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twilight


Degree of my natal Hekate --
a liminal year for the dweller
on the threshold.
The search is for clarity,
expanding borders, introducing
elasticity as integral character.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim
in the glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty.
To see, to feel, to breathe in
all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold,
transmit as cellular energy.
To paint upon translucent canvas
subliminal etchings, private symbols
generously revealed.
Sagacity gifted, re-gifted,
planted in potent fertility
of visions, of cantations.
The tinsel of starlight;
the subtle scent of conflagrated pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm;
caressed within word and worlds'
mysteries.



Caught in conundrum ‘tween twilight and dawn
Formerly someone, lost without form
Back to that question you asked being born
and the answer that started when?



, as twilight melts into familiar
constellations, migrating like flying life,
early harvest still feeds celebration.




Twilight, trace forecolours of dawn, silence deepens,
counterstroke to what is to come.



Every dawn could be inspiration,
bounteous gifts free of obligation,
uplift of
energy gleefully received.



At the crossroads, past midnight,
just before dawn,



the power of
peeping dawn high in colors of awe.
Here, in a world of fog and fury,



~twilight of the goddess, call to song to aery dancing, lady fair your fiery trance rewinds our souls; enjoy these offerings of fancy: all art is yours ~



Liminal Spaces


Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon
liminal spaces,
places where magic reigns,
crossroads, crises, cusps.

There is static on the radio.
A song
my voice was singing
taking flight to surround me,
the sound of music,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.

I've been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I've been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sound, a scent,
a memory.
I've been trying to find a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in the shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
cannot define.
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation begins.




There is a viscosity to twilight

Cut from the core

fruit of neural womb, gestating decades

sluggish, subject to cravings, livid dreams

Within the secrets of the seed,

occluded aspects of beginnings,

unfolding

petal by petal

sacred in the morning dew

enticing fragrant fields

as if myths foretell our lives




wrenched gut throbs, eyes blurred to the howl
Twilight crowd a'clamor for loud resilient community;
tranced instant glamour distant from day's insanity entrains yearn for humanity
Learn flexible grace staggering tribal stadia; fade lines between day and night as you play




After images, ash sparks in the twilight, take flight, swirl within echoed breeze

Readiness, relative to the free winds of chaos




blurred in twilight vengeance.
Crows, ravens, portents of
black flight circle above,
a crown of shrieks, feathers
cascade, rain like pestilence.
No blame in blindness.
"I could not see through feathered fog;
could not save you."




The curse took no notice of time or circumstance.
I existed in a liminal state of vague dream images,
static discharge of random sensory neurons.
I did not expect; I did not wait; I was not aware of being.




The fever has blessed me. Burnt away the unholy
castings of the curse
the sacrifice
leaving me ready
unembarrassed, unafraid, unencumbered
moving to the liminal rhythm
conjoining heaven and earth.





Eternity of now

burns through bone,

marrow -- flimsy narrow gate

Liminality is waiting




dawn's cloudy brew.
Cumulative immersion with pollution,
anthropic chemical solution
under which we were formed,




That liminal dimension between the pain

and the screen selection of feeling, immersion

away from meaning: what you don't mean;




Midsummer twilight,
fairytales brought back from sleep.
Sprinting across that abyss,
goblin mouths, hungry ghosts.



Imagine the day that dawns when
you are no longer dreaming.



Beginnings never warn of battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant possibilities.

A brief eternity before dawn,
supplicating the night sky for
solace, this soft moment before,
an unmarked road
to ride along home.




Dusk’s purple sky imagines snow, shoveling,
streets aglow in festive lights, flights of fun.




Grooving through the twilight
Twirling through the fade
Relax into madness,
dark magic
masquerade




Songs that entwine backbrains, insist
we all dance one foot, one mind, one goal
or another
Face off, blinded, emit sonic rays as walls
so steep, so hard, so badly soiled
In quiet dark before twilight before time
vagrants paint with bloodied fingers, examine
interstice and flow




twilights of harmonic symphonies when Sun
touches green horizons.




Twilight passages when possible expands.
Pre-dawn messages, first-draft images
subconscious doodles before thought can capture plan.
Empty amplitude celestial structure demands.
Continuum of spectral light draws sight
against backdrop of shadow’s span.




That liminal space
Between my body and the airwaves
Creates a dance.




By liminal command, young aggressors channel
to sport, fantasy battle, adventurous work.
Next level survival demands we assess, re-learn.



Rather like a spell, you know.
Those dawning tendrils
sneaking through my windowshade.
But it's much too early to be rising.
So I'll dally in enchanted romance
without recalling
I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.




last of dying light
first return
liminal
twilight -- dusk, dawn




wild in the sun, in the shadow, against the highway

moving I to I in the twilight

anticipate memories to come.




Oblique bands dapple into twilight

Far away forests call

Peace floats softly

in trailing starshine



mystically inviting.
Dusk whirls of wilding sands,



The new day dawning
it will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.




Gentle twilight, before the night, before all the freeze of laughter,

bubbling partying, high hats and hands, desperate to ignite,

to touch ice to ice and become.





Welcome to the Twilight Zone

Welcome to the twilight zone
for twilight presages the night
the beautiful, magickal night
where anything can happen
any dream can be revealed.

I ride a marvelous nightmare over evanescent swamplands,
mysterious passageways into undiscovered treasure hoards.
There is so much, mirroring its way into the future,
recombining images, sounds, visions, eery macabre skeletal touch.
Endlessly morphing images, whirling through me,
each fleetingly touching its sweet taste onto my tongue,
eternally cherished in a magnificent instant.
There is no future in the night, no past, no present,
only dreams and surreal landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes.
There is an anticipatory quality that moves and dances,
ever out of reach, never coalescing into form.
This is the essence of magick.
This is the promise, the curse, the incantation, the lion's roar.
This is the homeland of vampires, lycanthropes, sorcerors from beyond.
This is the holy see, the mist shrouded mountainpeak, the smokey lake,
the boundaryless mystery.

Welcome to the twilight zone,
the band of pale purple light
that draws us home.



Darkening into heavier compression

Molten heat compressing

Density increasing toward

event horizon.

Twilight

on the apocalyptic battlefield.

Inside the box

are we dying

or transforming?




Symphonies,

drums at dawn

Inspiration and instruction

carried forth through song and stage

vibrant murals painting onward age to age

Taking up the challenge of the tale

that twists, turns, meanders

providing kaleidoscopic opportunity

ever to begin again





Simple acceptance

The dancer with the dance

enter pre-dawn mystery

quiet interval,

incanting music.

Undulating reverie




glistening in firefly light

tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper
we have paid all the long
seasons of darkness
it is time to reap an early harvest
of dreams dancing to dawn




another rainy day
allowing dawn to hide behind
weeping clouds
Sunday into Monday,
weekly transition
Giving in to who we are
despite our dreams
Look! Listen!




So she drifted through the night, content, serene, laughing at silly little private jokes, singing wisps of songs as they floated by, making up fantasy landscapes and stories from the shadow shapes as she passed through.

As dawn approached, shapes became more distinct against the color infusing sky. She understood that her journey was over, as the memories returned in one last burst of clarity.




The sounds, the smells, the awaited adventures
Anticipation . . .
Or merely another day?
Do you long for love in the dark, dusky evening?
Do you count the countless stars,
knowing a miracle is on its way?
Has the chill of eternity captured your imagination?




Light coalescing into sound into waves into sea?

What is the demand of sky
of sea
of fire

dripping through the twilight?

Reflections

half moonlight, half mind.




free of temporality, ephemeral, rare and precious and of the fleeting moment, exquisite beauty without further responsibility.

Yet again, "be here now" ever changing landscape; ever changing dance of me to you.
I am leaning into the whole illusion theory. Too many coincidences/synchronicities, object lessons, deja vus. There's too much that makes too much sense in a totally fantastic way. I feel like I'm slipping down the rabbit hole, through the mirror, into the Twilight Zone.




Someday soon the piper calls

a merry tune you're too afraid

to answer;

you are no dancer

Still afraid at dawn

chirping birds upset you

Those who have not met you

no longer matter

Mad as a hatter

you open your soul to the night

and find though blind in your flight

better ventures than fright

now bid you to believe

your fate

It may not be too late

too close to the dawn

I hear the nightbirds pleading

for just one more song





Like you, I've learned everything

I know

from late night movies

lyrics on pre-dawn radio.



I look behind to shining grace

realize my place

out, far from grim, grey dawn

upon dawn

listening for enchanting pipes

of Pan to follow

past the painted sky




Longshoremen, in early dawning

stinking of dead fish

seagulls' wet crying

Desolate, the sea entwined

with sky casting about

into another day.




Dream Street




Bright colored lights,

Boisterous music,

Gaily chatting people

drawn in by wares.

Carnival beauty

painted so prancy

whirling romance

casts off daily cares.

At the dark end of the street

quietly peaceful

drawn in to the pre-dawn air.




birdsong, voices conflating

the sum of experience

let loose into this foggy dawn

colours, still subtle

arranging

catch liquid

dissolve in

undulating air

tell a story




Coloured atmosphere,

diffracted light

The many metaphors of dawn

Layered clouds, clarify ecstasy

perfect

inspiration

dissolves the lock

twixt everyday and magic.




Times, forms, enemies change.

The game goes on.



Bright golden Sun absorbs mist

a glorious dawn.

The smell of lonesome prairie after

the train's rushed through.

On this side of the bars,

life is slow

awaiting judgment.




A brave touch twixt worlds

Can change minds into consciousness

with such subtlety

"Of course, we knew it all along."




Resolutions and revelations.

Look into the molten glass, sparking visions

Clean star twinkles ask not, glorying in terpsichore,

no written lines obscure wide sky, open beyond horizon

mistily expanding into rolling sea. Drink to the season,

to oblivion, to ecstasies bequeathed in excess emotion,

rolling, amniotic, amnesia of expectation. Breathe --

vestigial gills awaken.

This is the first measure of the first movement

a pirouette, a dervishly delightfilled whirl.

Cast upon this rocky estuary, dance inner wise

third eye calling dawn into destiny.




on the threshold
before the eclipse
before the dawn
before we are given our missions,
sent forward in time
we must be ready
must rise to the challenge
without map or guidebook to prepare
we endure the patience to exercise
control over every capillary,
every synapse,
of our being

it's not the believing, but
the seeing
a better world needs a new kind
of ware
be a ware
for peace, for life,
for consciousness
before the wake




quest




Deep in our ancient lives

Far from our daily chores

Hidden within our minds

With no bright line to follow

Could I be true?

Breathing, a mist so fine

sprayed from brave ocean floors

Seen in dreamlike design

shades dark and blue

Dawn's pink-purple hue

breaks through over time

while I wander in dreaming

What could be true?

Torn by my primal cry

how would you answer?




Words of Peace

speak beyond structured language

sharing profoundly

in joy

graceful dancing

to music of each dawn




morningbirds




Welcoming the light

creamy purples into day

so swift the change

(when it happens)

from predawn mysteries.

Trees sway gracefully.

Morning birds are singing.

Primeval emotions

awake in my dreams

before I remember

to whom my day is promised.






If life were simple,

childish agonies

dispelled with dawn's

bright kiss,

we would laugh

cross-purposes, cross-talk

easily sorted out in counsel.

Cast into sorted cells

with little thought to empower;

we could harness the Sun, Moon,

birth of stars,

simply

allow minds to grow.




Old King's Cold/Grail King




And the old King dies.

Sends out his mortal ghost

to dance on Olympian plains.

I am the mighty he;

ruled wisely while I was allowed;

sold my soul to please the crowd;

withered on the vine divine.

There is no more of me.

Drink from the golden Grail,

Oh New Found King.

You are triumphant.

A bright dawn upon the kingdom

offers sparkling hope,

new dreams aborning.

Don't despair old peasant folk,

though you think despair all you

can cling to.

The Fisher King has returned

from his desert adventures.

He brings the tides to

slake the thirst

of this arid land.

I beg you yet again

to take a stand.

Take harness, plow your pastures.

Believe that the seed will take hold.

Listen to the heralds

shouting lines in the sand.

They know a flood is coming

after many a hard rain --

but don't despair!

It is a flood of fertility,

a harbinger promising carpets of grain

and lush vegetation.

All this is promised if you

do your part.

The old King, so long dying of his

festering wounds, has poisoned you

with ill-fated rule.

Cast out the poison from your hearts.

Tend your fields with a will

and a song.

Never forget you are free.

Never forget that responsibility.




May I say, I am awed by

the way your presence echoes,

keeps time and space at bay

as if you create each new

dawning day




A new day dawns cloudy and forbidding.
We are entering San Francisco in the morning fog, early, early, the world still dreaming. Or maybe it was Cambridge, Mass., lost in the fog, unsure of time or space. Sometimes there is singing: something about a "Yellow Submarine" or "Strawberry Fields" or sometimes haunting melodies without words. But it's all about the words, even those implied by the music.
Wine can help. By the gods, wine is sometimes all that can help (tho sometimes even wine betrays me).
The stinking debris of mornings after the night before, or just morning by the coast with the stink of rotting fish, the cries of gulls or sirens, the emptiness without tears, the cold of morning -- I remember that too. That no more mornings could touch me, that I could hide contented in the night dreaming flying dreams so none could touch me. Fragments. Taking life in fragments. Folding each shiny fragment into tender velvet pockets sequined to reflect the light, let them be all right, feel cared for. Let the nights protect us from the days. Like a wandering hermit with a self-igniting lantern . . . .




Coming to the Light

My mind playing tricks on my eyes
That golden glow bringing me into
worlds of pumpkin coaches,
Valkyrie in flight,
neverlands that never were,
yet so much more real than
what passes for day to day.

Sadness is beauty brought down by ugliness,
truth succumbing to convenient lies.
Joy is opening all the senses into the
spectrum of beauty.
No moderation,
no limitation,
no convenient structural captivity.
Let the stars be shining beacons
calling us home.
Let the wind be a magical cloak,
the rain an exultation.
Let the cold, dark night be
a treasured, inspiring friend.

Let the night take me forward
Into everfulfilling fantasies
The never empty cup,
the magic wand/magic word,
sprinkled with faery dust,
toasted with the fine bubbles
of celluloid champagne.
Let us, the night and I, sneak off into
exotic adventure.
Let us learn the secrets of the Moon and Stars,
ancient runes and alchemical wonders.
Let us play upon the backs of dragons,
learning to fly,
learning to breathe fire,
learning to explore the mountainpeaks
and caverns of
our cthonic fears
and spin them into gold.

The new day dawning
it will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.
It will be a day of startling showers and
unsettled wind,
of unreasoned pain
and empty solace.
It will be a day to try our souls.
But it will be a day of infinite possibilities.

Let my good friend, the night,
join me in play
to help prepare me for the day.
Let the earth and fire and rain and wind
infuse my spirit
that we all be fellow friends
in the new ventures
coming with the light.


The future descends

from the fear-embroidered skies

the vision is of holocaust --
when everybody dies

A new day is dawning, but is it sun or storm?

We have a chance to make our mark

but is it right or wrong?




Early morning dawn awakening
to a season of wild abandon
a golden moment of sensation
In a flash -- alive to an open season
Alive to a new awakening
Alive




They dream of liquid floating in suspension and do not understand. We are the product of their dreams.
We suck you of your life fluids, moving mouths on every part of your body. Vampires of experience, we will not let you go till we have sucked you dry. Like a vampire's victim, you will crave the life, the experience of others, will suck them dry to gain eternity. We suck you and lick you clean, fondlingly. We again enter you through every opening, cleaning you through. You have been exhausted. We complete our ritual cleansing as you lie immobile, beyond response. We symbolically cut off your genitals, cut out your heart. We now own your soul. It has been a good night.
Dawn has long since risen; they will wake soon. Soon they begin again, another day of their busy aimless lives: rise, work, unwind, sleep, and, oh yes, consume those predigested market-attractive packaged products of the mass media, the mass brainwash, the mass society.




Silent, the singers are searching for voice
They know in their souls it's a matter of choice
They need to find reason, a cause, to rejoyce,
A newly turned path to felicity.

A new day is dawning, but where is the sun?
Our freedom and faith are defined by the gun.
The symbol of power overrules everyone
'Til we create our own electricity.

But under cover of darkness a banner's being stitched
Of patchwork-bright colors and radiance
To someday soon be unfurled in the breeze
As we march to freedom's song.






Dreams drifting by
The neon letters "LOVE" lit up in the air
A poem in pictures and sound.
Rather like a dream, you know
Those dawning tendrils
Sneaking through my windowshade
But it's much too early to be waking
So I'll dream on of morning romance
Without remembering
That I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.
Reaching to the stars,
Tarry in eternity:
This is all.




Growing Out of Liminality


Thirteen Wizards Shall Guide You, rotating in 7s,
to be chosen from a wizard test administered at regular intervals
to any who wish to apply.
Each wizard shall serve at his/her pleasure -- until they decide to move on.
Any wizard may return by retesting and getting the highest score amongst
those currently in line at the time of a vacancy, like any other candidate.
The test to be devised by a wise pre-council to ascertain qualities of
wisdom, compassion, responsibility, integrity and clarity of communication.
The test may be reviewed and revised at any time that the full council agrees
to do so, based on evidence of better result to be gained.
The wizards do not make the laws.
Laws are made by direct democracy, after a sufficient period of debate when
an overwhelming majority of consensus seems likely.
Wizards do have veto power.
Wizards do not control the economy. That is the province of the market.
The wizards do oversee the use and conservation of common resources.
They do oversee a social infrastructure that assures everyone a comfortable, secure
livelihood. They do oversee disputes to assure that everyone is treated fairly
in the course of commerce, and in the course of community life.
They are not paid an outright salary.
They are given comfortable living conditions that their minds may be free
of personal want.




...a liminal epoch for the dweller
on the threshold.
Internal search for perspicacity,
expanding borders, authentic
elasticity as integral character.
Letting go Earthly gravity.
Crafty synaptic flow.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, burst renewed.

True shamans aren't ready for this world,
dreamcatching from all hallowed and harrowed.
Wrapped in a cloud of moonbeams --
query and call; capture fleet answer and call --
Eerie, yet wondrously apprehended
in glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty,
to remember we only borrow tomorrows
on our return to eternity.




Signpost in the fog.
Thick dry-ice blue billow emits formulations.
Liminal, portals
rise back, diminish time,
disarrange context.
Sear of light, brutal panic.
Quiet. High-pitched sonic
memories



promotes liminal wisdom
promotes calm acceptance of non-rational realities,
promotes reintegration of self as programmer
promotes self-reprogramming in alignment with
self-progression to a place of bliss and
dharmic awareness in which
every piece fits, magically finds its place
in expanding space eternally unwinding.





Uplifting notes,
affecting themes,
track social rhythm, mark liminal time.
Lyric, simple sweeps of tone and cue,
never meant to trip up but evoke true
meaning.
In unknown dark,
shadow hosts
deep thought to lark and lounge.
Dawning form seeps toward reward,
to speak out what’s been found.



Twilight of Goddess Revelation


What twisted so maliciously your mind?
Your God -- Created that greedy leaders may more easily prevail?
Is it guilty shame, seeded by consistent training insisting that you fail?
Lost to balance, whole possibilities, unable to be free or sane.
Eternal life is yours, we scream, while you destroy our birthright
in service to conjuror's dream of denial.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

II.

Born other than imperial, torn into what we are told is real
without power to protect ourselves from venal brothers of the order
spreading hatred like any venereal disease.
We no longer need to meet you cowering on our knees.
Karma's a hot potent !@#$ unschooled in mercy.
Witches reclaiming noble heritage, reframed herstories will prevail.
Though born, forced to service, in our master's jail,
lost and lonely midst the masses, masked to fit expected forms.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

III.

Listen, little one, watching every moment for our chance,
we will break free to adventurers' romance; dance away the chill of
foreign hills enrapt in leaves and grass. Hiding in primeval castles,
tightly aligned to a bright inner sphere, holding to hope of life to hold dear.
Learning to fly, ride to some unknown side, escape from the herd hate stone,
can't be as hard as learning to stand alone.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart



What is the demand of dreamlight?
Emotion spilling onto sand or clay,
igniting roaring soundwaves?
Light coalescing into sound into waves into sea?
What is the demand of sky
of sea
of fire
dripping through twilight?
Reflections
half moonlight, half mind.




Being, not being, letting it be.
Day upon night swept by twilight.
Vague images coalesce, remain an instant,
slowly disintegrate.
Ghosts in smoky distance reset dimension,
eternal reconfiguration.



Leaves twinkle falling.
Stars arise in twilight.
Their song soft, insistent
siren call.
Lost to primeval moorings.
Washed by eternal storm
to awake
transformed.



Twilight passages when possible expands.
Pre-dawn messages, first-draft images.
Montage doodles that thought can capture plan.
Empty enormity celestial map demands.
Continuum of spectral pulse draws sight
against backdrop of shadow’s span.




Songs that entwine backbrains, insist
we all dance one foot, one mind, one goal
or another.
Face off, blinded, emit sonic rays as walls
so steep, so hard, so badly soiled.
In quiet dark before twilight before time
vagrants paint with bloodied fingers, examine
interstice and flow.
Slowly, as viscous waste, then quicker pick up
of pace, then light takes hold, caresses gentle
as a kiss of friend intent.
Will you let it in? Will you let your vision bend,
extend, begin?





Twilight at the Dark of the Moon


Moving inward.
Spiraling
into deepest silence.
Feel me here,
oh my most darling.
Here is the free-est flow,
river of bliss. Bounty
of years of grey resistance,
incrementally awakened to
swirling shades --
mystic purples,
mad magentas,
sky-eyed blues.
There is ancient music,
crescendos to peals.
Layered millennial ears,
creatures of seas to trees
murmur through.
Ripples of soundwaves,
broker wisdom
not yet condensed into words.
Romances spun of clay and sand,
woven into fashion’s fabrics.
Hearty voices join,
create regaled mythology.
Star-shaped world story
reverberates with
chill and heat.
Nascent strive for enriched clarity
that must open ever more widely,
a luminous spiral
up, out, in, around.
Come, brave as you imagine.
In that brief eternal interval
all of energy
coalesces.


Last edited by libramoon, Aug/11/2018, 6:05 pm
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Re: twilight


~twilight of the goddess, call to song to aery dancing,
lady fair your fiery trance rewinds our souls;
enjoy these offerings of fancy: all art is yours ~



Degree of my natal Hekate --
a liminal year for the dweller
on the threshold.
The search is for clarity,
expanding borders, introducing
elasticity as integral character.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim
in the glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty.
To see, to feel, to breathe in
all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold,
transmit as cellular energy.
To paint upon translucent canvas
subliminal etchings, private symbols
generously revealed.
Sagacity gifted, re-gifted,
planted in potent fertility
of visions, of cantations.
The tinsel of starlight;
the subtle scent of conflagrated pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm;
caressed within word and worlds'
mysteries.




Resolutions and revelations.
Look into the molten glass, sparking visions
Clean star twinkles ask not, glorying in terpsichore,
no written lines obscure wide sky, open beyond horizon
mistily expanding into rolling sea. Drink to the season,
to oblivion, to ecstasies bequeathed in excess emotion,
rolling, amniotic, amnesia of expectation. Breathe --
vestigial gills awaken.

This is the first measure of the first movement,
a pirouette, a dervishly delightfilled whirl.
Cast upon this rocky estuary, dance inner wise
third eye calling dawn into destiny.



The new day dawning,
dawn's cloudy brew.
Cumulative immersion with pollution,
anthropic chemical solution
under which we were formed.
It will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.



The curse took no notice of time or circumstance.
I existed in a liminal state of vague dream images,
static discharge of random sensory neurons.
I did not expect; I did not wait; I was not aware of being.

Caught in conundrum ‘tween twilight and dawn
Formerly someone, lost without form
Back to that question you asked being born
and the answer that started when?



At the crossroads, past midnight,
just before dawn,
the power of
peeping dawn high in colors of awe.
Songs that entwine backbrains, insist
we all dance one foot, one mind, one goal
or another.
Face off, blinded, emit sonic rays as walls
so steep, so hard, so badly soiled.
In quiet dark before twilight, before time,
vagrants paint with bloodied fingers, examine
interstice and flow.
Slowly, as viscous waste, then quicker pick up
of pace, then light takes hold, caresses gentle
as a kiss of friend intent.
Will you let it in? Will you let your vision bend,
extend, begin?



Beginnings never warn of battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant possibilities.

wild in the sun, in the shadow, against the highway
moving I to I in the twilight
anticipate memories to come.



There is a viscosity to twilight
Cut from the core
fruit of neural womb, gestating decades
sluggish, subject to cravings, livid dreams
Within the secrets of the seed,
occluded aspects of beginnings,
unfolding
petal by petal
sacred in the morning dew
enticing fragrant fields
as if myths foretell our lives


twilights of harmonic symphonies when Sun
touches green horizons.


Twilight, trace forecolours of dawn, silence deepens,
counterstroke to what is to come.
as twilight melts into familiar
constellations, migrating like flying life,
early harvest still feeds celebration.



Liminal Spaces


Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon
liminal spaces,
places where magic reigns,
crossroads, crises, cusps.

There is static on the radio.
A song
my voice was singing
taking flight to surround me,
the sound of music,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.

I've been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I've been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sound, a scent,
a memory.
I've been trying to find a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in the shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
cannot define.
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation begins.



A brief eternity before dawn,
supplicating the night sky for
solace, this soft moment before,
an unmarked road
to ride along home.



That liminal space
Between my body and the airwaves
Creates a dance.



Rather like a spell, you know.
Those dawning tendrils
sneaking through my windowshade.
But it's much too early to be rising.
So I'll dally in enchanted romance
without recalling
I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.



Simple acceptance
The dancer with the dance
enter pre-dawn mystery
quiet interval,
incanting music.
Undulating reverie
glistening in firefly light

tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper
we have paid all the long
seasons of darkness
it is time to reap an early harvest
of dreams dancing to dawn



Every dawn could be inspiration,
bounteous gifts free of obligation,
uplift of
energy gleefully received.


Symphonies,
drums at dawn
Inspiration and instruction
carried forth through song and stage
vibrant murals painting onward age to age
Taking up the challenge of the tale
that twists, turns, meanders
providing kaleidoscopic opportunity
ever to begin again



wrenched gut throbs, eyes blurred to the howl
Twilight crowd a'clamor for loud resilient community;
tranced instant glamour distant from day's insanity entrains yearn for humanity
Learn flexible grace staggering tribal stadia; fade lines between day and night as you play


Grooving through the twilight
Twirling through the fade
Relax into madness,
dark magic
masquerade


After images, ash sparks in the twilight, take flight, swirl within echoed breeze
Readiness, relative to the free winds of chaos



Here, in a world of fog and fury,
blurred in twilight vengeance.
Crows, ravens, portents of
black flight circle above,
a crown of shrieks, feathers
cascade, rain like pestilence.
No blame in blindness.
"I could not see through feathered fog;
could not save you."




Signpost in the fog.
Thick dry-ice blue billow emits formulations.
Liminal, portals
rise back, diminish time,
disarrange context.
Sear of light, brutal panic.
Quiet. High-pitched sonic
memories



Eternity of now
burns through bone,
marrow -- flimsy narrow gate
Liminality is waiting


That liminal dimension between the pain
and the screen selection of feeling, immersion
away from meaning: what you don't mean






Twilight passages when possible expands.
Pre-dawn messages, first-draft images
subconscious doodles before thought can capture plan.
Empty enormity celestial map demands.
Continuum of spectral light draws sight
against backdrop of shadow’s span.



Midsummer twilight,
fairytales brought back from sleep.
Sprinting across that abyss,
goblin mouths, hungry ghosts.


Dusk’s purple sky imagines snow, shoveling,
streets aglow in festive lights, flights of fun.


By liminal command, young aggressors channel
to sport, fantasy battle, adventurous work.
Next level survival demands we assess, re-learn.






last of dying light
first return
liminal
twilight -- dusk, dawn


Oblique bands dapple into twilight
Far away forests call
Peace floats softly
in trailing starshine
mystically inviting.
Dusk whirls of wilding sands.

Gentle twilight, before the night, before all the freeze of laughter,
bubbling partying, high hats and hands, desperate to ignite,
to touch ice to ice and become.


free of temporality, ephemeral, rare and precious and of the fleeting moment, exquisite beauty without further responsibility.

Yet again, "be here now"
ever changing landscape; ever changing dance of me to you.
I am leaning into the whole illusion theory.
Too many coincidences/synchronicities, object lessons, deja vus.
There's too much that makes too much sense
in a totally fantastic way. I feel like I'm slipping
down the rabbit hole, through the mirror, into the Twilight Zone.



Welcome to the Twilight Zone


Welcome to the twilight zone
for twilight presages the night
the beautiful, magickal night
where anything can happen
any dream can be revealed.

I ride a marvelous nightmare over evanescent swamplands,
mysterious passageways into undiscovered treasure hoards.
There is so much, mirroring its way into the future,
recombining images, sounds, visions, eery macabre skeletal touch.
Endlessly morphing images, whirling through me,
each fleetingly touching its sweet taste onto my tongue,
eternally cherished in a magnificent instant.
There is no future in the night, no past, no present,
only dreams and surreal landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes.
There is an anticipatory quality that moves and dances,
ever out of reach, never coalescing into form.
This is the essence of magick.
This is the promise, the curse, the incantation, the lion's roar.
This is the homeland of vampires, lycanthropes, sorcerors from beyond.
This is the holy see, the mist shrouded mountainpeak, the smokey lake,
the boundaryless mystery.

Welcome to the twilight zone,
the band of pale purple light
that draws us home.




Darkening into heavier compression
Molten heat compressing
Density increasing toward
event horizon.
Twilight
on the apocalyptic battlefield.
Inside the box
are we dying
or transforming?



another rainy day
allowing dawn to hide behind
weeping clouds
Sunday into Monday,
weekly transition
Giving in to who we are
despite our dreams
Look! Listen!




The sounds, the smells, the awaited adventures
Anticipation . . .
Or merely another day?
Do you long for love in the dark, dusky evening?
Do you count the countless stars,
knowing a miracle is on its way?
Has the chill of eternity captured your imagination?


Light coalescing into sound into waves into sea?

What is the demand of sky
of sea
of fire

dripping through the twilight?

Reflections

half moonlight, half mind.



Someday soon the piper calls
a merry tune you're too afraid
to answer;
you are no dancer
Still afraid at dawn
chirping birds upset you
Those who have not met you
no longer matter
Mad as a hatter
you open your soul to the night
and find though blind in your flight
better ventures than fright
now bid you to believe
your fate
It may not be too late
too close to the dawn
I hear the nightbirds pleading
for just one more song




Like you, I've learned everything
I know
from late night movies
lyrics on pre-dawn radio.

I look behind to shining grace
realize my place
out, far from grim, grey dawn
upon dawn
listening for enchanting pipes
of Pan to follow
past the painted sky




Longshoremen, in early dawning
stinking of dead fish
seagulls' wet crying
Desolate, the sea entwined
with sky casting about
into another day.



Dream Street


Bright colored lights,
Boisterous music,
Gaily chatting people
drawn in by wares.
Carnival beauty
painted so prancy
whirling romance
casts off daily cares.

At the dark end of the street
quietly peaceful
drawn in to the pre-dawn air.



birdsong, voices conflating
the sum of experience
let loose into this foggy dawn
colours, still subtle
arranging
catch liquid
dissolve in
undulating air
tell a story



Coloured atmosphere,
diffracted light
The many metaphors of dawn
Layered clouds, clarify ecstasy
perfect
inspiration
dissolves the lock
twixt everyday and magic.




Times, forms, enemies change.
The game goes on.



Bright golden Sun absorbs mist
a glorious dawn.
The smell of lonesome prairie after
the train's rushed through.
On this side of the bars,
life is slow
awaiting judgment.




A brave touch twixt worlds
Can change minds into consciousness
with such subtlety
"Of course, we knew it all along."



on the threshold
before the eclipse
before the dawn
before we are given our missions,
sent forward in time
we must be ready
must rise to the challenge
without map or guidebook to prepare
we endure the patience to exercise
control over every capillary,
every synapse,
of our being

it's not the believing, but
the seeing
a better world needs a new kind
of ware
be a ware
for peace, for life,
for consciousness
before the wake




quest


Deep in our ancient lives
Far from our daily chores
Hidden within our minds
With no bright line to follow
Could I be true?
Breathing, a mist so fine
sprayed from brave ocean floors
Seen in dreamlike design
shades dark and blue
Dawn's pink-purple hue
breaks through over time
while I wander in dreaming
What could be true?

Torn by my primal cry
how would you answer?




Words of Peace
speak beyond structured language
sharing profoundly
in joy
graceful dancing
to music of each dawn




morningbirds


Welcoming the light
creamy purples into day
so swift the change
(when it happens)
from predawn mysteries.
Trees sway gracefully.
Morning birds are singing.
Primeval emotions
awake in my dreams
before I remember
to whom my day is promised.





Old King's Cold/Grail King


And the old King dies.
Sends out his mortal ghost
to dance on Olympian plains.
I am the mighty he;
ruled wisely while I was allowed;
sold my soul to please the crowd;
withered on the vine divine.
There is no more of me.
Drink from the golden Grail,
Oh New Found King.
You are triumphant.
A bright dawn upon the kingdom
offers sparkling hope,
new dreams aborning.
Don't despair old peasant folk,
though you think despair all you
can cling to.
The Fisher King has returned
from his desert adventures.
He brings the tides to
slake the thirst
of this arid land.
I beg you yet again
to take a stand.
Take harness, plow your pastures.
Believe that the seed will take hold.
Listen to the heralds
shouting lines in the sand.
They know a flood is coming
after many a hard rain --
but don't despair!
It is a flood of fertility,
a harbinger promising carpets of grain
and lush vegetation.
All this is promised if you
do your part.
The old King, so long dying of his
festering wounds, has poisoned you
with ill-fated rule.
Cast out the poison from your hearts.
Tend your fields with a will
and a song.
Never forget you are free.
Never forget that responsibility.




May I say, I am awed by
the way your presence echoes,
keeps time and space at bay
as if you create each new
dawning day




A new day dawns cloudy and forbidding.
We are entering San Francisco in the morning fog,
early, early, the world still dreaming.
Or maybe it was Cambridge, Mass.,
lost in the fog, unsure of time or space.
Sometimes there is singing:
something about a "Yellow Submarine" or "Strawberry Fields"
or sometimes haunting melodies without words.
But it's all about the words, even those implied by the music.
Wine can help.
By the gods, wine is sometimes all that can help
(tho sometimes even wine betrays me).
The stinking debris of mornings after the night before,
or just morning by the coast with the stink of rotting fish,
the cries of gulls or sirens, the emptiness without tears, the cold of morning
-- I remember that too.
That no more mornings could touch me,
that I could hide contented in the night dreaming
flying dreams so none could touch me.
Fragments. Taking life in fragments. Folding each shiny fragment
into tender velvet pockets sequined to reflect the light,
let them be all right, feel cared for.
Let the nights protect us from the days.
Like a wandering hermit with a self-igniting lantern . . . .




Coming to the Light


My mind playing tricks on my eyes
That golden glow bringing me into
worlds of pumpkin coaches,
Valkyrie in flight,
neverlands that never were,
yet so much more real than
what passes for day to day.

Sadness is beauty brought down by ugliness,
truth succumbing to convenient lies.
Joy is opening all the senses into the
spectrum of beauty.
No moderation,
no limitation,
no convenient structural captivity.
Let the stars be shining beacons
calling us home.
Let the wind be a magical cloak,
the rain an exultation.
Let the cold, dark night be
a treasured, inspiring friend.

Let the night take me forward
Into everfulfilling fantasies
The never empty cup,
the magic wand/magic word,
sprinkled with faery dust,
toasted with the fine bubbles
of celluloid champagne.
Let us, the night and I, sneak off into
exotic adventure.
Let us learn the secrets of the Moon and Stars,
ancient runes and alchemical wonders.
Let us play upon the backs of dragons,
learning to fly,
learning to breathe fire,
learning to explore the mountainpeaks
and caverns of
our chthonic fears
and spin them into gold.

The new day dawning
it will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.
It will be a day of startling showers and
unsettled wind,
of unreasoned pain
and empty solace.
It will be a day to try our souls.
But it will be a day of infinite possibilities.

Let my good friend, the night,
join me in play
to help prepare me for the day.
Let the earth and fire and rain and wind
infuse my spirit
that we all be fellow friends
in the new ventures
coming with the light.


Early morning dawn awakening
to a season of wild abandon
a golden moment of sensation
In a flash -- alive to an open season
Alive to a new awakening
Alive


The future descends
from the fear-embroidered skies
the vision is of holocaust --
when everybody dies
A new day is dawning, but is it sun or storm?
We have a chance to make our mark
but is it right or wrong?



They dream of liquid floating in suspension and do not understand.
We are the product of their dreams.
We suck you of your life fluids, moving mouths on every part
of your body. Vampires of experience, we will not let you go till we have sucked you dry.
Like a vampire's victim, you will crave the life, the experience of others,
will suck them dry to gain eternity.
We suck you and lick you clean, fondlingly.
We again enter you through every opening,
cleaning you through. You have been exhausted.
We complete our ritual cleansing as you lie immobile, beyond response.
We symbolically cut off your genitals, cut out your heart. We now own your soul.
It has been a good night.
Dawn has long since risen;
they will wake soon. Soon they begin again,
another day of their busy aimless lives:
rise, work, unwind, sleep, and, oh yes,
consume those predigested market-attractive packaged
products of the mass media, the mass brainwash, the mass society.




Silent, the singers are searching for voice
They know in their souls it's a matter of choice
They need to find reason, a cause, to rejoyce,
A newly turned path to felicity.

A new day is dawning, but where is the sun?
Our freedom and faith are defined by the gun.
The symbol of power overrules everyone
'Til we create our own electricity.

But under cover of darkness a banner's being stitched
Of patchwork-bright colors and radiance
To someday soon be unfurled in the breeze
As we march to freedom's song.






Dreams drifting by
The neon letters "LOVE" lit up in the air
A poem in pictures and sound.
Rather like a dream, you know
Those dawning tendrils
Sneaking through my windowshade
But it's much too early to be waking
So I'll dream on of morning romance
Without remembering
That I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.
Reaching to the stars,
Tarry in eternity:
This is all.



If life were simple,
childish agonies
dispelled with dawn's
bright kiss,
we would laugh
cross-purposes, cross-talk
easily sorted out in counsel.
Cast into sorted cells
with little thought to empower;
we could harness the Sun, Moon,
birth of stars,
simply
allow minds to grow.



Growing Out of Liminality


Thirteen Wizards Shall Guide You, rotating in 7s,
to be chosen from a wizard test administered at regular intervals
to any who wish to apply.
Each wizard shall serve at his/her pleasure -- until they decide to move on.
Any wizard may return by retesting and getting the highest score amongst
those currently in line at the time of a vacancy, like any other candidate.
The test to be devised by a wise pre-council to ascertain qualities of
wisdom, compassion, responsibility, integrity and clarity of communication.
The test may be reviewed and revised at any time that the full council agrees
to do so, based on evidence of better result to be gained.
The wizards do not make the laws.
Laws are made by direct democracy, after a sufficient period of debate when
an overwhelming majority of consensus seems likely.
Wizards do have veto power.
Wizards do not control the economy. That is the province of the market.
The wizards do oversee the use and conservation of common resources.
They do oversee a social infrastructure that assures everyone a comfortable, secure
livelihood. They do oversee disputes to assure that everyone is treated fairly
in the course of commerce, and in the course of community life.
They are not paid an outright salary.
They are given comfortable living conditions that their minds may be free
of personal want.






True shamans aren't ready for this world,
dreamcatching from all hallowed and harrowed.
Wrapped in a cloud of moonbeams --
query and call; capture fleet answer and call --
Eerie, yet wondrously apprehended
in glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty,
to remember we only borrow tomorrows
on our return to eternity.


...a liminal epoch for the dweller
on the threshold.
Internal search for perspicacity,
expanding borders, authentic
elasticity as integral character.
Letting go Earthly gravity.
Crafty synaptic flow.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, burst renewed.


Uplifting notes,
affecting themes,
track social rhythm, mark liminal time.
Lyric, simple sweeps of tone and cue,
never meant to trip up but evoke true
meaning.
In unknown dark,
shadow hosts
deep thought to lark and lounge.
Dawning form seeps toward reward,
to speak out what’s been found.



promotes liminal wisdom
promotes calm acceptance of non-rational realities,
promotes reintegration of self as programmer
promotes self-reprogramming in alignment with
self-progression to a place of bliss and
dharmic awareness in which
every piece fits, magically finds its place
in expanding space eternally unwinding.



Being, not being, letting it be.
Day upon night swept by twilight.
Vague images coalesce, remain an instant,
slowly disintegrate.
Ghosts in smoky distance reset dimension,
eternal reconfiguration.



Twilight of Goddess Revelation


What twisted so maliciously your mind?
Your God -- Created that greedy leaders may more easily prevail?
Is it guilty shame, seeded by consistent training insisting that you fail?
Lost to balance, whole possibilities, unable to be free or sane.
Eternal life is yours, we scream, while you destroy our birthright
in service to conjuror's dream of denial.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

II.

Born other than imperial, torn into what we are told is real
without power to protect ourselves from venal brothers of the order
spreading hatred like any venereal disease.
We no longer need to meet you cowering on our knees.
Karma's a hot potent !@#$ unschooled in mercy.
Witches reclaiming noble heritage, reframed herstories will prevail.
Though born, forced to service, in our master's jail,
lost and lonely midst the masses, masked to fit expected forms.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

III.

Listen, little one, watching every moment for our chance,
we will break free to adventurers' romance; dance away the chill of
foreign hills enrapt in leaves and grass. Hiding in primeval castles,
tightly aligned to a bright inner sphere, holding to hope of life to hold dear.
Learning to fly, ride to some unknown side, escape from the herd hate stone,
can't be as hard as learning to stand alone.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart




So she drifted through the night,
content, serene,
laughing at silly little private jokes,
singing wisps of songs as they floated by,
making up fantasy landscapes and stories
from the shadow shapes as she passed through.

As dawn approached, shapes became more distinct against the color infusing sky.
She understood that her journey was over, as the memories returned in one last burst of clarity.


Leaves twinkle falling.
Stars arise in twilight.
Their song soft, insistent
siren call.
Lost to primeval moorings.
Washed by eternal storm
to awake
transformed.



Twilight at the Dark of the Moon


Moving inward.
Spiraling
into deepest silence.
Feel me here,
oh my most darling.
Here is the free-est flow,
river of bliss. Bounty
of years of grey resistance,
incrementally awakened to
swirling shades --
mystic purples,
mad magentas,
sky-eyed blues.
There is ancient music,
crescendos to peals.
Layered millennial ears,
creatures of seas to trees
murmur through.
Ripples of soundwaves,
broker wisdom
not yet condensed into words.
Romances spun of clay and sand,
woven into fashion’s fabrics.
Hearty voices join,
create regaled mythology.
Star-shaped world story
reverberates with
chill and heat.
Nascent strive for enriched clarity
that must open ever more widely,
a luminous spiral
up, out, in, around.
Come, brave as you imagine.
In that brief eternal interval
all of energy
coalesces.



Imagine the day that dawns when
you are no longer dreaming.


Last edited by libramoon, Aug/12/2018, 9:37 pm
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Re: twilight


~twilight, hear dear goddess, call to song to aery dancing.
Lady fair your fiery trance rewinds our souls;
enjoy these offerings of fancy: all art is yours ~



Degree of natal Hekate --
a liminal decade for the dweller
on the threshold.
The search is for clarity,
expanding borders,
elasticity as integral character.
To see, feel, merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim
in the glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty.
To see, to feel, to breathe in
all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold,
transmit as cellular energy.
To paint upon translucent canvas
subliminal etchings, private symbols
generously revealed.
Sagacity gifted, re-gifted,
planted in potent fertility
of visions, of cantations -- tinsel of starlight;
the subtle scent of phantom pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm;
caressed within word and worlds'
mysteries.




Resolutions. Revelations.
Look into the molten glass, sparking visions.
Star twinkles ask not, glorying in terpsichore;
no written lines obscure wide sky, open beyond horizon
mistily expanding into rolling sea. Drink
to oblivion, to ecstasies bequeathed in excess emotion,
rolling, amniotic, amnesia of expectation. Breathe --
vestigial gills awaken.

This is the first measure of the first movement,
a pirouette, a dervishly delightfilled whirl.
Cast upon this rocky estuary, dance inner wise
third eye calling dawn into destiny.



The new day,
dawn's cloudy brew.
Cumulative immersion with pollution,
anthropic chemical solution
under which we were formed.
It will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.



The curse took no notice of time or circumstance.
I existed in a liminal state of vague dream images,
static discharge of random sensory neurons.
I did not expect; I did not wait; I was not aware of being.

Caught in conundrum ‘tween twilight and dawn
Formerly someone, lost without form
Back to that question you asked being born
and the answer that started when?



At the crossroads, past midnight,
just before the power of
peeping dawn, blessed in colors of awe.
Songs that entwine backbrains, insist
we all dance one foot, one mind, one goal
or another.
Face off, blinded, emit sonic rays as walls
so steep, so hard, so badly soiled.


In quiet before twilight, before time,
vagrants paint with bloodied fingers, examine
interstice and flow.
Slowly, as viscous waste, then quicker pick up
of pace, then light takes hold, caresses gentle
as a kiss of friend intent.
Will you let it in? Will you let your vision bend,
extend, begin?



Beginnings never warn of battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant possibilities.

wild in the sun, in the shadow, against the highway
moving I to I in the twilight
anticipate memories to come.



There is a viscosity to twilight
Cut from the core
fruit of neural womb, gestating,
sluggish, subject to cravings, livid dreams.
Within the secrets of the seed,
occluded aspects of beginnings,
unfolding
petal by petal,
sacred in the morning dew
enticing fragrant fields
as if myths foretell our lives


twilights of harmonic symphonies when Sun
touches green horizons.


Twilight, trace forecolours of dawn, silence deepens,
counterstroke to what is to come.


As day end melts into familiar
constellations, migrating like flying life,
early harvest still feeds celebration.



Liminal Spaces


Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon
liminal spaces,
places where magic reigns,
crossroads, crises, cusps.

There is static on the radio.
A song
my voice was singing
taking flight to surround me,
the sound of music,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.

I've been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I've been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sound, a scent,
a memory.
I've been trying to find a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in the shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
cannot define.
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation begins.



A brief eternity before dawn,
supplicating the night sky for
solace, this soft moment before,
an unmarked road
to ride along home.

That liminal space
Between my body and the airwaves
Creates a dance.



Rather like a faery spell,
those dawning tendrils
sneak through my windowshade.
But it's much too early to be rising.
So I'll dally in illusive romance
without recalling
I've no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.



Simple acceptance.
The dancer with the dance
enter pre-dawn mystery,
quiet interval,
incanting music.
Undulating reverie
glistening in firefly light

Tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper.
We have paid all the long
seasons of darkness.
It is time to reap an early harvest
of dreams dancing to dawn



Every dawn could be inspiration,
bounteous gifts free of obligation,
uplift of
energy gleefully received.


Symphonies,
drums at dawn.
Inspiration and instruction
carried forth through song and stage.
Vibrant murals painting onward age to age.
Taking up the challenge of the tale
that twists, turns, meanders,
providing kaleidoscopic opportunity
ever to begin again.



Wrenched gut throbs, eyes blurred to the howl.
Twilight crowd a'clamor for loud resilient community;
tranced instant glamour distant from day's insanity
entrains yearn for humanity.
Learn flexible grace staggering tribal stadia;
fade lines between day and night as you play


Grooving through the twilight.
Twirling through the fade.
Relax into madness,
dark magic
masquerade.


After images,
ash sparks in the twilight,
take flight, swirl within echoed breeze.
Readiness to ride the free winds of chaos.



Here, in a world of fog and fury,
blurred in twilight vengeance,
crows, ravens, portents of
black flight circle above.
A crown of shrieks, feathers
cascade, rain like pestilence.
No blame in blindness.
"I could not see through feathered fog;
could not save you."


Signpost in the fog.
Thick dry-ice blue billow emits formulations.
Liminal, portals
rise back, diminish time,
disarrange context.
Sear of light, brutal panic.
Quiet. High-pitched sonic
memories



Eternity of now
burns through bone,
marrow -- flimsy narrow gate
Liminality is waiting

That liminal dimension between the pain
and the screen selection of feeling, immersion
away from meaning: what you don't mean


Twilight passages, when possible expands.
Pre-dawn messages, first-draft images,
subconscious doodles before thought can capture plan.
Empty enormity celestial map demands.
Continuum of spectral light draws sight
against backdrop of shadow’s span.


Midsummer twilight,
fairytales brought back from sleep.
Sprinting across that abyss,
goblin mouths, hungry ghosts.


Dusk’s purple sky imagines
streets aglow in festive lights, flights of fun.


By liminal command, young aggressors channel
to sport, fantasy battle, adventurous work.
Next level survival demands we assess, re-learn.



last of dying light
first return
liminal moments -- dusk, dawn


Oblique bands dapple into twilight.
Far away forests call.
Peace floats softly in trailing starshine,
mystically inviting.
Dusk whirls of wilding sands.

Gentle twilight, before the night, before all the freeze of laughter,
bubbling partying, high hats and hands, desperate to ignite,
to touch and become.


free of temporality, ephemeral, rare and precious and of the fleeting moment, exquisite beauty without further responsibility.

Yet again, "be here now"
ever changing landscape; ever changing dance of me to you.
Leaning into illusion theory.
Too many coincidences/synchronicities, object lessons, deja vus.
There's too much that makes too much sense
in a totally fantastic way. I feel slipping
down the rabbit hole, through the mirror, into the Twilight Zone.



Welcome to the Twilight Zone


Welcome to the twilight zone
for twilight presages the night
the beautiful, magickal night
where anything can happen
any dream can be revealed.

I ride a marvelous nightmare over evanescent swamplands,
mysterious passageways into undiscovered treasure hoards.
There is so much, mirroring its way into the future,
recombining images, sounds, visions, eery macabre skeletal touch.
Endlessly morphing images, whirling through me,
each fleetingly touching its sweet taste onto my tongue,
eternally cherished in a magnificent instant.
There is no future in the night, no past, no present,
only dreams and surreal landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes.
There is an anticipatory quality that moves and dances,
ever out of reach, never coalescing into form.
This is the essence of magick.
This is the promise, the curse, the incantation, the lion's roar.
This is the homeland of vampires, lycanthropes, sorcerors from beyond.
This is the holy see, the mist shrouded mountainpeak, the smokey lake,
the boundaryless mystery.

Welcome to the twilight zone,
the band of pale purple light
that draws us home.




Darkening into heavier compression,
molten heat.
Density increasing toward
event horizon.
Twilight,
on the apocalyptic battlefield.
Inside the box,
are we dying
or transforming?



Another rainy day
allowing dawn to hide behind
weeping clouds.
Sunday into Monday,
weekly transition.
Giving in to who we are
despite our dreams.
Look! Listen!




The sounds, the smells, the awaited adventures
Anticipation . . .
Or merely another day?
Do you long for love in the dark, dusky evening?
Do you count the countless stars,
knowing a miracle is on its way?
Has the chill of eternity captured your imagination?


Light coalescing into sound into waves into sea?

What is the demand of sky
of sea
of fire

dripping through the twilight?

Reflections

half moonlight, half mind.



Someday soon the piper calls
a merry tune you're too afraid
to answer;
you are no dancer.
Still afraid at dawn,
chirping birds upset you.
Those who have not met you
no longer matter.
Mad as a hatter,
you open your soul to the night,
and find, though blind in your flight,
better ventures than fright
now bid you to believe
your fate.
It may not be too late,
too close to the dawn.
I hear the nightbirds pleading
for just one more song.




Like you, I've learned everything
I know
from late night movies,
lyrics on pre-dawn radio.

I look behind to shining grace,
realize my place,
out, far from grim, grey dawn
upon dawn.
Listening for enchanting pipes
of Pan to follow
past the painted sky.




Longshoremen, in early dawning,
stinking of dead fish,
seagulls' wet crying.
Desolate, the sea entwined
with sky, casting about
into another day.



Dream Street


Bright colored lights,
Boisterous music,
Gaily chatting people
drawn in by wares.
Carnival beauty
painted so prancy
whirling romance
casts off daily cares.

Dark end of the street
quietly peaceful,
drawn in to the pre-dawn air.



Birdsong, voices conflating
the sum of experience,
let loose into this foggy dawn.
Colours, still subtle,
arranging,
catch liquid,
dissolve in
undulating air --
tell a story.



Coloured atmosphere,
diffracted light
The many metaphors of dawn
Layered clouds, clarify ecstasy
perfect
inspiration
dissolves the lock
twixt everyday and magic.




Times, forms, enemies change.
The game goes on.



Bright golden Sun absorbs mist from
a glorious dawn.
The smell of lonesome prairie after
the train's rushed through.
On this side of the bars,
life is slow,
awaiting judgment.




A brave touch twixt worlds
Can change minds into consciousness
with such subtlety
"Of course, we knew it all along."



on the threshold
before the eclipse
before the dawn
before we are given our missions,
sent forward in time,
we must be ready,
must rise to the challenge
without map or guidebook to prepare.
we endure the patience to exercise
control over every capillary,
every synapse,
of our being.

it's not the believing, but
the seeing.
a better world needs a new kind
of ware.
be a ware
for peace, for life,
for consciousness
before the wake.




quest


Deep in our ancient lives
Far from our daily chores
Hidden within our minds
With no bright line to follow
Could I be true?
Breathing, a mist so fine
sprayed from brave ocean floors
Seen in dreamlike design
shades dark and blue.
Dawn's pink-purple hue
breaks through over time
while I wander in dreaming.
What could be true?

Torn by my primal cry
how would you answer?




Words of Peace
speak beyond structured language
sharing profoundly
in joy,
graceful dancing
to music of each dawn.




morningbirds


Welcoming the light
creamy purples into day
so swift the change
(when it happens)
from predawn mysteries.
Trees sway gracefully.
Morning birds are singing.
Primeval emotions
awake in my dreams
before I remember
to whom my day is promised.





Old King's Cold/Grail King


And the old King dies.
Sends out his mortal ghost
to dance on Olympian plains.
I am the mighty he;
ruled wisely while I was allowed;
sold my soul to please the crowd;
withered on the vine divine.
There is no more of me.
Drink from the golden Grail,
Oh New Found King.
You are triumphant.
A bright dawn upon the kingdom
offers sparkling hope,
new dreams aborning.
Don't despair old peasant folk,
though you think despair all you
can cling to.
The Fisher King has returned
from his desert adventures.
He brings the tides to
slake the thirst
of this arid land.
I beg you yet again
to take a stand.
Take harness, plow your pastures.
Believe that the seed will take hold.
Listen to the heralds
shouting lines in the sand.
They know a flood is coming
after many a hard rain --
but don't despair!
It is a flood of fertility,
a harbinger promising carpets of grain
and lush vegetation.
All this is promised if you
do your part.
The old King, so long dying of his
festering wounds, has poisoned you
with ill-fated rule.
Cast out the poison from your hearts.
Tend your fields with a will
and a song.
Never forget you are free.
Never forget that responsibility.




May I say, I am awed by
the way your presence echoes,
keeps time and space at bay,
as if you create each new
dawning day.




A new day dawns cloudy and forbidding.
We are entering San Francisco in the morning fog,
early, early, the world still dreaming.
Or maybe it was Cambridge, Mass.,
lost in the fog, unsure of time or space.
Sometimes there is singing:
something about a "Yellow Submarine" or "Strawberry Fields"
or sometimes haunting melodies without words.
But it's all about the words, even those implied by the music.
Wine can help.
By the gods, wine is sometimes all that can help
(tho sometimes even wine betrays me).
The stinking debris of mornings after the night before,
or just morning by the coast with the stink of rotting fish,
the cries of gulls or sirens, the emptiness without tears, the cold of morning
-- I remember that too.
That no more mornings could touch me,
that I could hide contented in the night dreaming
flying dreams so none could touch me.
Fragments. Taking life in fragments. Folding each shiny fragment
into tender velvet pockets sequined to reflect the light,
let them be all right, feel cared for.
Let the nights protect us from the days.
Like a wandering hermit with a self-igniting lantern . . . .




Coming to the Light


My mind playing tricks on my eyes
That golden glow bringing me into
worlds of pumpkin coaches,
Valkyrie in flight,
neverlands that never were,
yet so much more real than
what passes for day to day.

Sadness is beauty brought down by ugliness,
truth succumbing to convenient lies.
Joy is opening all senses into the
spectrum of beauty.
No moderation,
no limitation,
no convenient structural captivity.
Let the stars be shining beacons
calling us home.
Let the wind be a magical cloak,
the rain an exultation.
Let the cold, dark night be
a treasured, inspiring friend.

Let the night take me forward
Into everfulfilling fantasies
The never empty cup,
the magic wand/magic word,
sprinkled with faery dust,
toasted with the fine bubbles
of celluloid champagne.
Let us, the night and I, sneak off into
exotic adventure.
Let us learn the secrets of the Moon and Stars,
ancient runes and alchemical wonders.
Let us play upon the backs of dragons,
learning to fly,
learning to breathe fire,
learning to explore the mountainpeaks
and caverns of
our chthonic fears
and spin them into gold.

The new day dawning
it will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.
It will be a day of startling showers and
unsettled wind,
of unreasoned pain
and empty solace.
It will be a day to try our souls.
But it will be a day of infinite possibilities.

Let my good friend, the night,
join me in play
to help prepare me for the day.
Let the earth and fire and rain and wind
infuse my spirit
that we all be fellow friends
in the new ventures
coming with the light.


Early morning dawn awakening
to a season of wild abandon
a golden moment of sensation
In a flash -- alive to an open season
Alive to a new awakening
Alive


The future descends
from the fear-embroidered skies
the vision is of holocaust --
when everybody dies
A new day is dawning, but is it sun or storm?
We have a chance to make our mark
but is it right or wrong?



They dream of liquid floating in suspension and do not understand.
We are the product of their dreams.
We suck you of your life fluids, moving mouths on every part
of your body. Vampires of experience, we will not let you go till we have sucked you dry.
Like a vampire's victim, you will crave the life, the experience of others,
will suck them dry to gain eternity.
We suck you and lick you clean, fondlingly.
We again enter you through every opening,
cleaning you through. You have been exhausted.
We complete our ritual cleansing as you lie immobile, beyond response.
We symbolically cut off your genitals, cut out your heart. We now own your soul.
It has been a good night.
Dawn has long since risen;
they will wake soon. Soon they begin again,
another day of their busy aimless lives:
rise, work, unwind, sleep, and, oh yes,
consume those predigested market-attractive packaged
products of the mass media, the mass brainwash, the mass society.




Silent, the singers are searching for voice
They know in their souls it's a matter of choice
They need to find reason, a cause, to rejoice,
A newly turned path to felicity.

A new day is dawning, but where is the sun?
Our freedom and faith are defined by the gun.
The symbol of power overrules everyone
'Til we create our own electricity.

But under cover of darkness a banner's being stitched
Of patchwork-bright colors and radiance
To someday soon be unfurled in the breeze
As we march to freedom's song.



If life were simple,
childish agonies
dispelled with dawn's
bright kiss,
we would laugh
cross-purposes, cross-talk
easily sorted out in counsel.
We could harness the Sun, Moon,
birth of stars,
simply
allow minds to grow.



Growing Out of Liminality


Thirteen Wizards Shall Guide You, rotating in 7s,
to be chosen from a wizard test administered at regular intervals
to any who wish to apply.
Each wizard shall serve at his/her pleasure -- until they decide to move on.
Any wizard may return by retesting and getting the highest score amongst
those currently in line at the time of a vacancy, like any other candidate.
The test to be devised by a wise pre-council to ascertain qualities of
wisdom, compassion, responsibility, integrity and clarity of communication.
The test may be reviewed and revised at any time that the full council agrees
to do so, based on evidence of better result to be gained.
The wizards do not make the laws.
Laws are made by direct democracy, after a sufficient period of debate when
an overwhelming majority of consensus seems likely.
Wizards do have veto power.
Wizards do not control the economy. That is the province of the market.
The wizards do oversee the use and conservation of common resources.
They do oversee a social infrastructure that assures everyone a comfortable, secure
livelihood. They do oversee disputes to assure that everyone is treated fairly
in the course of commerce, and in the course of community life.
They are not paid an outright salary.
They are given comfortable living conditions that their minds may be free
of personal want.






True shamans aren't ready for this world,
dreamcatching from all hallowed and harrowed.
Wrapped in a cloud of moonbeams --
query and call; capture fleet answer and call --
Eerie, yet wondrously apprehended
in glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty,
to remember we only borrow tomorrows
on our return to eternity.


Uplifting notes,
affecting themes,
track social rhythm, mark liminal time.
Lyric, simple sweeps of tone and cue,
never meant to trip up but evoke true
meaning.
In unknown dark,
shadow hosts
deep thought to lark and lounge.
Dawning form seeps toward reward,
to speak out what’s been found.


liminal wisdom
promotes calm acceptance of non-rational realities,
promotes reintegration of self as programmer
promotes self-reprogramming in alignment with
self-progression to a place of bliss and
dharmic awareness in which
every piece fits, magically finds its place
in expanding space eternally unwinding.



Being, not being, letting it be.
Day upon night swept by twilight.
Vague images coalesce, remain an instant,
slowly disintegrate.
Ghosts in smoky distance reset dimension,
eternal reconfiguration.



Twilight of Goddess Revelation


What twisted so maliciously your mind?
Your God -- Created that greedy leaders may more easily prevail?
Is it guilty shame, seeded by consistent training insisting that you fail?
Lost to balance, whole possibilities, unable to be free or sane.
Eternal life is yours, we scream, while you destroy our birthright
in service to conjuror's dream of denial.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

II.

Born other than imperial, torn into what we are told is real
without power to protect ourselves from venal brothers of the order
spreading hatred like any venereal disease.
We no longer need to meet you cowering on our knees.
Karma's a hot potent !@#$ unschooled in mercy.
Witches reclaiming noble heritage, reframed herstories will prevail.
Though born, forced to service, in our master's jail,
lost and lonely midst the masses, masked to fit expected forms.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start,
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart

III.

Listen, little one, watching every moment for our chance,
we will break free to adventurers' romance; dance away the chill of
foreign hills enrapt in leaves and grass. Hiding in primeval castles,
tightly aligned to a bright inner sphere, holding to hope of life to hold dear.
Learning to fly, ride to some unknown side, escape from the herd hate stone,
can't be as hard as learning to stand alone.

but it's just for a while, while we learn what we were from the start
each creature alive to the beat of a self-reasoned heart




So she drifted through the night,
content, serene,
laughing at silly little private jokes,
singing wisps of songs as they floated by,
making up fantasy landscapes and stories
from the shadow shapes as she passed through.

As dawn approached, shapes became more distinct against the color infusing sky.
She understood that her journey was over, as the memories returned in one last burst of clarity.


Leaves twinkle falling.
Stars arise in twilight.
Their song soft, insistent
siren call.
Lost to primeval moorings.
Washed by eternal storm
to awake
transformed.



Twilight at the Dark of the Moon


Moving inward.
Spiraling
into deepest silence.
Feel me here,
oh my most darling.
Here is the free-est flow,
river of bliss. Bounty
of years of grey resistance,
incrementally awakened to
swirling shades --
mystic purples,
mad magentas,
sky-eyed blues.
There is ancient music,
crescendos to peals.
Layered millennial ears,
creatures of seas to trees
murmur through.
Ripples of soundwaves,
broker wisdom
not yet condensed into words.
Romances spun of clay and sand,
woven into fashion’s fabrics.
Hearty voices join,
create regaled mythology.
Star-shaped world story
reverberates with
chill and heat.
Nascent strive for enriched clarity
that must open ever more widely,
a luminous spiral
up, out, in, around.
Come, brave as you imagine.
In that brief eternal interval
all of energy
coalesces.



Imagine the day that dawns when
you are no longer dreaming.


Last edited by libramoon, Aug/17/2018, 9:27 pm
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