Friday, August 25, 2017

Norrak, The Narrator?


What?--- he still maintains
Even in the lands of Chewing Blackbones                              this is not a story

one Publishes                    it’s a story           one tells to the stars at night

And hopes that a soul in the universe hears it

Even though he played a fine set              at the Cattle Baron’s Supper Club
Cassander Slocum must’ve heard it

This story told by the hands of a Shaman

A Shaman who says: “ sometimes stories should belong to the air, living

In hearts and minds, retold perhaps                        differently, but still a kernel of the source remains

But the tale, in the material

Breathes for a moment, then dies…”

What Norrak had witnessed through the membrane of possibility, that which made him go rogue
Was a hankering

To not just see her, but to live his own story                       --perhaps experience for a moment the beauty of Waterton Lakes--

So what if he can tell the future (in a way) or gain acknowledgement in her nature discography?
Who’s voice will come through now
In this tale’s

Channeling?

But be patient, dear heart, for when life comes barreling in
like a HURRICANE
This sequel WILL one day be finished

Eventually….

He just prays there will be willing eyes
At these sparing moments

To read it.

***
And he says take it and don’t be afraid to use it
because he knows what she’s up to and he likes it.



[[Timetrap, an Interlude: This tale is a….timetrap, but I say make this obsession your possession baby.  T made this tale worth writing so Cassander help me collect the disparate pieces of words and scraps of time because there’s a spell on the Tyre…and methinks she controls the rain….]]


** Read the newest installment of Time Trap, Imprisoned at the Prince of Wales Hotel @ https://timetrapsequel.wordpress.com/  and keep checking back for new installments.**

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

4LoveAndTattoos


And what of Rufina, the Queen of Calvary?
~She’d never let the elevator bring her down~
What has been/What has happened/What will be,
llustrated on his skin,
His domain---frozen
Crying Pre-Raphaelite carnage
Give him every one of your sins  --or your sermons
Because we need a God that’s gonna understand
Even as he’s sleeping

4 love and Tattoos


Laws knows, I did this one for you
When you speak through riddles to the heart
Or stand with abandonment
These words you may never see  --or read into too deeply
They’re there and I’m hooked on writing them
This world

4 love and Tattoos

A kindling of separate worlds
And in the underworld time is broken
By the queen
To create a new reality  --to create a new love between brother and sister
From the wreckage a heart, and a family secret raises up
Not unlike the Maid-in-Waiting Easter bunny escaping with her egg basket
This leg of time that you’ve created is your very own rabbit hole

4 Love and Tattoos

Change your world if needed, honey
But it will never help those stuck
In the major flood of temporal streaming
In the aftermath of the
Revolution
Through the nine circles
Laws knows I did this one for you
Five little episodes to finish out Marie
Because survival is of the fittest
And Calvary is the fittest one of all
Because laws knows dear
We need this part to complete
Rufina’s trajectory

{{Read the final five episodes of Marie Antoinette Intergalactic Princess @ http://forloveandtattoos.wordpress.com/}}

Monday, November 30, 2015

Poem to invoke the narrator

Cassander Slocum never had a penny for every thought he had
He never wished to share them before, but he became desperate
From Mata Hari
To a daydream
His ship was wrecked at sea
And he scribbled every note of it on bark from banana trees
And millennia later, stars look back and call him
The   last   man
In the Universe,
In Biblia’s time travel device
Sent back in time, this manuscript—
Part one rested encrypted in the grained hands of the wooden slave statue
Outside Ka-Hay’s Sakkara tomb
Part Two, so recently uncovered
Stored in the gem of a bracelet shared by lovers
In the soot of Vesuvius
And it was entitled:
The Scarlet Revolution

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Liquefy

Why did I do this again?
What am I really asking of you?
Can someone ask this of anybody at all these days?

Liquefy me, make me evade this disease,
The voices that tumult all these questions;
What I can't see is nothing, he says, that concerns me,
So just march ahead like a parade of Saints who never feared a thing,
But this meeting that's supposed to heal,
Strikes through with the point of a viral blade
And leaves me questioning if there is love or factors of the deepest illusions


Monday, September 28, 2015

Is

When every impulse
Is a problem is
Better start forgiving something is
The difference between beeswax is
Hazmat is
Better get a kinder way to think
Even when they won't let their boys
Wear their dresses yet
Academics is
My stitches
Must be slower and closer together 
Tailor is
Because I choose to continue to
Recover is
Letting is
Be is

Monday, September 21, 2015

Eden Kind of Guy

I'm supposed to be bigger so big until I don't exist anymore. You say I'm selfish but you've got self centered beat upon by all those who wanted to speak but gave in to your vanilla will of it. 

You see I'm an Eden primitive
I'm an Eden primitive
I'm an Eden kind of guy
And I'll always go after the one thing that you deny me. 

Friday, August 7, 2015

(The New) Alex in Wunderland

Symptom: Eternal Grey
Did he really know how not to pray
Or was it just the way he’d been made
To turn and run
From every summer’s day…?

Somewhere in the card catalog
Caught in a maelstrom 
Of realties to run from 
Red, white, blue as a boy can be
Changing to a suit of armor, cynicism
Knowing the price of everything
Valuing nothing

Stars fading and maybe he’s just one relapse away
From discovering he’s really worth something
This time

Alex in Wunderland
In a way you often knew him
The world took him and scared him a starkly white
Showed him he’d be bigger if he ran from the light
And the world’s strangely Technicolor being this dim
And somewhere, somehow, he knew he’d never fit in
Just a love-seeking devil born to pulling out pins.

All in ten before midnight
Time melts down at the water’s edge
In this land where night is the only day and
How could he be better off feeling this way?
And all the same 
What calls him back in is the
Whispering waves of voices
That the the truth in the mirror isn’t some realm ethereal
Within/without these smoky eyes, turnabout

But right here in picking up shattered realities
On the shore
By the maiden river’s ebb and flow and grace
Because, awakening, he now knows
She’s quite often the mirror
Accepting the moon’s pale-reaching-gaze
Through a keyhole
And he’s quite often
Merely a face
That always had been worthy of its
Radiance.

Friday, July 31, 2015

Demon tamer,
I guess he ran out of paper
pope's profit 
take a backseat 
to what is really happening

The one thing he had to trust
was the one thing he'd never give
TRUSTING

Spill your seed no matter what--
even when the garden's been
GROWING

No animosity,
but the sting is deep,
spinning like the
hoofed-grooved teachings 

of
Buer

The Last Poem

Will things get strangely quiet
When your kingdom has finally left me,
When the sonic palace is safely quiet
And the stars are merely giants...?

I can't believe how I was struck frozen
In the face of her gravity
And how easy it was
To let every part of you
Become every part me.

I've turned to my own life and said
I'll finally let your colors in
And stop living for the moment
When I'm refracted back in lines.

I can never know in truth
How far you let me go with you
So I'll just open the garden gate
While that old passage of inscriptions slowly fades away.

I'll just trust the persistent hand
Of the Universal Being
Because you've got your sage brush on a string
And now the tales of the past
May be angels and demons laid to rest.

I'll turn away from all that
To destiny's bright eyes
And know that they are real.

He was waiting in the wings and he was waiting just for me.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Cottage On The Moon

Space. Poetry from space: Derelict Soul-Searcher finds wayward home for bliss.  They find serenity here.  Primrose House.  The thoughts after the storm, the contrition, the stories on their lips.  It's taking him some steps--to change his psychic survival strategy from star-destroyer--to trust.

Friday, July 24, 2015

Dame Mechanical And Her Amazing Upward Conveyance ( = Faith ? )

Tomorrow again.
This time he feels like
Dame Mechanical with her Amazing Upward Conveyance.

Heart electric,
Eye that's seeking love,
But he sees that
The machinery
Of this system
Could never be enough.

Sometimes flying
Means feeling out the
Faith stream;
He knows
God’s gonna hafta find something 
To turn him on Better like
Engine revving, 
A diamond-studded key,
Letting in a ray of light
From inside his supernova, 
Like this love,
Keep it going,
Still gonna try to get this one close
To kind of right 
Despite the 
Periphery changing--
Barbra Walters
Expose--
Someone rained on his parade.

Remove that criminal belief 
Sifting-mining,mining-sifting
He's selecting gems again
With a certain kind of brass
Kaleidoscopic,
Its nothing, just change
Just another planet turning,
Another season that's turned in--
That Space,poetry from Space 
Glittering lines
Honing
From across past lives,
From across the Interstellar Byway.
Excuse him while he retires
To his booth
Of gold-framed glass
Filigree
To pass the time
In the presence of
Light,
A tabernacle
To a crumbling 
Emotional creed 
When he realized
Those laws he laid down
No longer meet his needs.

–---------------
Aaron Kubacak

Monday, July 20, 2015

The Spark At The End Of The World

There you are
Seeking the spark at the end of the world
His dying bride
Can you get a handle on his
After-light?

How haunting now
Are the memories he lets in
Searing in
To the inner recesses of his loving skin
Those days of glory
When the world was theirs to hold
He sits in them now
And lets them wash over his nakedness
Like the past that'd been 
Sundrenched

He didn't know 
Refuge
Could be invaded this way
Like pirates
Taking possession of the lighthouse casing
And extinguished
By the killing want of flesh

His revelation
That one man was never enough
For him
It's evident
That this type of hunger will
Never be 
Satisfied

--Not even by the
Light

       or the subtle light of loving

Friday, July 3, 2015

Mailman

She was the last of the unkind amends
And he always did
Walk on the knife edge of water and air
He maintained he's not afraid
But he's filled with fear
How can he reconcile that moment of confrontation
Of funerary roses that clung to the edges of his heels
When she said you're here now, but where were you when it mattered
All he can say is this reality now
Will write my ghost into
Being

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Hyde Hall Poem

My friendship love is like 
Hitchcock walking that country road
Not acknowledging you but looking at you
Out the corner of his eye hole--
up that hill running;

Keeping Sisyphus tendencies at bay,
By breaking through every obstacle
And
Candy Darling
You are buried there in that Cherry Valley grave;

By the way,
I finally made it to Hyde Hall
To dance 
With all those neoclassical 
Ghosts
But that old superstition
Has a tough time now
Taking its hold on me;

Meanwhile I research
Voynich's Maniscript and say
"Man I know a little bit about outsider art myself" and
Sew on creeping velvet
Listening to
Serial,
Learning a little bit something more
About making myself be 
Vulnerable.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Removal

If they want 
                        Blood
    May-there-b-blood

Invade ships
-------because they're not showing
     What they've got-----

Sometimes peace
                                 Needs to be forced
           -up-on-us-.

Strange how time collapses~~~
           When time sheds down on us
   
      From the point 
                                 Of blemish removal

I think it's time I got a survey.

Do I feel old now because there's too much to know??

I got a survey @ my removal 

Bitch ain't gonna put it up or slow down!

       -well, that's just a term she's gonna hafta deal with. ~

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Pink

Why all these inundating comments
Of one woman's weight
When there are sleeper cells and children starving?
But then I guess it's safe, that we can give thanks
That she's not one of them.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Off the Grid

Taking myself off the grid for a minute,
Did her
Shaman 
Ever have need for a 
GPS
System--?
I got a dream
Too big to hitch my star to him
Infuse these veins
With the knowledge of
The goddess of the
Universe eternal 

Don't downplay
My miracle  
Caught in the crossfire
Between love and desire. 
Not into the edifice,
Not into the birkam
Princess
Not sure if I'm tired of her
Or I just hate what I did 
Why do I have this heart
That trips me up on this way
To something?
Why do I have this art
That I eat more than 
What should sustain me?
Pause right here...we'llall grow some sage
To combat the rage of the season,
So we're all on the rag
And catfish
He'll make sure that u get some
And this She said
On her dying day
U are little 
She carries an almanac
To divine the best seasons and moonlight for casting spells
Why don't they just grow a brain
On trees that are levitating
Because of those moments of horror
When the thin line of possibility
Becomes non returnable reality. 

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Pastels that move

Getting the back end of a movement,
Saying u look good, but don't take my ideas seriously,
Got a book on kindness because you put forth the guise of earth goddess--
But then you forgot the plight of his immitation game...
And why does GAga get to do whAt I should do for myself?
And they seem to deal in opera as well as torture,
All these half used pastels that grade school teacher gave me,
Must move out to make room/
Maybe that script you wrote at age two really played out,
Maybe I really did find God in that back room.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Poem when I should be @ study

This redingote is haunting
Estates out side Paris
Baroque chinoiserie ushers in fashions
Her robes are a l'Anglaise
Marie I've found your riddles
In leaves and Directoire sleeves
I'll trim my hair a' la victime
When bourgeoisie become revolutionaries

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Disjointed

What am I to do
Disjointed man
Thread in one hand
Book in your pocket 
Trying to be a poet
Trying to touch back to a canvas rough
With a pigmented bit of sable?

Are you still trying to catch a groove in this moment?  I'd think you'd gotten used to the slipping away of time.

A learned man would be settled in by now to something, but you never did take kindly to a regular day.

So you chalk it all up to real artistry
Or a bloke that's just a jack of all trades
But master of no domain 
Unto this very day.