A Poem Of Unequinox

Young women. Old men should know better.
But at least one god made a fool of himself in this way too.
Or rather makes. Over & over.
Year after year. Again & again.

And this One’s summer is that One’s winter. Just ask One. From Down Under.

Demeter keens
                                 for

Persephone

Her tears fall and fall in Fall

the leaves of trees

Half a turn

’twill be the turn of

Hades

December 21st is the winter solstice, an unequinox. Every year at that time, according to many of the tellings, She begins her long, round trip journey. It is where this poem begins & ends, begins & ends, again, again.


Persephone By Thomas Hart Benton

Springing

Persephone?

        Persephone

                PERSEPHONE!

Winmer

Persephone sits wan on Hade’s throne

He is old and cold

Lifeless surrounded, smothered, she is alone

Yearns wold, Stay nold

Spritumn

Like a sunflower sun turning for like young burning

but buried alive inside she soundless screams

Azureless vault, Munch, and suttee

Guinevere, are these to be her adharma’s themes?

She shall be free!

Sumter

Like a doe, like a peregrine, like a feline Kore queen

To, not from, to flee

Life, laughter, love, sun and shine, see, be seen

Fly tracklessly

Aung

Hades sits alone his throne. Joylessly, jealously, Persephone

Hoarded like Fáfnir’s gold

Lies buried alive in memory, his misery miserly

Whealed, old, corpse cold

persephone…


Hades and Persephone by Ashramart http://ashramart.deviantart.com/

Pomegranate Seeds

For The Otaku Veela Her Own Elf Self

Photo of 6 pomegranate seeds by Prathyush Thomas Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

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Vive Le Troubadour!


Once upon a time a long time ago when kings would die

And the scepter passed to another’s hand,

The crown another’s head,

The herald would cry, “The king is dead!”

Then

“Long live the king!”


Now

Pete Seeger shall no longer sing.


The Troubadour is dead.


Who shall now take up his griot’s kora lute?

The Machine That “Surrounds Hate and Forces It to Surrender?”


That is the question.


As needful of an answer, in practical terms, as “building a boat to save the river.”

We have created a toxic environment of mass extinctions.

Is his rare breed another one to be added to the list?

Where have all the troubadours gone?

When will we ever learn?


The Troubadour is dead.


But, in a larger sense, he, unlike temporal kings,

Who wielded corporeal power,

Ceos today amassing, misusing, corporate power,

He whose spirit was so fused and interinfused with that of his music that they are one,

That troubadour cannot die,

Not as long as someone, sometime, somewhere, everywhere

Sings

His songs, our songs, of joy and sorrow,

Or hums them, even off-key, as they do the wash or clear the fields.


If he, pragmatically optimistic, is right about our chances as a species,

He will live,  speak, longer than Halliburton, Monsanto,

Or those other corporate (so-called by SCOTUS) persons.

Long after the BOA Pencil has crumbled to graphite

He “shall not perish from the earth.”


And when we, as all things must,

Finally fall and fail, our kind dust,

Who is not to say that some far star singer,

From Vega say,

May pluck from the aether his spirit, his troubadour’s song,

And (if heShe has a mouth and vocal chords)

Sing along?


The Troubadour is not dead.

Long Live the Troubadour!



        Pete Seeger May 3, 1919 – January 27, 2014
                                               

                                    Photo of Pete’s Machine is from Pete Seeger’s YouTube site


The Only True Honor

Some die in battle.
Some later, of their wounds. Some, years later.
Not all their wounds are of the body.
Nor their deaths. Nor all their battles in the field.

.

For Saavedra, Michael Anthony, once of the USN.

.

@ NCVRC, 4th Av, off Humboldt Bay, CA

.


.

2 Vets
1 Nam
1 Mid E
@ NCVRC
Both said pretty much the same

There was no honor in our battles
In them
Or awarded

Our Victories too few & hard fought won
Discounted
False Purposed
Pointless

Our losses too many, too much to bear

.

2 Addicts
1 Alkie
1 Junkie
@ NCVRC
@ 0500
Both rise & tarnish
Bright & surly
Strive, struggle, stumble, sometimes fall, too often fail
Each new same-o day

.

Their losses are crosses not carried
Save by self

There are no victories
Save of self
Too few & hard fought won

There is no honor in their battles
Save self awarded in the mirror

Each new ending day

.


Memorial Day 2013
Across the South Bay from Tuluwat

.


Celebrations ‘n’ Barbies ‘n’ Burgers R Part of It
Like Laughter @ a Wake
But Pause A Sec’ ‘n’

Remember To Remember

.

Highway 101 Sign Source: Wikimedia Commons, contributed by User SPUI
Navy Bugler Photo Source: American Press Association. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons