UpRooted RealitY

African sunsets make midsummer moons bleed

Waters wane, blowing to the power of the flaring sun god

Reeds dance to wind songs, melodies unheard by the naked ear

This is no country for dying hearts

Vibrant lust beats poetic chants, crowding the airwaves with aspirant love

Many icy hearts have been thawed here

Left to return to their lost lands with little but frigid remembrances of jaded pastures

Closed minds have been forever attenuated

Suspended in alternate realities with portholes sealed

The Motherland embraces so soothingly

Coddling faint notions of existing and enlivening the visceral core, awakening the best of our romantic sensibilities

God flows through the veins of land, air and water alike

Everything within earshot and eyesight touched by the angels of splendor as if the whole was for his own enjoyment, his backyard per se

To be here is to witness the intersection of the mortal and the divine

Resident on the cusp of all things promised

Minds wandering carefree, only pausing to be overcome with awe

Time waits not for petty musings to be unraveled

Grand gestures underpinned by haughty thoughts are the order of the day

Leaves rustle in the salt-laden air quivering under the threat of desiccation

The soil smiles, it’s grin reddened with blood-drunkenness borne of many men’s spent effort

The fleeting toils of forebears must not be in vain

Gentle minds better situated must succumb to the inducements of this reverent place

The uptake of inspiration allowed to feed the spawn of glutinous creativity

One with the soul which stares back from the horizon

The abyss knows not of this Eden and will dare not dampen these chosen moments

The universe has spoken, it’s blaring trumpets steering clear of deaf ears

Never darkened will this land be, nevermore

The sun has permanently risen here, dawn has been localized

And with the lure of the unbreakable light all the better angels of humanity will flourish here.

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Doubly winged butterflies

Hopelessly accosted by a scatter of hues

Painted with the fickle brush of a non-committal madman

Courting the mild-mannered innocence of a solitary rosebud

Suckling the hidden splendors of liquid sunshine

The fountains of nectar run deep

Into the cavernous recesses of the wondrous world yet unseen

All that glitters isn’t revealed

Beaty isn’t always boastful, often understated

Awe flirts with elegance but is no one-trick pony

There is promise untold in the attic of the tattered wheelhouse

The silty composition of lust is easily lost to the grasp of permanence

The cracks in the armored suit of substance are ready for the taking

Half-filled glasses are simply saving room for better days

Virgin wins can be lackluster

Doves hide the sins of lost love in their wings, flying them to freedom many moons away

Saving grace is but an assignment

The clock striking twelve should not signal the pumpkin parade

The real fantasy is the lie of teary-eyed discontent as a mainstay

The gong only spreads tales of the next round, but alas it’s clanging tongue is misunderstood

The gloves of fate never come off

Make patchwork quilts of broken hearts

Mend the seams of soulaches with the glue laced with shards of unrequited dreams

The world may not be your oyster but pearls can be bought

Reset sights and sails and catch the newborn wind

The horizon is still alive and well

The rainbow may rent fools gold but loveless realities die with the breaking of the sun on the crest of the yonder sea

Dares beat truth every time.

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Undone

The morning mist crowns your temples

Your halo glows like sun-kissed clover honey

Your patient whispers are but cumulous clouds cushioning the frailties of yesterday’s wounds

Collar bones perched like ornate gates inviting the fleeting dance of nervous lips

Even eyelids seem extraordinary, begging the passing of timid fingers, lashes blushing under romantic scrutiny

These moments,

Crossroads of sheer bliss and unrequited longing are few and far between

The cards dare not foretell such charged encounters

But I knew at first glance,

I knew your soul was on fire, the brimstone of scorn awaiting the fanning of fate

Long after the tactile encounters have ceased, tingling of the phantom sort lingers forever

Though time and space are in superbly pesky form, they pale in the face of memories etched into the spirit

You are still here

Not just in my dreams, but even as the sun waves to the tolling bells of dusk

Even as we traverse the fields of formality, our souls have eloped into the forgotten rainbows of fairytales

Dancing to wind chimes as our eyes dare to contain the reciprocal wanting

While caution interrupts, ‘tis worth noting that unrepentant glee is never bought with meekness

Mistakes are only such if your heart so decides

Make a deal with the moment, the rest of time will fend for itself

I say yes to your hidden wonders, your wilds now own the many moons of the solemn night

Don’t look back,

Uninspired guardedness has been doused in the promise of pregnant passion and made to catch a fire

Burn for the sake of curiosity

Let the silent creak of a wide devilish grin be the point of no return

Let’s stand on the ledge

Hopefully to be tripped up and find ourselves tumbling into those timeless visions which I glimpsed while losing myself in your eyes

I’m sometimes a dreamer, but those just won’t pass muster when your presence is availed

Half of you is so much more than my delusions of grandeur might have contrived in the trance borne my best musings

Your essence is indivisible though,

I opt for the whole even as my sensory inputs are short-circuited

The reward is oh so worth the risk,

Fortifications are undone, never to return.

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Aesthetic splendor flutters hearts, catalyzes arrested gazes and sets in motion breaking waves of emotion which attenuate the rational cues meant to dissuade fatal attractions; all among these are fleeting, failing to rival the recurring sensory overloads which slowly leach from captive memories of impassioned intellectual sparring. Meetings of the mind make for discoveries of overlaid pathways across the mazes of bliss, accelerating the winds of romance and billowing the tattered sails of ecstasy.

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Let not the forethought of tomorrow’s insecurities shadow the unbridled, potential of today’s unspent reality. After all, today is the springboard from whence future moments gain their momentum and direction.

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Love is best when it shows it’s public face, uninhibited by the envious glare of the spiteful and unimpeded by the long arm pessimism of the scorned.

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If our storied history has taught us nothing else, if our entrenched portraits of protracted suffering have lent us no other lesson, we must recall above all else that the righting of injustice should never lay in wait, held captive by the slow-ripening of popular opinion, arrested by the attenuated spoilage of bias.

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While sheer talent and innate competency often take turns masquerading as the fulcrum of achievement, the quiet, unassuming magic of willpower is likely the center of success’ universe. While an abundance of ability is born, the scarcity of indomitable spirit creates a bottleneck of realized potential.

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There is no more powerful motivator than high expectations which are self-defined and truly attuned with the cadre of talents which are assuredly possessed and readily honed. The subtle confidence won in early, incremental victories sets the foundation for a lifetime of upwardly escalating pursuits.

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Never censor the colored portions of your narrative. While redaction of the less than stellar or sometimes agonizing bits is tempting in the pursuit of a perfect portrait laid on untainted canvas, the resulting storyline will be but a shadow of your reality. Colored collisions are the fragmented soulplates of a cultured becoming, the wellspring of desperate dissonance as a provocateur of epic trajectory change.

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While swinging for the utopian fences is an admirable aspiration, the joyous singles are too often overlooked. Small moments of joy, carefully preserved and savored eventually overflow and provoke big, toothy, lasting smiles.

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The word tolerance reeks of injustice, a sin unto itself; it denotes an inherent presumptive privilege to bestow judgment and serves to laud the lofty effort of abstention from such. Derision and chastisement of “the other,” while seemingly organically emanating from the spirit are the sort of primal urges against which we must wage unrelenting war. To purposefully impart a feeling of baseness on another seems inconsistent with every salient moral tradition, religiously-rooted or otherwise. None of us bears a richness of spirit or mastery of virtue requisite to afford the degree of pomposity underlying intolerant postures. It is not enough for us to be “tolerant,” rather we must simply recognize the inalienable frailty of our collective humanity and save the cruel doling of judgment for an authority of a higher order.

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The world needs not more faint hearts. Be your authentic self, boldly. Go forward with an unadulterated expression of yourself, as presented when the lights are dimmed low and not a peep is to be heard from a bird nor other carnal variety. To cower under the weight of the full complement of your talents, subsisting unexposed to the wider world is to rob the universe of a chance to avail the full diversity of its promise, the full scope of its creation. The problem with politics and others forums dependent on human interactivity is not rooted in a bottleneck or failure of unique voices and creative solutions emanating therefrom, but rather that the usual suspects —harbingers of the status quo, sentinels of prevailing norms—, the usual ideas —those harboring the least friction as juxtaposed against popular interests—, the usual voices —chosen largely for their unprovocative stances— are granted functionally exclusive, hoarded use of life’s limited megaphones. Diversifying the array of bold being and unapologetic expression sans the artificiality of power-driven curative filtering shall unlock the full potential of human experience, fully exposing the world as it could plausibly be.

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3:12

Tears streaming down the faces of clock towers

One must never know the depths of time’s sadness

Moments missed, lost to vacuous space like single grains of sand to the sea

Emotions misled, misguided, misapplied

Fragmented realities must never be glued

For then the mislaid pieces will never be found by wandering souls

Awakened miseries were once foretold, then forgotten

Only death remembers nothing

Even bottomless abysses have rainbowed skies, sometimes

Light bends as darkness folds unto itself

Waters recedes making way for waves of possibility

Potential renewed timelessly

Denial and affirmation are equal blessings

While one plays dress-up in the clothes of fairer maidens

The other is scorned as if lettered with plagued memories

Courage is mostly dealt in swift silence

The clanging cymbals of success are of the distractive sort

Dreams litter crying skies as angels are mercilessly impaled

The massacre is real

While swords seem the obvious choice, words fare better

Expectant verbiage weaves alternative universes unimaginable

The box office will sell no tickets

All frequencies are incapable of transmitting the roar of desperation

Tuners be damned

Walls cascade onto flowered fields

Concrete jungles take shape

Doors do not exist, only two-faced windows

Pick your lily pad of poison and step onto your fate

There are no flotation devices on this ride

Destinies die perpetually

Seconds away from being paired with soul mates

Futures suffer from esteem droughts and emerge emaciated

Aborted certainties give rise to laughable clones

Even as bodies return, wasted minds are never reborn

Chance sells snake oil

Luck is the grandest harlot of them all

Believe not the hype.

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The minting of scholars isn’t a exercise exclusively reserved for the academe. Many amongst the perennial thinkers of note would hardly be certified by their contemporary annals of higher learning. We must see formal education for what it truly is, a structured pathway to gaining mastery of a particular discipline. Brilliance simply should not be delimited to cognitive ability which has been honed or refined by controlled instruction. Beautiful minds, irrespective of their strict validation by academic oligarchs must be appreciated, for only then can the full spectrum of human potential be leveraged, moving the arc of thought forward.

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UpRooted RealitY

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Undone

3:12