mason

the art

I’m conjuring

creating

constructing

may

hurt

you
but

it is

not[hing]

for

about

[to] [do] with

you

 
where I am
you cannot be

where I stand
there is no room

where I go
you cannot come

what I know
you cannot know

the space in me you long ago preempted
to over-fill with you

and later

cut,
carved
and
hollowed out

I’ve begun filling and patching with

my Self

by myself

and my mortar is nearly set

Open

I walk bare

out in the open

the Sun, Moon, Rain, Wind, Clouds, Sky and Stars
kiss me at all hours

did you see me open up
this Autumn?

after a Summer spent wailing,
wet, yet fruitless

after a Spring spent wading into lies instead of soft blossoms and new grass
Winter approaches, maybe the frost will kill this disease,
for good

I bathe

nearly naked in sunshine, cold rainstorms, in wetland pools and moonlight

unapologetically

|out in the open|

unabashedly

baptising
my face,
hair,
and eyes,
my breasts
vulva
and legs,
my lips,
throat,
spine,
and my wild heart

ceremonially, first
with wine, like Magdalene, anointing and anointed,
in the name of the Mother, Sun and holy ghosts

|a cabernet henna|

then, with rainwater from the willow’s edge, like Ophelia,
lying in the woodland and meadow, flooded
to cleanse or drown [to live, or not to live]
in the name of the Moon

|I ponder the stone cistern laden with glacial deposits and ruminant bones|

the woodland is abundant with new mushroom, new overnight growth

the hint of ancient circles supplants my judgment with instinct
and overrides decorum with new delights

|and old delights, revisited |

an aged grapevine is rooted deep, climbing, trailing, snaking
hidden in plain sight, everywhere
and I’ve intuited It as Ol’ Scratch,
I take a hatchet to quell Its influence, here

You,
Your windows are not true eyes
Your lamps are not enlightenment

So, bless the dark

of the night

of the country night sky

And the Moonset

of my moon

it’s been decades,
but
this place wants to birth or impregnate me,

and I want that too
i want it to

|I come here and open up|

 

 

Famêlée

10600441_1311270905555418_268641145937541608_n



This feels like an arrow
Made from a tree
That rose from
An acorn
That I gathered and stored
In another life

Scribed with a message continually
piercing my heart

I wasn’t only wounded though,
I was woke
into a clarity
that I was already sighting in my dreams,
writing with words
mortal and eternal

You once said, proclaimed or whispered
Every single thing
that I ever believed
My own truths embarrassed in the shadow of your confidence
My inner voice silenced in your animated persuasion

Believing you so completely – for the better of my years
Becoming like and unlike you because of it,
but not be-coming me,
Un-be-coming me every day

I ain’t even mad.
You don’t know this – still,
You don’t want
to hear it.
or listen;

Our time is running out, and
Even this admission
Is sure to haunt me one day,
and guilts me today

But I can’t call you confidant or crone
If you refuse to learn,
to evolve,
From this singular archetype

The wide and long view
seems to escape you:
You live in the moment in the least way, the worst way
And I don’t worship here or there, any more
The faith in your godliness is gone, and
It is unfamiliar
For me to pity you
You, intentionally deaf and tone deaf

You had all the answers
In the morning shallows, perhaps;
But evaporation revealed even those
Were anchor-less, yet stationary ideas
An algae,
Mucking up the colorless perfection of sunlit water

Continue reading “Famêlée” →

Her, me.

Licensed under Creative Commons https://www.flickr.com/photos/curiouslee/11937802674
Created by Mike Lee. https://www.flickr.com/photos/curiouslee/ Licensed for use under Creative Commons

I learn so many new things each day, that I feel like Samantha, the AI operating system OS¹ in Spike Jonze’s film, “Her”.

It’s as if I am birthing myself out of my own ignorance each and every day.
– kimtnt ⊕

20141007_183235
Rooftop. photo by: kimtnt

The Bottom (RV)

https://www.flickr.com/photos/isawnyu/5885591721/in/photostream/
The Well at Kom Ombo AWIB-ISAW: The Well at Kom Ombo A deep well at the Ptolemaic temple at Kom Ombo, which functioned as a nilometer. The well is also thought to have been used in the ritual worship of the crocodile. by Iris Fernandez (2009) copyright: 2009 Iris Fernandez (used with permission) photographed place: Omboi (Kom Ombo) [pleiades.stoa.org/places/606346]

 

Get to the bottom of this.

This, means You
Get to the bottom – of Your Self

Do you have to be thrown
down the well
through loss, by the grave, or near-grave

What if
instead,
we pulled the rug out from under ourselves
to reveal the formidable trap door

What if we climbed down into the dark cellar, willingly

to enter our infinite interior
to touch the well
the ancient aquifer within
where the gods reside and respite with our Twin Selves,
our other-halves waiting for discovery

This infinite, eternal presence
be-neath our weathered houses

What if we willingly descended
Into it
Unto it

And we learned to crave the Original Dark
and its companionship

Where we delve deep into our imaginations, dreams, nightmares,
That connect us primally
to the pool of imaginations, dreams and nightmares of every one,
Of every being that ever existed

Collective Unconscious
made Self Conscious

The dark, deep well
we may all draw from

Pour out your false light
reveal the truth:
the unbearable emptiness of being

Cup your hands
Or wade into the well
Deeper and deeper
submerge, swallow
you’ve been bone dry for so long
Do you see that now?

Baptize
The only way
To rebirth yourself
Into something worth birthing
Into something worth being
is by this sacrament, anticeremonially, un-ceremonially

Knowing now the bottom is
The only place where alchemy happens

Where wine is turned into eternal water,
instead of that story first told to you, by them Continue reading “The Bottom (RV)” →

the Sixth day

apples-490475_1920


We are in the know
We are in love

We are in love with absolute strangeness
Strangers weaving desperate bits of truths with swatches of lies and patches of mystery together
into idols of flesh-like beings ready to exist in the garden of the unknown
We begin as avatars,
with our hollows filled in with wishfulness and wistfulness
Our first chore: fashion a blanket from our shared thoughts and song
and beneath it, together
We’ll conceal our new being from them, for a while
Conceal our new world from them, for a while

Our whole, true selves rarely revealed
to each other,
or to the other-others
to our-selves

Who are You?
I think,
Better to not know your You,
Not wanting to dispel the myth
of the You I’ve created: my You
Not wanting to deconstruct the perfectly vague architecture
of the You I’ve created: my You
Wanting You only as my own creation
knowing You, owning You, or owing You
or revealing to You,
can never be what I have conjured on my side of our bed,
under our quilts, in our garden

Making You up whole,
completing You with my imagination
is godlike,
You, the Adam
I, the Creator and the Ethereal Eve
I give you the role you think you want
But just for this remote rendezvous

A scripted dialogue has gone awry with dangerous improvisation
A genesis of intangible intimacy, here,
Your being and words disembodied, afar,
is enough, for now.

To know You,
whole and complete and present
as [hu]man Incarnate
Near,
Potential,
Warm,
Muse
The angels hold their breath
What will she [i] [they] do?

For now, in the now, I am curiously
content in this undetermined, undefined serving of You
whether,
an apple to bite, to taste,
or an orchard for my harvest
⊕

 

 

Wanderten Mutter

“Lief heim ins Seitelein.” Unitätsarchiv, R.20.E.36.12. Archiv der Brüder-unität, Herrnhut. http://bq.blakearchive.org/40.3.schuchard “Lief heim ins Seitelein.” Unitätsarchiv, R.20.E.36.12. Archiv der Brüder-unität, Herrnhut.
http://bq.blakearchive.org/40.3.schuchard

My life seems long, I know
My body’s mostly worn
Inside, she’s just begun to live, again
A young woman and girl, or gone long ago

There are bottled laughs to voice aloud
New smiles to wear with these old shoes
Time to know the world, and you, and you, and you …
between these walls of peeling, muted hues

Once Herr died
My Self was ready to return
My cadence so shy and slow,
Lamenting the awkward waste of precious years

I find my voice as I write the past,
But in my book, the Tomorrow has no page
Forever winter approaches from within
These years and years upright on hard chairs

Unreal, unseen, unheard, untouched
by the world, by the womb, it may concern, Whom
I speak through and then beyond this pain of bone and life
Before the cold within brings silence of the tomb

You see, to me, my presence still feels warm, and blush
somehow, even new
My life stretched out behind me, no steps ahead
And I forestall Death’s cue, awaiting mere glimpse of you

If you can imagine, child
I love, unsaid,
I feel as just alive, as real, as you. Continue reading “Wanderten Mutter” →

Neologism: Dendronglow

Dendronglow on Twin Sycamore Trees. Setting November Sun. Dendronglow on Twin Sycamore Trees.
Setting November Sun.
Dendronglow on Twin Sycamore Trees. Setting November Sun. Dendronglow on Twin Sycamore Trees.
Setting November Sun.


Dendronglow : The rosy light of the setting or rising Sun on trees, especially urban trees.
akin to Alpenglow.

November Neologism

Dendron (δένδρον) is the Greek word for “tree”

Am Aum Om

20140814_161559



Who am I.
What am I.

What remains, if it’s taken all away,
if I die or am killed today;
If I were never born today;
If I were reborn today;
If I were unborn today;
if I choose to strip all of it away,
if I strip It all away

I
strip
It
all
away

My birth;

My parentage;

My race;

My ethnicity;

My nationality;

My family history;

My name;

My family;

My childhood;

My background;

My home;

My neighborhood;

My city;

My country;

My back-story;

My culture;

My religion;

My friends;

My loves;

My partner;

My marriage;

My child;

My progeny;

My legacy;

My intellect;

My politics;

My beliefs;

My ethics;

My talents;

My labor;

My education;

My skills;

My occupation;

My associations;

My friendships;

My relationships;

My temperament;

My attitude;

My affection;

My cowardice;

My courage;

My humor;

My hate;

My prejudice;

My justice;

My wins;

My losses;

My habits;

My flaws;

My knowledge;

My personality;

My indignation;

My judgment;

My judgments;

My action;

My inaction;

My anger;

My rage;

My compassion;

My strength;

My kindness;

My goodness;

My shame;

My joy;

My pain;

My ideas;

My words;

My speech;

My secrets;

My expression;

My face;

My body;

My womb;

My motion;

My taste;

My scent;

My touch;

My sound;

My body,
My temple
My aperture
My dwelling;
My mind;
My humanity;
My morality;
My dignity;
My presence;

My universe;
My heart;
My love;
My experience;
My gods;
My death;

Who am I
Without them?

What am I
Without them?

What remains, then,
without them?
Who remains, then,
without them?

Then What am I
Then Who am I
Who am I
What am I

Still am I?
am, I?

Am I
Am I, I
Am I Am

Am I sound
Am I essence
Am I origin
Am I alpha
Am I omega
Am I always
Am I all ways
Am I everything
Am I nothing
Am I every thing
Am I no thing
Am I light
Am I dark
Am I god
Am I energy
Am I vibration
Am I consciousness

Am I continuum
Am I infinite
Am I eternal
Am I

I Am
I am
I AM

I  Am
I
Am

Am
Only, Am

Am
Am
Yes,
Am
Yes,

Am
Aum
Aum
Aum
Om

dream[t] poetry: Visitation

A man who wore a kelly green shirt
Surprised me in my dream
Crashed on my grandmother’s couch
swathed in blankets, soft and deep

I don’t ask him why he’s there,
It seems we both already know
This room’s exactly where she died,
This Oakdale house, sold long ago

Still, worried that as she ‘rived “home”
He’d given her a fright,
I go to wake her, see her, touch her . . .
What a beautiful, strange night.

He says, “No need to wake her now,
she’s a gem, it’s all okay,
she didn’t seem to mind me here,
I inferred that I might stay?”

I shush’d us, not to rouse her then,
Sound asleep in her old twin bed,
In disbelief, I hear her breathe
Has our connection stirred the Dead?

I feel wondrous, but then remembrance
forges space for Cardinal guilts
Smiling devilishly, making room for me,
he pats the couch and parts the quilts.

Continue reading “dream[t] poetry: Visitation” →

Lamentations of Birth and Exultations of Re-Birth: An ode of the birthed and mothered on Mother’s Day

Lamentation and Exultation

I am spirit
Though not pre-conceived;
I was conceived; and pro-created;
I contained knowledge, and
I was known
I did experience,
and I remembered; but
I was then birthed, and
I became human; so
I was mother’d;

I was mis-guided;
I was injured,

I was mis-judged; and
I was so scarred

I became ignorant;
I became blind
I forgot experience;

I became animal
I fell asleep and
I became unknown;

I too conceived; and
I pro-created
He too was spirit
He too contained knowledge;

I birthed him ignorance
He too was experienced;
He too remembered
I was the witness; but
I was still blind’d

I was still sleeping;
I then mother’d, and
he became human,

I then mis-guided,
I then injured,
I then mis-judged
I then so scarred;

I saw the death of one dear before me;
and then,
I remembered;
I was re-wakened,

I became un-blind’d;
I sought my [lost] knowing
I reclaimed my experience;

I forgave the mis-guidance
I so sought forgiveness;
I forgave the mis-understanding
I so sought forgiveness;
I forgave the injury
I so sought forgiveness;

I understood ignorance, and
I so sought re-knowing:

Those who are born are meant to be born;
Some who are born, though, choose to be born;
Most who are born though, have no choice to be born;
Most who are unborn; are not meant to be born
Not meant for this time; not meant for this World;
Those who have birthed, those who have fathered, have re-pro-created error;

Still there are Those who were sung into exIStence
Those are the Ones who chose to be born;
Now those who were birthed, not sung into existence, must will to re-member,
must choose to re-birth, to become re-known;

I re-membered mySelf, re-birthed mySelf
Now,
I am beginning to become re-Known.


Jesus said: “When you see one who was not born of woman, prostrate yourselves on your faces and worship him. That one is your father.” – Gospel of Thomas (15)

Jesus said, “The man old in days will not hesitate to ask a small child seven days old about the place of life, and he will live. For many who are first will become last, and they will become one and the same.” – Gospel of Thomas (4)

Jesus said, “Take heed of the living one while you are alive, lest you die and seek to see him and be unable to do so.” – Gospel of Thomas (59)

A woman from the crowd said to him, “Blessed are the womb which bore you and the breasts which nourished you.”
He said to her, “Blessed are those who have heard the word of the father and have truly kept it. For there will be days when you will say, ‘Blessed are the womb which has not conceived and the breasts which have not given milk.’ – Gospel of Thomas (79)

Neologism: Resreverser | palindrome

Resreverser

resreverser: noun [ res-ri-vurs-sur ]

a palindromic definitional word for a palindrome/ also, an onomatopoeiac, palindromic definitional word for a palindrome.

palindrome: noun [ pal-in-drohm ]

from dictionary.com

“a word, line, verse, number, sentence, etc., reading the same backward as forward, as Madam, I’m Adam or Poor Dan is in a droop.”

re onomatopoeia:

a palindrome is reversing, just as a cuckoo cuckoos; therefore: resreverser is reversing

note: resreverser is not the sound of reversing, but the actual action (actus) of the word: palindrome.

res + reverse + r

res:

from the Online Etymology Dictionary:

Latin word once used in various phrases in English, often in legal language, where it means “the condition of something, the matter in hand or point at issue;” literally “thing” (see re). For example res ipsa loquitur “the thing speaks for itself;” res judicata “a point decided by competent authority.”

reverse: verb [ ri-vurs ]

from the Online Etymology Dictionary:

early 14c., reversen, (transitive), “change, alter” (a sense now obsolete); late 14c., “turn (someone or something) in an opposite direction, turn the other way, turn inside out,” also in a general sense, “alter to the opposite;” from Old French reverser “reverse, turn around; roll, turn up” (12c.), from Late Latin reversare “turn about, turn back,” frequentative of Latin revertere “turn back, turn about; come back, return” (see revert).

r : a suffix; a noun finisher

from the Online Etymology Dictionary:

alternatively –er

English agent noun ending, corresponding to Latin -or.

eighteenth letter of the English alphabet, traceable to Phoenician and always representing more or less the same sound, which in many languages is typically so resonant and continuous as to be nearly akin to the vowels, but in English is closer to -l-.

Continue reading “Neologism: Resreverser | palindrome” →