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Joe Edwardson
http://edwardson.purpledream.com
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As Spectral Color
12/21/04 |
The moon is a sad stoic god,
brooded on by dream dreary multitudes
for eon's
upon epochs
within a singularity
and the crater face smiles on.
Our heart asleep
in an earthen pod
awaiting another big bang.
Storm clouds cry but the moon never hides.
Our mother swallows our tears.
Speak wordless Truth,
enduring familial moon of all ages
for us to love
and to touch one another;
to become each other.
From within mother's singular city
to the rain forest
to the sandy dunes
to Europa and forever beyond
a gift from the ever-present moon.
let us linger not on apocalypse
but on the limitless
infinite love
eternal as spectral color.
Oh moon! Mediary of light
between the sun and I, teach us!
How to reflect our own inner starlight.
And thus he spake. Meditate and
be contagious smiles and words of kindness
be contagious kindness and words of smiles.
Like breathing balls of gravity,
we are one mind body.
Lift each other to sun cloud heights.
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Flag Of Anyway
01/03/05 |
The main character
is courageous and resourceful
When he dives in,
swimming: a Robinson Crusoe
of the warming.
When he starts swimming,
he starts thinking of sunbathing.
He's suffocating,
needing change
In a world of solar wind
rewinding us in ourselves
in on ourselves
He can't seem
to solidify
his thoughts;
to solidify
his thoughts
he would need change
To his story,
his society,
friends 'n fear.
Destruction is in the energy
of our atmosphere;
the suns rebirth is
foretold by the Mayan calendar.
He thinks he might be the antichrist
of so be it. All will drown
in a drying oil ocean.
O Father! Wring the blood out
of our cold wet crying
flag of anyway.
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Five Hundred Mile Arm
01/06/05 |
If I had a five hundred mile arm,
I would be a human windmill
spinning free energy for all sleepers
a gentle breeze
will caress your face.
If I had a five hundred mile arm,
I would reach for the highest fruit
on the tallest tree
pick the sweetest piece
and hand it to you.
If I had a five hundred mile arm,
part of me, at least
would be near you.
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So Very Eager To
03/08/05 |
was as if covered by hacks
the head of so many scabbed heroes
with booze anaesthetic and gut
kicked in; the gradual forgetfulness of
followers; the loss of flowers.
so very eager to
ride a two-seat
bicycle of friendly
flirty fire.
was as if sniffed
the scent of leaves
falling on her gun;
these sly indulgences.
ah, the way her veil sings
of quiet nymph attack.
so very eager to
show she shoots
arrows at superheros.
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The Actress
05/27/05 |
Acquiesce, did the actress
to temporarily step off-stage.
born again with wobbly baby
deer legs, she dragged
into the crowded atrium
like stepping into a new church,
a tryout with another religion.
Awkward doe eyes avert air,
popcorn odors pervade and mesh
with musk cologne, cheap suits
and hairspray spider webs.
our doe must meekly avoid the hunt.
She bumps into a table
she once danced open,
longs for the prosaic
to smoothen sharp the edges
of this tightly entangled
godless geometric jail.
People particles
chaotically contort their path
along routes of least
resistance,
again and again, searching
for something prismatic to look at.
And always running like blind water
but at least the river's current tends
to move in one direction
and the ocean's tides
have but one lunar destination.
She hears shrill shrieks
of humanity crashing
onto cold shores only to be sucked back
underneath, gasping for air,
dirty fingernails grasping for land,
grasping for a hand,
coming up empty again
and again.
"Persistence pays off,"
her pallid patiently decaying grandfather
would say every day over and over
with bumblebee-stung raspberry voice
and brokebacked yogic discipline.
not even Buddhism
can pave a solid foundation
of compassion for costumed
creatures of samsara,
buzzing bastardized
shifty eyes, always looking
around and around,
two lovers ahead.
So if life is a play, we're desirous actors.
the audience must remain quiet,
seated, interested, and
wideopeneyededly entertained
by our dancing painted feet.
we've forgotten that dark oceanic thirsts
primordially emerge from the seeping self
and paradise always fades circular.
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A Night Of Balloons And Coughing
06/10/05 |
Such slow circumnavigation
you a balloon at times
A bird, you've been flying
inside me for generations, I'm
still ripping at the flesh of my chest
laughing at the cartoons I carve.
Invisible hook of lace
tangling through our summer skins
Smooth punctures, a clear string
pulls the backsides of eyes
deeper into lids.
You are a sleep balloon
born in my lungs,
you see yourself blue unstrung
The spirits are in mirrors
all your waking night
Snowflake, I twist an old
rag and drip dirty
water in your eyes
Sleep, don't get lost
in the rain of your colorful seasons.
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