Poetry has lost its place as a expression of ones reality. As an expression of the artist in all of us. We are artist first; creator first.
The individual reality, the one you should be creating rather the one that you are addicted to...ones own universe, a space that is enlarged as we imagine.
And so...
WHITE DOG
The white dog stops...
we breathe in for a minute and take in the universal breath
Its dark out here...
its black and darkly cold, out here
The wind it cuts the image from my eyes
And I watch it fall frozen and split like glass into the snow
This deep, and unwritten thing -- waiting on edge
for a free life to write it
too large to see it all
deep back in there beyond my visions reach
The starry dingle...I begin, and
now I see it
I raise my head, to take in all this...
Scattered diamond dust on the top of Iron sky table
and shards and grainy rubies sapphire blue split through the black
Glitter... and, the stuttering glitter
And Betelgeuse drags Orion higher...the father bears the weight of his children
And there about it all, those sparks from all those little fires
The white dog stops, and looks back green-eyed glowy still, on me and my light
All that loud shining sound above his head
I stare back and he blinks...his closed eyes lose him in all that
The immortal knowledge fills me again
Spirit moves in peace and...I surrender to it
On and on -- cold frigid and wind blows snaps out like open jaws
on the backside of this frozen northern slough
looking back distantly behind me
a town asleep in glowing embers of its progression
and echoed detachment from all the real that surrounds it
Blue box light shines in every distant window
the faithful at their prayer in a strange religion
DOG AFTER AN OWL LOOKING FOR A MOUSE Between frozen cattail
thick ice I trust beneath my boot steps and water neath that too -- I hear great wealth of life down there..dozing in and out of lengthy sleep and waiting the new green
The dog calls me on and not to stop -- round the edge we go, on slippery legs and further into that void
Jagged long dead willow gnarled in dark twisted sketching lines and feckly shadows cast from a tiny light-- and things look back and he and I look forward
I turn my lamp off and trusting, let the night swallow me whole
black cold embrace it gently lift I hear the deep thrust into the trusting place of a wing, and smell of feathery memory as the hunter is headed home.
Walk on not knowing were the ground is and feel my legs lose their weight...
Roll around embraced of that eternity, and remember that I have always been
Forever
remembered and recalled from times on another place, another thing
and white dog pulls me back and reminds me we are on a mission here
to find the best spot
and I am blind to all but that above my head and the direction of a dog's nose
White dog and the stars are my master now.
Reminds me of when I was homeless , sleeping under the night sky .