2 Ghost


She’s always felt like a cousin, probably was a friend, but throughout my life when she came calling, something deep inside me could breathe. Saw you first when you bathed before a king, after that when Cleopatra brought peridot from Zabargad for Marc Anthony. Think I kissed you on an empty hillside, under moonlight near Calvary. Sometimes we talked into a deep dark night, sometimes hiked high to watch a red star die, nothing was ever clear between you and me. When you climbed into that “Merovingian’s” bed, I walked off to die another death, a revolving revolution a year or fifty-three, and then I see. Like two ghost revolving round, we come back to we.

Once upon a story, or a woodman’s tale, beyond a burning fire, where, Macbeth was felled, we sat beside a burning fire by the northern sea. In that little instance as time went by, the angels came calling as you looked me in the eye, your ghost hair moving, I knew you were forever, but I wasn’t sure about me. You said it’s all better right, for we are just two ghost, spinning lives together, not sure of our host, then just like had happened before, you walked away from me. Saw you once again in the twinkling of an eye, when Ivan sat on Moscow, and his madness made you cry, in that cold darkness, I said it’s still you and me. Like two ghost revolving round, we come back to we.

By the smoke of Shenandoah, in a small well house, we stared into another life, and came back to ourselves. Just a kiss of revelation, was all it took for me. Watched you climb a wire at Auschwitz as the darkness fell, with your gold star hanging ragged what more should I tell, we were only thirteen, when you looked back, and said remember me. I’m not sure if I can continue this history. Still, like two ghosts revolving round we come back to we.

So, I have climbed a virtual altar, and I’ve seen a dream, someone waiting there in data, that must be she. So, it is I write my best words, and I quicken inside, and I call down all the angels and I magic all my rhymes. For when I touch her hand it will be for the final time. Like two ghost revolving round, we have come back to be. We have come back to we! – 06.27.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Resa


Come down upon me that which ties the ladder, that which laces the dream, string for me that which is of cord magick, that where sirens weave!

These together upon, thy mind, that upon which Resa see’s, comes the gown of which all magic weaves, summoned, now sirens cry, the coven’s treasure, now bend thee, now bend thee….

The weave born of Star Carr, near Scarborough, the thread, in calling that which loves her, that which forms her heart. That daemon which summons patterns bold, summoned stories by a play, look to me, from Yorkshire way, designs that show a sirens way, a seamstress hides away, a stich, her art, the act in play. Heart, heart, summoned Whitby’s art, the ladies by the bay, and Mina smiles…. dear Resa, sew for me a scarf. A woven Faberge, that shows young girls at play, thighs in liquid, that of oceans art, entwined together, passion by the mind. What would our father’s say, in craft we play?

Late at night in Lucy’s room, while candles spell, and legends loom, ancient myths and school girl dreams, Resa sleeps, but how she dreams. And art and patterns play, weaving cloth in a potter’s way, white and dark strange spirits play, while sirens move in thread, it weaves a song. The manor feels like summer all winter long. And when sweet Lucy sleeps, Resa takes her leave, and with her forehead high, daringly she acts to spy, with gin still on her tongue, wet from adventure the whole night long. Down straight hallways with darkened heights, those long framed windows the oceans bright, under séance, devils play, the mist of Whitby, guides her way. That by needle light, Resa scripts the bodice tight, lace and colors that make the bodies delight. Lord of light, oh lord of light, how a woman’s hands give you delight, on this night.

She is the siren, that calls with thread, the stories, passion, the witches path, the salt filled air of a spider’s wrath, colors, of legends past, Resa brings down the dark lord’s dreams. The better of all these ancient seams, spells and gardens, precious night filled screams.

These together upon, thy mind, that upon which Resa see’s, comes the gown of which all magic weaves, summoned, now sirens cry, the coven’s treasure, now bend thee, now bend thee….

For my dear Whitby Lady friend, Resa McConaghy – 06.21.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


West of Denver


Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. For surely it is, for surely, it could be, that any key that touches my ear, says you are down, oh yeah, it says you’re down! I’m fifty-six years, of sightseeing, things a human shouldn’t see, all the strangers in heaven say they are relying on me. I’m here on Kiowa Peak, west of Denver, you SOB’s can come on up for me, for I’m homecoming, not less a stranger in an alien land. I’m a lost father taking a different stand, but still I’m homecoming.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Daddy was autistic, a wonderful sort of man, I see things too, keys in music, I’m better than Billy Joel, a phantasmal piano man. I’m further west of Eden, beyond Steinbeck’s, “Red Pony” brand, a prophet in America, like my daddy said on a “Father’s Day” I will rise, and I will head for homecoming, west of Denver, I’ll be the best man, my kids ever met, up here were nothing that’s evil, can get to me.  Open your arms, Orion, I’m homecoming.

Up here above America, the universe in June is still found crisp. The place I have found within my soul, is neither dead, but it’s alive with a kiss, and it says this is the place you must find your life, that visitor, you have hated your entire damn life. That place in fire, golden flames where the Colorado sky meets the devils eye, on high, west of Denver, homecoming. I see the ridge now, ruby red, a sun setting, on the edge of a lineage gift.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. But you know, as a father, as once I was a son, here west of Denver, I’m homecoming! – 06.18.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Thunderbolt & Lightfoot (1997)



“Hey. You stick with me kid. Your gonna live forever.” – Lightfoot

Thunderbolt says Lightfoot, lets on the range go, therefore unto heaven, in stars of Montana our ghost goes. And you can be like Eastwood priming, the preacher lessons told, I will look just like Mr. Bridges doing yoga on the road. We can star in pictures, with the high grass in our toes. Mr. Lightfoot, says Thunderbolt, we’re actors on the road. The evening is self-serving, the stars fall overhead, it could be new souls entering the universe, or the exit of the dead. The two they come together, sitting closely side by side, the front seat of a “73” Eldorado, with the “Big Skies” up ahead. Oh, my old friend, my dearest love says Thunderbolt, as he looks up above, for once in our lives, let two old queens enjoy the road ahead. I’ve dressed for you in long gone years, you painted your eyes to absorb hurt tears, and when we hit Montana, the burning will finally end.

Thunderbolt says Lightfoot, the shows we have staged within, the glowing purgatory, hallelujah, as the curtain would ascend. But now it seems a higher purpose, breaking harder on life’s final whim, the fire of something killing me, our last show must begin. My dear Mr. Lightfoot, Thunderbolt’s voice begins, we’ve just entered the gates of heaven, Montana, home, where your life began. Look beyond the script of the movie, your life a cycle spins. I know a fire burns in you, my love my dearest friend. The ghost of a thousand angels, is beyond that sunsets rim. Wait just a little longer till we reach “Wolf Creeks” bend. There’s a place in all dramatics, your life can come to end. And what I’ll do for your sweet memory, for all those folks that you have known. I’ll “Break it to them gently”, I’ll tell them that your home, I’ll tell them you’re the best lay this angel ever had.

Thunderbolt says Lightfoot, his smile a disappearing grin, if you would hand me a different cigar, like Mr. Bridges smoked in the end. Up above this mountain, this steep road, the sun is glowing but it’s midnight, on the watch in my head. The spell it is upon us, the final lines have been said, the fire of what kills cells inside me has left its ash instead. Oh, my old friend, my dearest love says Thunderbolt, as he looks up above, for once in our lives, let two old queens enjoy the road ahead. The silence is between them by moments, as the silence of the dead, as the silence of the dead.

For Angel & Bennie (Daniel 7:10) – 06.11.17 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Blue Moves (Tonight) 1980


I’m headed up I-25 out of Las Cruces, the road looks dirty under half moonlight. There’s a glow to the east that lights Timber Mountain, with no Timber, it’s not named right. What is my name as I drive on four lanes, all I know is I’m a lonely sight. Tonight! The eight track spins on strange cylinders, as all eight tracks are known to do, and I’m listening to Elton, a double album that’s all “Blue Moves“. The desert moves unto me, butte and sky, they are one, and as the lights of Truth or Consequences come upon me, I know without question, to that they call the Christ, I have become no one.  No one is here tonight.  And the Blue Moves they are around me, with magic notes from nine to ten, the clock is turning solemnly, I am too young to know.  The night, tonight, is the time to end all, that is this boy inside me, by myself in silence, in silence, all around me ,tonight.

Elephant Butte is on fire, as it descends into the Rio Grande, and my small Ford stands empty. I see, I’m not high now, the glowing water is flowing. Ghost reach me from some eternal temple, by two they come… And it beseeches me, reaching to me under moonlight like a hand. And as Crazy Water echoes, the East storm approaching, lightning, something older, for years I will not know it, but tonight, as Elton sings Idol, tonight.

And something ancient comes to me, by its blue moves it caresses free, a stranger form than what I have known, by here in my childhood, I have grown tonight, come to me Adonai Nissi tonight, you are so different tonight.

It’s been years now since that night, driving north from Las Cruces by a strange light. All the turns that have come in my life. Something chilling, something moved that night, that made my life for the rest of time. Blue Moves is the place where I revived, one night. The light! – 06.02.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Copperhead


“Every great story seems to begin with a snake” – Nicholas Cage

“Take the blade that’s close to you, and take the head away, for someday I’ll be gone.” – Minnie Frances Swearingen

Who watches over you –

Grammy there’s a Copper snake in the kitchen, and she’s not watching me, she’s watching you. Someone left the screen door open, could have been Pappy, and yes it could have been you. There’s a spirit coming through the split in the screen door, you say don’t touch it Grammy, you say don’t touch it. There’s a rhyme out of the reason in the hot Missouri summer, that opens me, it strange but it excites me, and by that great big garden outside, it breathes in and out, and a stranger from somewhere else, say’s what do you see? It places in me, yes it places in me, and I’m only three. Grammy, she breathes, from somewhere else she sees. and even after all these years, she’s dead, but she still says she believes in me.

Who watches over you –

Grammy there’s a Copper snake in the kitchen moving its head to see what it can see. And her eyes are the seven stars of Orion, a bittersweet it looks to me without a sound, and the world begins to spin. And all around me it’s a year a life recurring, a burning revival, every sense I own, renewing, outside a blade turning, the sound of lightning stirring. Before me in the floor before me a serpent returning, and the universe is before me, Grammy holding me, ever holding me. Outside in Missouri the day is hot, but here in Grammy’s kitchen it is not, no it is not.

Who watches over you –

Grammy there’s a Copper snake in the kitchen of my life, and its eyes are watching me, searching for what I say. Someone left the screen door open, and loved what brought me strife. There’s a spirit coming through the split I see; life’s screen door is not in place. So, while the wind moves, in syllables and notes…… the fall of my life, the leaves are drifting round. I come to you, as you move from me, and that summer passes on. The fall of all that’s ending, comes in a closer range. The Copper’s drawing close to me, I still can hear you say, take the blade that’s close to you and take the head away. So far away! – 05.28.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Elisheba (1911)


Open thee skies, come down, come down, open thee skies come down, where silence sounds, where silence sounds.

A soft touch of air lights down on her shadowed nose, in the coldest of winter, in best of her dreams, she climbs through the storm, and counts as she goes. The seams of her thoughts the daemons take hold. Blonde locks of her hair freeze to her cheeks, a character flaw, when she’s not pretty and neat. The gentleman waiting, her husband some said, cares not for her soul, like the one enclosed, in memories of light that she’s had. One hundred and ninety-nine steps, steady not led, a shiny eyed specter, a past that’s not dead. Her eyes on the goal, somewhere, she knows, another world it waits, so different, then Whitby. There beyond the reach of her still living breath it flows. She’s still not a princess, a lady of class, yet now all those whispers tell her instead, she’s the queen that’s unbridled to ghost in her head. A wanton fire in need of the king’s bed. The whisper’s say, he’s just ahead.

An unmoving light in darkness, reflecting on the snow, the empty still, still darkness, not empty that, she knows. The Abbey a high place, a graveyard for the mass, the place her grandmother Lucy taught her of the pact. The contract in the shadows, the moving of the blessed, the points that part the curtains, when there’s nothing to hold her back. She thinks herself, an angel now, no broken wings, from her past now, no memory how he dragged her cross the floor, and beat her till she cried, the blood it ran, to something outside. They came those specters how they replied. Tore his thickened bones, with a curse they moaned. In your coven’s name, a culture oh, our sweet Beth your designation we claim.

She moves past stones her face now clearer, the whirling snow of judgment with her. The clouds they break, and all things are with her, now. And through it all her history heard her, she thought them lost, but how they drew her to this final place.

And Beth she calls the Daemon down, from this lost Abbey, the howling sounds, and from across the space of time and grace, her life of bruises becomes replaced. Elisheba, come and be my bride.

Open thee skies, come down, come down, open thee skies come down, where silence sounds, where silence sounds. – 05.23.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל