Important comment re: dictionaries ...

[Guest guest]

Hi All,

Been away from the internt for a while. I'm back now. Good to be

back...

 

important comment re: dictionaries:

 

A Definition Of Sorts

 

Just give me a moment to

recollect myself, to

collect myself into that sacred

real(m) where the clouds forming in

the blue sky above -- the white clouds,

interstitched with that blue again

-- hold their own special significance --

meaning

they signify,

to what or to whom, perhaps

One could say that as the Sage,

carried in pieces (c'est la) vie

their own tangy fragrance

on late summer breeze.

 

This has an erotic significance

( i.e. Reality). An erotic

character, a psychic framework,

constructed, mythological,

and attempting to break -- to free --

us to obliterate our small

skulls before it's intelligence

and structure.

 

What I mean by this is simply that we

must hear voices, crying in

the wilderness, of time -- our time --

of one of them at least, at last and again,

and She, very demanding you know --

of our attention, demanding we construct or

create out of thingness our own

experience, calling as if from beyond,

we know not where . . . from our future

perhaps or from our self

projections from or onto the Mythic

framework, She beseeching, "Move Beyond".

 

"So what about characterization??"

You may ask, out of the small confines

of understanding, or a need for

comfort, for confines, ever

embracing arms of creation built in

to and around us and reflected also on

the ethereal (read mythic)

level of the Mind.

 

Or as properly

defined by the simple act

of bringing Webster, unabridged,

out onto the picnic table into

the sun finding its way through

windows in branches and

leaves (through shade of Russian Olive

Tree) and Birds Squawking

briefly piercing dull intelligence

as they fly over Head and House and Tree

and All settling down in distant trees in

Other Yards (probably spanning)

in the Neighborhood

chattering quietly then and broken in

upon by the rumble of a passing jet,

incessant run of swamp cooler pump

ing evaporated air, metallic whirring,

water softly through hose out along sand

to that Mimosa tree growing here in the Desert.

 

The Pages and Webster flapping

in the occasional breeze.

And the tendency of a cat

when handed a blade of grass

to bite it vigorously as a sign,

then get up and brush against my leg.

The watermark suddenly evident

through pages. Prisoners, prisoners

all too unwilling to acknowledge

relationship with all eternal source of

behaviour, at any moment to spring from.

To form. And how then to record it

personally,

or even to access it, for that Matter.

 

Peace, Love and Poetic License,

Rev. Cathie ManyVeils ...

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