I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright
In a musty old cave lie’s a treasure chest and inside are scattered amongst the various pages of an odd notebook or two contain collections of poetry and prose without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence. I fear that these short verses will fill volumes if I allow them as much and bring me to task for my truth. But I will do away with my unwanted disposition of fear and let this long and winding road of words take me to where they might lead, to the river of my memory, with its rich loom on the alluvial plain of my mind.
*copyright jc 2020- 11 by 9 image by pixel
Tonight we sleep under velvet skies
As we count the days since the caravans have departed in winter’s wake
I find the beloved in a hundred murid images
The clues hiding deep in these crossed roads of a poet’s second-hand notebook.
For those of us left behind to finish with this wayward stroll
The milkiest way is full of light from Andromida’s way star bright
With nights of Blue Moon, Cowboy Junkies, and Sweet Jane
Least we forget the rain, the sky and the Hawk from on high.
Steel on steel will make the rails sing
But tonight my song is for the river the Lakota call Wakan Tanka
Take me into your murky debts amongst the sunken cypress logs
And renew me in the pure water of southern rain.
With great respect and warmth, we bid the day adieu’
May our dreams ever fall true for another nights review
And with my eyes ever-smiling across the waters wide
It’s good to ride the river with you tonight.
Image by Pixabay
Heading downriver toward New Orleans on Christmas eve you can hear the bells from St.Louis Cathedral and the angelic voices of the choir singing traditional Christmas hymns. If you listen even closer, the sounds of horns playing out from Bourbon St… traditional jazz from Preservation Hall. These different sounds of syncopation… horns, bells, and singing in a blended rhythmic exchange of musical styles can only make the heart overflow with love on this magical night. But a peculiar thing happens on this night according to the National Weather Service that calls out for our attention. Every Christmas Eve winds out of the east rush from the Pontchartrain headed west toward a crescent in the river at the French Quarters… downtown New Orleans. All of this energy is pushing onward to the mouth of the river. Witnesses say you can feel the winds lift you up as though they were coming to take you away. Legend has it that Papa Noel, after his visit to the bonfires of the river parishes, leaves New Orleans from this very crescent in the river with these prevailing winds surrounding his sleigh guiding it downriver to the Gulf of Mexico and all points south. And yes the sound of someone in a loud voice or is it the wind against the currents, either way, ” Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”
“Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man that he didn’t already have,” -Dewey Bunnell Continue reading Changes Alt One
Sacred River, A Meditation
The sun settling silently on the big muddy, grandfather of all rivers as thoughts come and go and we mourn and celebrate all that life offers. My sacred river, churning and turning the secrets of all born to its code. But someone forgot to tell the river that it’s secrets were not to be entrusted with the likes of ordinary men. So the Mississippi flows south on the compass of life, an open oyster for all the world to behold the failures and successes of untold thousands waiting to be witnessed… all in good time… all in good time. Continue reading Dreams, the River and You
There is something about the grace and serenity of water; it seems lazy and peaceful in one moment and then in the next, it shows great strength and power. Water is perseverance, patient, and adaptable; just think of the Colorado River creating the Grand Canyon. And most important of all, water is fluid… ever changing as the universe. Look up ‘fluid’ in any thesaurus and this is Continue reading Silent Fluidity
Many summers ago I was sitting on the levee watching the Mississippi, that venerable old man of rivers, as sacred as the Ganges and the Nile, proud and steady with a thousand tales screaming silently to be told. Though I had seen the river hundreds of times, it was during this one particular visit that I perceived it on its own terms. I felt as though I was seeing something observed before but only now fully realized in its own complexion and varied temperament for the first time. Continue reading Living Life on River Time
You and I have memories, longer than the road that stretches on ahead -The Beatles
Two from one! This is the root of suffering. Only perceive that I am one without two, Pure awareness, pure joy, and all the world is false.There is no other remedy! -Ashtavakra Gita 2:16
I live my life in terms of two; all I think I am Continue reading The Two Of Us