Tag Archives: poetry

Singer, Lie Down and Dream Me

Singer, lie down and dream me. Dream the singing.
Dream the singing dream the singing easy generous. Remember the dream: vibrating my stories raucous vibrant juicy luscious greedy wise newborn.
Singer, sit and dream me. Dream my singing.
Dream perfection of human voice housed in human body. Dream varied dreamy foggy dream colored crying longing guttural literal water fire wind rocks mountains anguish astonishment baby human fragile cries greed intrigue rhymes cedar incense footsteps wide-eyes connected to all things
Singer, stand up. Root in me.
Dream ancient singing rooted from the roots of the roots of the center of the earth. Singing dreams me generous easy. Singing dreams me luscious remembers vibrates me and intones stories sounds juicy lip licking colors bloody agony old man’s guts cries waves churning light on water dreaming wonder.
Singer, stand up. Dance my graciousness.
The singing is dreaming me. Perfection here now what comes perfect changes always changes. Perfection is dreaming only in the moment with memories in the past. Memorizing the moment breath whisper lips raucous call throaty belly fire dreaming ringing the sigh of the moment. Perfection is mourning the passing of the seconds. Mourning what it cannot hold. Giving up. Weeping. Smiling. Sacrificing the holding. Remembering the moment to the moment in the moment in the moment.
Perfection sings. Sighs the moment. Screams the minutes. Seduces the seconds.
Dances the rhythms. Laughs the irony. Embraces the word.
Now and now and now and now changes the moment connects all things.
Singer to singer to singer to singer to singer to singer to singer to singer to singer
Singer, wake up. Live the moment in the moment.
Take root in me.
Take root my fire your breath my lips your teeth your tongue my belly your aching and arching.
You are rooted in me.
Singer, live here live now remember.
Dream my beauty.

NOC

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Artichoke

I love words and I love typing them out as a meditation. Here is a great one for a summer day.

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to the Artichoke by Pablo Neruda
The tender-hearted
artichoke
got dressed as a warrior,
erect, built
a little cupola,
stood
impermeable
under
its scales,
around it
the crazy vegetables
bristled,
grew
astonishing tendrils,
cattail, bulbs,
in the subsoil
slept the carrot
with its red whiskers,
The grapevine
dried the runners
through which it carries the wine,

The cabbage
devoted itself
to trying on skirts,
oregano
to perfuming the world,
and the gentle
artichoke
stood there in the garden,
dressed as a warrior,
burnished
like a pomegranate,
proud.
and one day
along with the others
in large willow
baskets, it traveled
to the market
to realize its dream:
the army.
Amid the rows
never was it so military
as at the fair,
men
among the vegetables
with their white shirts
were
marshals
of the artichokes,
the tight ranks,
the voices of command,
and the detonation
of a falling crate,
but
then
comes
Maria
with her basket,
picks
an artichoke,
isn’t afraid of it,
examines it, holds it
to the light as if it were an egg.
buys it,
mixes it up
in her bag
with a pair of shoes,
with a head of cabbage and a
bottle
of vinegar
until
entering the kitchen
she submerges it in a pot.
Thus ends
in peace
the career
of the armored vegetable
which is called artichoke,
then scale by scale
we undress
its delight
and we eat
the peaceful flesh
of its green heart.

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