind
We fear and mistrust what we cannot freeze in the blaze
And fear and mistrust what we see all the same

Oh mourn for us who believe we can see in the light
These beacons deceive
We have been made distrustful and hard

Blow out the flames!
The torch in the hand is no light of the heart
The light from within will glow all the same

The Wanderer

He who is wise
Must learn to be patient
Not too hot hearted, too hasty of speech
Neither too weak, nor too bold in battle
Fearful nor joyous, nor greedy to reach
Neither too ready to boast til' he knowith
Man must abide when he vaunted his pride
Til' strong of mind he has surely determined
Whether his purpose can be turned aside
Surely the wise man can see, like the dessert
How the whole worlds wealth lieth waist
How through the earth the lone wolves
Are still standing,
Blown by the wind and despoiled,
And defaced

From The Wanderer,
An old Anglo Saxon Poem

When geometric diagrams and digits are no longer the keys to living things

When geometric diagrams and digits
Are no longer the keys to living things,
When people who go about singing or kissing
Know deeper things than the great scholars,
When society is returned once more
To unimprisoned life, and to the universe,
and when light and darkness mate
Once more and make something entirely transparent,
And people see in poems and fairy tales
The true history of the world,
Then our entire twisted nature will turn
And run when a single word is spoken

~Novalis

I am a clay man
Made of Cosmic Condensation
I am forming, shaping, growing
From my dreams I birth children
In the sweat of my body
In the warmth of my sleeping

I am Highest of Three
Made of light
Found by the mother
Uncovered from salt of the ice

Roll myself into the void
And tear the sleeper to pieces
Fashion the world of me

I am ever dreaming myself over
I am Self that is selfish
Always speaking and thinking
Dreaming myself over

Come forth
And hatch from the shells of each dream and each womb

Echoes upon echoes
of one ancient groaning
They all speak of memories
Things I have been and selves I have been to

Have I done this already?
So why must I learn?
What must need doing then?

Worlds emerge from sinking worlds
Souls from souls
Seeds sprout from fertile memories keeping
And the dreaming of Giants decays
Builds upon itself
Forgets itself
And bites it's own tail

All this fog around my head
All these old pictures
Can the clouds be parted
Without disturbing the ether?
Can I see myself
And not see reflections?
Will I dream and be made anew forever?