A metamorphic ode and other poems

[Mikkael]

From your description I can perfectly imagine how such a creative process may shape. I personally like to paint and there is a similarity in that comparison, as I work on painting, which may take sometimes months, being drawn to it again and again, until I finally drop brushes or kick the damn canvas. (I swear latter doesn't happen very often) Interesting thing about naming the work is that after all this creating phase comes the moment when you start to think about its name, and here is the rub: I am facing perhaps similar difficulty as you. It's part of the process but it is its final step, and it requires stepping back, as you said and I like that. Distilling all that effort you went through, into fitting name is alchemist work. BTW If you felt embarassed, I want to encourage you, because you are doing good. I'm not expert on poetry but I find yours very original it delights me. After all, errors are necessary part of that.

 

[BHelmet]

NICE!

 

[BHelmet]

Doomsday Dream

The sun was bright, glaring crisp neutrino weather at the apex.
The only way out was: down.
Throbbing turbines incesantly pounded in the background
Thumping life support and suppression simultaneously.
A grimy cable dangled down the elevator shaft
In a lattice of rusty I-beam cages deep below the surface.
It felt like there was no time to lose.

You appeared suddenly.
We raced onto the creaky turbo lift
From opposite directions directions.
I was surprised and disarmed by your presence.

Like a stripped down Victorian service platform,
Dimly lit with buzzing light bulbs
and rattling as we trundled down.
We descended.
I didn’t know who you were,
But we were connected and attached;
Somehow paired up.
We must have been there, before, in this dream;
A premonition, a psychic carrot: "this must be the way!"

I noticed the shape of your buttocks through
the sheer gauze or your worn out nightgown.
This was, all-at-once,
attractive and disconcerting but I remained safely detached.
From the front you were covered with damp grassy divots.
I pulled off the grassy, earthy sod
That was stuck to the naked sweaty flesh fo your belly
And we stared at each other with dead fish eyes, unmoving.

An urgent sinking in the solar plexus;
We know we are falling faster now
At breakneck speed and out of control.
The end was near.
We could never survive.
The elevator gained more speed
Now plummeting in complete free fall.
It slammed to the ground.
Strangely, we weren’t flattened.
Although it had been dark underground at the top,
The elevator doors fell open and our eyes
Were pierced with bright sunlight as we exited
Outside into a world God only knows.

 

[Mikkael]

Thanks for sharing BHelmet. I wonder if you know where the scene in your avatar comes from; I have a feeling of seeing it perhaps in a movie? I've been puzzling over this a few times, getting nowhere. The hero with torn jacket on adventure.. ?

 

[iamthatis]

Thanks for sharing BHelmet. I wonder if you know where the scene in your avatar comes from; I have a feeling of seeing it perhaps in a movie? I've been puzzling over this a few times, getting nowhere. The hero with torn jacket on adventure.. ?

Yeah, now that I think of it, the avatar is kinda similar in theme to the old Tarot de Marseille picture of The Fool with the beast tearing at his pant-leg, showing his naked butt... except in yours, it's more of an invisible beast tearing off the jacket? Hmm.

 

[iamthatis]

Doomsday Dream

The sun was bright, glaring crisp neutrino weather at the apex.
The only way out was: down.
Throbbing turbines incesantly pounded in the background
Thumping life support and suppression simultaneously.
A grimy cable dangled down the elevator shaft
In a lattice of rusty I-beam cages deep below the surface.
It felt like there was no time to lose.

You appeared suddenly.
We raced onto the creaky turbo lift
From opposite directions directions.
I was surprised and disarmed by your presence.

Like a stripped down Victorian service platform,
Dimly lit with buzzing light bulbs
and rattling as we trundled down.
We descended.
I didn’t know who you were,
But we were connected and attached;
Somehow paired up.
We must have been there, before, in this dream;
A premonition, a psychic carrot: "this must be the way!"

I noticed the shape of your buttocks through
the sheer gauze or your worn out nightgown.
This was, all-at-once,
attractive and disconcerting but I remained safely detached.
From the front you were covered with damp grassy divots.
I pulled off the grassy, earthy sod
That was stuck to the naked sweaty flesh fo your belly
And we stared at each other with dead fish eyes, unmoving.

An urgent sinking in the solar plexus;
We know we are falling faster now
At breakneck speed and out of control.
The end was near.
We could never survive.
The elevator gained more speed
Now plummeting in complete free fall.
It slammed to the ground.
Strangely, we weren’t flattened.
Although it had been dark underground at the top,
The elevator doors fell open and our eyes
Were pierced with bright sunlight as we exited
Outside into a world God only knows.

Eh, excellent! The machine enclosure we're born into, the Fall that we're witnessing, the gritty romance, or love as something deep that still grows within the machine, and the miraculous survival! A great theme. You also have some wonderful word choice and cadence that really fits the feel of the poem.

I loved this part, I laughed out loud:

We must have been there, before, in this dream;
A premonition, a psychic carrot: "this must be the way!"

Thank you so much for sharing, BHelmet! Was it written for a specific person?

 

[iamthatis]

From your description I can perfectly imagine how such a creative process may shape. I personally like to paint and there is a similarity in that comparison, as I work on painting, which may take sometimes months, being drawn to it again and again, until I finally drop brushes or kick the damn canvas. (I swear latter doesn't happen very often) Interesting thing about naming the work is that after all this creating phase comes the moment when you start to think about its name, and here is the rub: I am facing perhaps similar difficulty as you. It's part of the process but it is its final step, and it requires stepping back, as you said and I like that. Distilling all that effort you went through, into fitting name is alchemist work. BTW If you felt embarassed, I want to encourage you, because you are doing good. I'm not expert on poetry but I find yours very original it delights me. After all, errors are necessary part of that.

Yes, the artistic process can be like pulling your own teeth sometimes! But what a beautiful agony. I hope you don't kick the canvas too hard?

There may be something deeply necessary to this frustration. We've heard from the C's that when our creativity is not expressed, it 'goes down' and 'expresses' in the earth, in earthquakes and the like. It is like a cosmic force that accumulates and needs its proper discharge. So this could be why it can be so difficult sometimes - it's like a energetic river that wants to flow, but it hits the frequency dam of our conditioning, of programs, of being 'good enough', of 'getting it right' etc. But still, somehow some water flows from our pens, our paintbrushes, our instruments.

This struggle of the artist Soul (when it is conscious suffering and not mechanical) also most likely plays a big role in helping us to change our DNA. Plus the added benefit of adding one more iota of Beauty and celebration to the world!

I'd love to see some of your paintings, if you are into sharing!

 

[Mikkael]

Yes, the artistic process can be like pulling your own teeth sometimes! But what a beautiful agony.

It makes me smile but it's true, it can be difficult. Beautiful agony, will remember that during next frustrating time.

 

[Mikkael]

There may be something deeply necessary to this frustration. We've heard from the C's that when our creativity is not expressed, it 'goes down' and 'expresses' in the earth, in earthquakes and the like. It is like a cosmic force that accumulates and needs its proper discharge. So this could be why it can be so difficult sometimes - it's like a energetic river that wants to flow, but it hits the frequency dam of our conditioning, of programs, of being 'good enough', of 'getting it right' etc. But still, somehow some water flows from our pens, our paintbrushes, our instruments.

I must say even if I don't feel frustration often, when it occur it is because I'm not properly tuned into a work, violating what has been accumulated as inspiration. In a way it's okay, it is never a big problem to focus on some other things to do, to let it pass, so it bothers me not much. It is a good hobby and it keeps me balanced exactly when I need it.

This struggle of the artist Soul (when it is conscious suffering and not mechanical) also most likely plays a big role in helping us to change our DNA. Plus the added benefit of adding one more iota of Beauty and celebration to the world!

It's fascinating and so true! One more iota contributed in its own unique way. I have updated my thread with some paintings you can find it here.

 

[iamthatis]

~Willingness~

On the day that Venus drove away
Over them mountains
I braced my green heart
With sturdy cedar posts
I died alone
Every night
When I caught wind of the rumour
That she was fixin’ to go
I sang sixteen songs
Every morning
Trying to call on the aid
Of that shining heavenly host
As I walked in the fields and the forests
And watered the earth
A whole meadow of questions
Came blooming
Up in my throat,

Singin’
How will I
learn to love again?
Do I have to carry
this heart alone?
What do I do
With all I wanted
To give to her now?
The stars still shine
On the place where she was
That hole in the sky –
The hole in my heart

I’m staring at the crack in my windshield
Like an uncertain future
Of the busted old highway
That conspired to take her from me
And the roses I’d hung
For protection
On my rear-view mirror
Let loose their pale petals
On the day she decided to leave
I gathered them up in my hands
As if to put back together
The delicate fragrance
Of all of those sweet memories
But to time
We must all surrender
Despite what the heart wants
So I turned to the winds
And set that little wildflower free,

Singin’
I’m sure glad
You rode shotgun for a little while
On this road of life
The hard and the easy miles
The straightaways
And all of the flat tires
The stars still shine
On the place where you were
That hole in the sky –
The hole in my heart

I hid in my cedar enclosure
And wept like a baby
For all of the maybes
That dashed on the rocks
Of my hopeful shore
And my emotions were like an affliction
That set me to fever
And against my nature
Had me chanting a mantra of ‘more’
But my heart is a reluctant soldier
That won’t walk in lockstep
With all of the forces
Who beat on their drums
And try to drive me to war
So I whispered a prayer to the old ones
And they sent me four friends
To stand by my side
And love me
And help me
My spirit restore

Mama Bear
Showed me the North star
Inside
A brilliant point
To guide me in my life
She took the tapeworm
Of all of my hatred out
And cuffed me and said,
Little cub,
I’m mighty proud
You’re doing just fine
With that hole in the sky –
The hole in your heart

The Mountain Wolf
Gave her eyes to me
And taught me to see
And sing to my darkness
She said, walk in strength
And love just who you are
Your night is young
And so full of stars
You’re doing just fine
With that hole in the sky –
That hole in your heart

The black-masked Raven
Flew over my head
At the crossroads
Of all my possible futures
You will walk
In all kinds of weather, he said
And he gave to me a feather
The feather of friendship then
You’re doing just fine
With that hole in the sky –
the hole in your heart

The Old Buck came
and laid His head on mine
And enclosed my mind
In the peace of his antlers
He said, It must have been hard
To watch that Goddess fly
So go softly now
And you’ll find your answers
You’re doing just fine
With that hole in the sky –
The hole in your heart

I sat in my chair buy the campfire
And thought ‘bout the humans
Who drove away Beauty
With all of their stupid misdeeds
And what was left of me
Then turned to duty
And what one such as I
Could possibly do
To somehow reconcile all of this grief
And then under a lone ponderosa
A young spotted fawn
Was suckling Mama
Whose eyes were half-closed in serenity
And the medicine
Of that humble picture
Blew me wide open
And all of the answers arrived
Like a swarm
Of gold honeybees

I sang
I know I
will learn
To love again
I know I
Won’t have to carry
This heart alone
I’ll figure out what to do
With all I wanted
To give to her now
The stars still shine
On the place where she was
And that hole in the sky –
It’s looking all right
It’s filling with light
Of a brand new sunrise
And the hole in my heart –
It’s feeling all right
It’s filling with light
Of a brand new sunrise

When Mama Bear Prowls
And the Lone Wolf howls
And Raven’s winging high
The Buck he walks the moonlight
I will sing this love song
I will sing it to the hole up in the sky
Not to try to fill it
But to bless it with my willingness
To be with all the pain
And patient I will wait
For this big ol’ world to turn
And maybe Beauty grace these skies of mine again

When Mama Bear Prowls
And the Lone Wolf howls
And Raven’s winging high
The Buck he walks the moonlight
I will sing this love song
I will sing it to the hole down in my heart
Not to try to fill it
But to bless it with my willingness
To be with all the pain
And patient I will wait
For this big ol’ world to turn
And maybe Beauty bless heart of mine again

 

[BHelmet]

Thank you so much for sharing, BHelmet! Was it written for a specific person?

It was a dream. And the female person, I am not sure if I have ever met. Perhaps my feminine side. Perhaps an other half. Polar Opposite? IDK

Thanks for sharing BHelmet. I wonder if you know where the scene in your avatar comes from; I have a feeling of seeing it perhaps in a movie? I've been puzzling over this a few times, getting nowhere. The hero with torn jacket on adventure.. ?

I am on the car. I am 19. The car was a 1964 Plymouth Valiant. We were on the cliffs at K39 in Baja. This Kodak insta-matic was taken before we put a rock on the gas pedal and drove it off the cliff into the sea. We called that car the Brown Helmet because it was so beat up. We beat it up on purpose. I let people bash it with a sledge hammer. I drove into many things with it. Hence BHelmet. Sometimes people will try to name themselves. Sometimes the world names you. I am so honored. It takes being a ridiculously epic character. I was such a one. Semi-deranged, over-amped, outrageous, depressed. I made Ken Kesey look like a tame amateur.

(it's a So-Cal thing)

That car had become my protest/response to what I saw as a completely and absolutely insane world. 1968-69: RFK, MLK assassinations, Lost Hope, Skull bashing at Democratic Convention. Richard Nixon, George Wallace. Viet Nam raging. Tonkin Lies, Nightly B-52 raids, napalm. Suspected Viet Kong villagers getting their brains blown out on TV. Prague Spring. Tanks roll in. Slaughter of students in Mexico City before the Olympics. The original Black Power Fist salute on the Podium. Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll to assuage the masses. All that compressed into a few months.

So, we'd put on our gear, become our jaunty alter-egos, get high, roll the windows down and put Jimi Hendrix on full blast on my Muntz 4-track as we rode from UCSD through La Jolla, the ultra rich and conservative beach town where people , like today, were pretending everything was still somehow 'normal'. It was kind of a big immature F.U. to make sure everyone around me was as disturbed as I felt. I took it as a sacred duty to be a fly in the ointment of society's normal sleep. But hey, I was 18/19 years old, so... that sort of behavior fits. I shudder to think what I'd do, and what would happen if I was 19 today.

 

[BHelmet]

The death of the old, the birth of the new
Like shattered glass, scattered and strewn
From a nose dive onto an empty beach
Dead soldiers, forever, Amen

The death of the old is a blown out hulk
The birth of the new rises up above
The laughter in my heart rings through
Dead soldiers, forever, Amen



The death of the old, the birth of the new
Like shattered glass scattered and strewn
In the dead of night, under a buzzing light
Dead soldiers, forever, Amen

The death of the old in a blown out hulk
The birth of the new rising up above
The laughter in my heart is ringing
Dead soldiers, forever, Amen


(My co-pilot Kenny, riding shotgun, is on the left... 'they killed Kenny!')

We engaged in a bizarre sort of dysfunctional living performance art as a coping mechanism is my guess.

The sad part is that it was apparent and obvious there was no way to make a real difference.
And here we are again in a world fast approaching and ready to surpass the level of collective insanity of those years. Sigh...

(BTW, Mikkael - FANTASTIC use of color! Your art has a certain indigenous central American feel to it)

Yeah, now that I think of it, the avatar is kinda similar in theme to the old Tarot de Marseille picture of The Fool with the beast tearing at his pant-leg, showing his naked butt... except in yours, it's more of an invisible beast tearing off the jacket? Hmm.

I had a dream of being the fool exactly as certain cards show, before I ever knew what Tarot was. I even had the white dog, in the dream and in real life. "What a long strange trip it's been" as the song goes.

Thank you! - I am working on a song and an accompanying video. You are inspiring me to get it done and posted. I am re-creating this past persona - I found the exact same flying WWII summer flying helmet on ebay along with some cool goggles!

 

[Mikkael]

I am working on a song and an accompanying video. You are inspiring me to get it done and posted.

Sounds like it keeps you busy ATM and it probably is great fun to make video but I can imagine it could drive any person crazy too! I wish you'll get it right in the end.

We engaged in a bizarre sort of dysfunctional living performance art as a coping mechanism is my guess.

Looking at crashed-in-the-car photo art, you've been quite impressed/fascinated? (not sure these are right words) by death then, but no wonder if you've been young and perceptive, riding on cultural change as you'd described, it's darker tones emanating from your writing.

Still, going back to the avatar of yours, it's not then from any movie, right? Is it you and your friend Kenny in it?

 

[Mikkael]

~Willingness~

How good to read a new poem!

 

[iamthatis]

The mountains smile


See the old man –
he walks alone
in the cool evening
of his life
by the water’s edge –
hands clasped behind his back,
eyes
smiling
with knowing
sadly behind his mask –
he’s looking
for a place
to die.


See him, younger –
all his life
his work
coated his skin in dust and paint –
he built so many homes
for others –
yet always,
always he tended
the forbidden
garden growing
beneath his hard hat.

See his flowers –
see them in Her hands –
see the bloom
that always closes.


See their Love –
the Beautiful
and foolish prayer
of eternal union
like two Eagles
tied foot-to-foot
by a scarlet cord –
see, O see
their noble feathers
torn,
strewn amongst the Saskatoons
and Nootka rose
by her talons’ wrath
and his –
what was keeping them
together
was tearing them
apart.

See the desert valley
spread vast
between the waving songs of stone –
mountains of frozen music –
he ran –
he ran those golden plains,
and yearned to stay
wild, forever in the pine and sage,
wild, forever in the lonely shade,
wild, forever,
low –
to never go up
into the high white mountains
of his heart.

See his folly
when Coyote came,
drawn to his panting hunger
offering to help him
build a home.

See the Sun
not as single flame
but as a village
of many hands
that make Light work –
and as he thrashed alone,
alone –
voiceless
flailing on the sand
like in a Buck’s last dance
pinned deep
by the arrow
of his grief –
Raven saw
his longing
for someone
to hold him –
for that village
of many hands
that make Shadow work.

See the Mourning Dove
who flew above him –
cooing, calling,
singing
peace.

See his laughing face
playing hide-and-seek
with Truth
when he found
himself in smiling up
from the still, clear mirror
pooled
beneath the weeping willows.

See him approach the veil
of tears –
and through that water falling
watch the little boy
who walked alone
in the warm morning
of his life
by the water’s edge –
a castle made of sand
smashed and abandoned
lays behind him,
eyes
brimming,
serious,
questing –
he’s looking
for a place
to live.

See the old man
kneel
in the garden
by the water –
see little boy reach up
into his arms,
whispering in two voices,
young and old,
he unto himself –
“It’s okay.
I’m here.
I love you.”

See
the mountains
smile.