Easter Eggs in East Texas

The teachers spent a morning
Sliding pastel eggs in Johnson grass
Or under dead logs in the quiet woods,
Then unleashed scores of us
Armed with baskets and determination.
We walked the dusty mile
In total disarray,
then trampled new grass,
Now minty green,
And tore through brown, spidery leaves.
The one foil-wrapped egg
Would fetch fifty cents and
The envy of all,
so we scrambled and poked,
dug and dreamed
bare hands muddy and cold
hearts filled with dread that
we wouldn’t be the one,
that the silver egg
would elude us again.

A Busy Week at Work

What We Did at Work This Week

Elements assaulted us
as we set our instruments
deep beneath the mesa's top.
We expected a few hours
of work. The task took one week
then also consumed the next.

System after system failed
and was replaced or repaired.
Until finally, sensors
calibrated began to
whisper readings in secret
languages of intellect.

We found what we expected
to find. We did not hear the
songs of the blue and humpback
as they slid past our sensors
in their brilliant under earth
caverns.

diving

The divers must come up soon. THey have found the great oysters, and beside them the grand jewels of Nefertiti...but how did they arrive here, so far from Achenoton's kingdom, so grandly alone?

Sans Images

An oldy but an oldy.......


The Long Earth

In the long earth, dreams abide of you.
These are not my dreams
As in a sequence of calendar pages,
Ripped by the numbers and
Each day representing missed time,
Days when your lower lip may have quivered
At the edges,
But not so I could see,
Raising the question not purely aesthetic,
Of what significance the gesture has for me
Unobserved.
What indeed is the shared reality, if any,
Of these days lived in parallel?
I am not sure that Frost’s roads capture it quite,
His having some symbolist aspiration in the guise
Of yankee common sense.
And I, I lose the common touch when I think of you
For longer than the time required to build a construct
Upon which any such ambitious language can be hoisted.

I lose the sense of you when I leave the confluence of memory
And sensation,
As would be the case with any strained
Attempt at grander verse.

lovely

Don't know about Greenman, but I can certainly use one.. Tiny Bill needs his pearl, his only ornamentation.

dear greenman

just a little something i found. maybe you can use one?
love, sophie pie

Greenman meets a mermaid?

Greenman thinks he has seen the mermaid gliding just beneath the surface. Or maybe he's heard her sing. Or maybe he's just imagining a reincarnation of . . .


NEFERTITI

When the sky turns deep dawn blue,
I sink in a bath of wild musk
rose petals. Though we proclaim
the One God, we don’t discard
our divinity. A Goddess
must seduce the sun. Daughters
shave my body, anoint me
with cinnamon and myrrh.
Their careful hands keep my nipples
hard. Arousal is my religion.
They dress me in gauze and gold,
bejeweled with chips of hard light.
A choir of blinded men sings
our praises. They hear me jingle,
smell the perfume of my skin,
my sex. Imagination
makes them hard. When the horizon
turns pink and purple, I loosen
the red sash. My gown whispers
to the floor. I weave between
the daughters and the choir,
stalking the altar, waiting
for the luminous moment
to sprawl spread eagle,
to thrust my hips at the red
rim rising above the sands,
to arch my breasts into the sky.
The first sun shaft penetrates me,
turns the slow slick heat to flame.
The blind men raise their voices
to match my cry. We rejoice
together. Blessed. Consumed.