L’Usurper de l’Amour

She was prone to moonwrath;
She was coming to goldenness;
It was an outblown image of potential –
Forever was smiling and playing with her hair.
Catullus was laughing bitterly,
And butterflies opened like hearts,
The slaves all walked to the sea, now dark,
But she…she was prone to moonwrath,
Unleashed upon tides, economies, minds,
With a necklace of conquests
Adorning her like a Yuletide wreath

“This is where I bleed through for you,”
I say, (in the unlikely rain, incessant)
Where Phoenix’ wings molt without
Sol touching & the songs all playing
And where I have no more of time, and
“Who are you?” I ask on this night of
Desert rain, of she, prone to moonwrath
And dire changes; But she leers, vanishes,
As this desert rain pours its tears down
Upon the silent cars and lives,
Tears poured back into the void of this land,
“Black teacher, lend me a hand!”
Joy will push through me,
Buzzing and weeping, wavering swiftly,
I an otherworldly being…
                          …can they even see me?

Starting Out

The evanescent clouds glide by
as dusk opens the vast starry heavens
to exposure, a rubric to a forever manuscript
dancing to an unheard melody.

The ticking of time is but an artifice
man created. No one alive will see it
cease as transmogrifying transition
envelopes the seer. The birds fall slowly

hypnotized by the tiny prey the breeze
in tall grass reveals. Pray that the harmony
once here returns with or without us.
Look at all there is to do, and begin.

brushing

am I brushing my teeth
or thinking about brushing my teeth?
I don’t remember brushing my teeth
I was elsewhere thinking
& going thru the physical rote
of not being where you are

though you are not here
I recall the strenuous togetherness
& the thick white foam running down

Nine/Nine

She’s putting the pain in painter again,
and it’s not just ice, but fire, too –
& there are sperm sprouts in the mulch swamps,
& there are hotbeds of uncertainty awash in mercenary wine;
So watch a woman’s joy and strength in Music,
and watch her transform,
As your nights do you,
and what do I ride for?
I saw the Headless Horseman
glide across coyote lawns;
I saw false jewels sparkling in the hills,
I’ve drunk from the fountains of fear
Under gray ceilings incontravertable, and I’ve
sucked hot sounds from the seminal earth,
while playing python games in the mind,
playing with love and hate together,
trying to read the list of loves gone,
with eyes that drowned long ago.

Sausalito

Wasps, tambourines, & jugglers filled the fair.
Tugging at your sleeves the crowd
ebbed & flowed around the water’s edge

in all its twilight rippling calm.
If speech were in disarray & piecemeal
in its distribution, it played amongst the birds,

music & drifting thoughts devoid of all purpose
but to be in communion with summer’s end,
& the last morsel of ephemeral, plasticene joy.

The community property of this moment
will go out in the dark. Though I know
none of you, we go on separately, together.

The sounds echo as we go away hearing
seagulls, accepting handouts for the coming political
rallies that talk on & on

about the reality of this country going
in a hand basket to where we do not know.

SPIRIT OF COURAGE

Everyone cries sometimes
When your world has gone cold and hopes are low
Everyone cries sometimes
When your life is on hold and troubles overflow

You can cry when you’re happy
You can cry when you’re sad
It’s a natural emotion we all have had

Everyone cries sometimes
When yours friends fade away and love is strange
Everyone cries sometimes
When your mind wants to stray to avoid change

You can cry when you’re happy
You can cry when you’re sad
It’s a natural feeling we’re allowed to have

4:11 beyond the dawn a silent VOICE IS
Once a boy now a man forevermore IS

You can cry when you’re happy
You can cry when you’re sad
It’s a natural emotion we all must have

11-24-11 – RICH LOVE, INC.

Lost Rose

Frost glazed everything in sight
in the garden
crunched like glass under
her feet as she walked the paths
in the late November afternoon
she walked aimlessly
sadly
lonely
her heart and soul feeling
empty
void of love
as she loooked all around
at the pearl gray misted sky
the brown trees bereft of leaves
the tired bushes
the dried out flowers sleeping
till next spring
she thought…
“Is this all there is? Is there nothing left?
Is there no hope left for me?”
A sad sigh
A single tear slips down her soft chilled cheek
Suddenly
out of the corner of her eye
she sees a tiny spash of colour
without thinking
she is drawn to it
and then she is next to it
a single rose
a single last surviving
lost rose
clinging on to life
fighting
blazing in all it’s glory
she took in it’s lush fragrance
It filled her with warmth
It started hope within her again
She thought
If this single lost rose
can find a reason to survive
in this cold bleakness
so can I
She rubbed the rose against her cheek
then softly kissed it
A single ray of golden sunlight breaks
through…
Hope does spring anew.

© copyright catherine anne hayes 11/26/2011

A l l ow

There’s a way to do this. Time may be running out, but somehow there’s a peace, to passionate ambivalence.
May I say that there is a method to it all? The seeing, the challenges wrapped in what seems like forbidden tension, are all creating something, a person maybe. But not I.
Enjoying is so deliriously avoided. The separation created is so maddening, with no benefit except space in between, that must be maintained. Constant working. Let them all come into you. Let it all reside as it may. Opportunity. Delirious and furious kind of, non speech, that runs through senses, on the ground and beyond it.
Placing, among words, sights and sounds that may never know bound if the category could cease.
Did you guess that one day we would really meet? Beyond hope and prayer. In love and weird glances that couldn’t be used for use? That when you came, I would never think to do anything but want you to.
Thought is so serial. But us, we could parallel, meeting everywhere because one, line, erupts into our never leaving hand, touch, watch. We meet here, as never before, but too damn familiar for deja.
Love is a delirious.