Spider Goddess

Posted on by meltingneurons
All credit due to REA Gallery through Fine Art America

Outside the borders
of this unquiet mind,
sit eons of wisdom
woven as invisible mesh most fine.
Alone sits Arachnae,
that fate wielding bug,
completely immersed
playing God string by string,
thud by thud.
We’d settle for reality
if only for thinner air,
know what’s happening,
get right-sized and repaired.
But truth hangs us all,
the devoted or mellow.
Chokes down in the craw,
suffocating like an ungenerous fellow.
So let’s sit side by side,
have a novel discourse.
Talk free will or destiny,
while the galactic spider calls for a hearse.

Turning Inward

Posted on by meltingneurons
Credit for the photo above to the Brahm Centre

Catatonic repose
affect flat and bare
thoughts locked in mid-battle
weaving chaos enough to wear.
Halcyon days
under visions of winter sun so bright,
sitting with view turned in
reflecting fiercely in that light.
Mindfulness resides
focuses on action, body, and soul,
a smile branches out
as new knowledge chases out the cold.

Wild Dancer

Posted on by meltingneurons

Explicitly free,

in empty shadows she dances

underneath clouds,

across ocean swathes of green

tickled with flashing bulbs of brightness,

puffs of color growing

amid the endless blades.

She will not be kept

or locked inside,

always bursting forth

enchanted by the world

the sensation of movement,

the passion of feeling deeply,

the exhilaration of newness,

as it sweeps away her pain

leaving her breathing heavy.

I too,

once touched the underbelly of clouds,

skipping with my feet,

unabashedly giddy.

I ache again for those days

knowing,

nostalgia is a wonderful weapon.

Day 2 – 30 Day Writing Challenge

Posted on by meltingneurons

There’s a brush fire burning not so terribly far outside of town. With the wind yesterday and today the smoke moved in and the air quality took on that most questionable of feels to it. When every breath tastes like cigar smoke should you really be outside moving around at all?

The raining ash finished answering that question.

While fire season sucks, there are a few moments that always stand out. The way the Sun turns into a brilliant red ball behind the smoke screen, the ongoing smell of wood burning as though the whole world was joined in some weird form of camping together, and the silence–that eerie crazy silence that happens sometimes like yesterday.

No birds, no animals, barely any cars, and aside from the breeze, just stillness to the air.

If anyone happened to be in the total eclipse crossover zone a few years back (happened to be at one of the main spots for it myself accidentally) and remembers what the world was like for those few minutes, shockingly similar.

I’m not sure why I like the silence so much. On some level I know it’s because the animals are afraid and their habitats are being destroyed, so it should have a mournful or lonesome quality to it. Despite, it grabs the happy spots inside my brain and milks them with something so surreal for me that I always find myself questioning its existence to begin with.

True unadulterated peace.

The only other time I seem to be able to find it is in a sensory deprivation tank, floating like a child in the cosmos across massive fields of stars and nebulae instead of inside a water filled coffin creation. If you’ve never experienced one before, I highly recommend it.

Isn’t that the end game we’re all pursuing in some way? A feeling of peace? Is it so wrong I get it when the world is on fire enough that the birds stop chirping and the crickets are silent at last? To be fair, the landscape of raining ash and a red son also bespeaks a darker place to be sure, but we all find our joy where, when, and how we can right?

Night Tan Under the Supermoon

Posted on by meltingneurons

Layer a white cold blaze

in circular pool

hung

where the reflection of day

carries to the infinite

teeming void.

Shadowscape of eternity

ever beyond 

incandescent blue skies,

milky clouds,

beyond sun-blinded sight,

always sitting.

Wonderland of possibilities

bending even science

to use imagination.

Endlessly faltering

towards an unknowable end.

The Gods baubles

spin deftly

through the deepest darks

of cavernous black gone noir.

Never bound,

never stuck,

not clasped tight inside

of opulent bondage 

as we marching mortals

on our madhouse Earth.

Into that idea –

that dizzy concept which

forged new words

to try and constrain

something so terribly VAST –

where all is birthed

through cataclysm,

fiery destruction,

demises so profound

dust from their corpses span eons,

rages as a furnace

crafts awakening

in billions of new forms.

Peace is found

within mirrored 

microcosm eyes

of any

who would choose to pray,

take silent reverie

in joyful awe,

of beauty without boundaries,

and their own

immeasurable nothingness.

Rhymes with Crass

Posted on by meltingneurons
Liar.

You brittle sword blades that play at being soft,
with your fucking allure and goddamn velvet looks.
All supple and inviting,
green and enticing,
even though I know you’re full of bugs.
I’ll lay down,
Sucker for your edges on my skin.
That’s Spring,
time for lying shoots,
stubborn goofs.

Gigi

Posted on by meltingneurons
Dogs love grass.
Friends until the end.

Crazy dog on a leash nipping the beak of an Alpaca,
a little bundle of terror–so damn happy.
She’s out on four paws in the noonday shade,
fucking with a goat-kid we saved from the grave.
Throws herself carefree in the still biting grass,
rolls until she can finally hit that perfect spot in need of a scratch.
No shame in her game as those jowls go flapping,
smiling like the devil inside,
bounds off into the hills,
roaming free now,
ignoring all but her truest calling.
Glinting light off one scarred eye,
covers up the mysteries of whats come to pass,
it’s always in the past,
and we’ll know not why.

Gods, Giants, Children & Men

Posted on by meltingneurons

Found this unexpectedly in my drafts folder, don’t remember writing it, but then again I don’t remember a lot of things in the ways that others do at least.

I don’t know that the entirety of any story,
will cover what I had wanted to say initially.
I don’t believe that the ideas are wholly there,
sitting more like clumps of clay
waiting for a better artist than I to mold.

I had a moment once where the world laid open its belly to me and told me to come close, listen at a heartbeat that thumped with mysteries beyond anything I had ever dreamed of before. A kiss to the forehead of reality and the absent blast from it’s withdrawal were the price. The air was a hazed crackle of something intangible and without form and face. A feeling left as an impression the walls of truth and the faded glories of all the wishes we had as children. When we were young enough to put our heads together and pass thoughts back and forth, pretending we were telepathic and could read each others minds. Racing the wind across the grass and stumbling because we felt we had grown wings to carry us at the speed of air. We were flying, brazen fuck yous to the established status quo of gravity bound worms that we had been, free to soar, smiles cutting our faces so broadly that they felt like they would never leave. It was a moment and a time when there was nothing impossible and anything you could think was only a moment of focus away from being achieved.

Close down to a belly thick with the furs of nature gone to shit and trees whistling with empty branches. An incoherent ramble across the soft pink that raised out a welcome heat in radiance and peace. Touch the skin with a shovel and pull the axe blade back out so that the blood could go free. Cinders and ash blasting away thoughts and giving the entertainment for the evening and the night as the moons went rising over the hillsides and into the ethereal realms which can be tasted in the heart and break the mind that walks through them.

Safely in the comfort of truth we could sit in the caverns beneath what you saw in the over world. We were realized and all to ourselves. Peaceful gods surrendering to the joy of being lighter than the air, more stable than the mountains outside. Fucking giants as children, children as men, and something gone to dust during the interim.

Many Voices

Posted on by meltingneurons

The tails on most all the letters go wavy, curl left
to a place they’re drawn to instead of from.

Many, however, jut down aggressively as though engraved,


digging trenches in the flesh of pulped tree skin.

Some lay delicate and feminine in their perfect order

others are hewn out with unkempt urgency and demand.

Each flourish, keystone whimsy given form

holding tight the lines, the words, the sentences.

Reviewing the ink gives eyes a chance to wander

pages strewn with discordant emotional ink stains.

The beauty in being fractured as a human being

is that you speak in many voices while seeking to find you own.

Bones and Flowers

Posted on by meltingneurons
All credit due to MacSeam for the artwork.

Spacious and widely set are these woven walls
stinging nettles wrapped firmly around whipcord center
a promise of pliable willow branches,
carefully soaked switches
cut green, bound in beautifully colored leaves thick with thorns.
Laced with the fabric of breath, desire, mystique,
keeping the luminescent beyond–
–beyond.

However, in those sacred moments that the air stirs first languorously,
then rising to delight in how it can twist and whirl
a joyful movement of shifting scents
breeze spraying aside the curtains
they, no heavier than dreams.
Rolling across the stones laid intricate with care
drifting to cross the lone pond.
Glassine and undisturbed as puddled silver
thickly magick and deeper than deep can be known–
–as the air quenches and remakes.

Where tendrilled branches cast ripples,
serpentine gashes play at being rivulets of liquid
cutting once pristine layers
on which reflections flared.
Alive and shedding mirrored skin,
sloshing possibility and promise
as ancient hearts cast aromas in the air,
only as decayed wood left to rot can.
Dust and brittle powdering husks
broken down from their heights to furnish food and fuel
that the next generation might cast ramparts of growth
riding high on the bones of the Old.

Silently they sit.
Gazing down at the scarred and skittering pool,
beaming hope in darkly radiant intensity
from behind eyes set deep with focus.
Contemplating and wishing fitfully,
that as it calms,
they will find relief from their personal tempests
peace through the restoration of waters
returning to their unblemished state.

A cauldron of insight,
slickly metallic and alluring
where they might at last catch sight of their foes,
drag them into the shaded glen,
bleed them onto the stones,
leave their corpses ragged and torn,
that they can be reborn with the changing days.

Drift into their thoughts unfettered by care,
smile indulgently at the colorful cacophony
as it unfolds behind their drooping lids,
Oh!–what flowers Spring will surely bring.