Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Leur

The springs of the rain wore fast

Time tested lunges yet falling to nothing

For lack of change in annuities

’Tis a drastic flow of the midnight river

And the dawn of wonder

Its silent tributary

The wolf had imbibed of its waters long ago

Tainted with the sweet shavings of apples

As the inhaled mists of perfection lifted

A full breast

And the Black Madonna stood at the bath

Vierge de Noir va lázni

She came from the shadows of dreams

In the wondrous dawn lethargy

And she warned not to let them take me

’Las was I falling into their arms

Yet if the fall is calculated

Can it be truly thus?

And if I am merely aware?

As for cognizance had become

An empty shell of nothing

And there was a need to gallop the risk

Of compliance with the same

Strolling the labyrinth of vested knowledge

My soul was torn and mended overly

As I waited on the gun

Beg release my fears the rising light

I dreamt on what night did loom

Above my callous chivalry

A pure and weighted saturation

In the gentle warmth of our settlement

She spun me

For webs of solitude

Incumbent on the waters of late stars

Gleaming of their beauty

Shroud the early collecting dew of darkened airs

A woven tapestry of raindrops held together

The pure silk strands of a work wrapped through thy soul

Entangled in the malleable walls of some meaningless maze

And moved by the gestures of thy parlance for creation

Le jus de pomme a baigné le Madonna Noir

And became a pagan goddess once again

Moving as thy seasons

Why must truth perish in the wind?


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Valentine

Deserts sang for you
Deserts sang for you
They sang of woven tapestries
Looming in the east
So some wild Arabian night
We might board the caravan of dreams
Set sail across the deserts an ocean toward
Following the stars of our hearts in the sky
We found love in a hopeless place
Beneath spears driven through black hearts
And suspended on the Technicolor threads
Of fluorescent gods
We danced with grace
And kissed like vines reaching for the light
Soul mates trimming the selvage
And coloring the drab of such Technicolor suspension
With earthen hues
The colors of passion filled thus this black heart
Of a beautiful soul
Red roses set in blue glasses
Love was a cold vase in the winter chill
’Las wrapped in tapestries of woolen ambiance
The black sheep was fulfilled
And a warmth settled in
Having birthed a white lamb
Adorned the door that hung dreams on the stars
Crossing the heart’s great night
Swathes of northern lights a loom spinning purity
And at the farthest point
Deep in the middle of sands and darkness
A white orchid grew profusely
An elegant despair
And in but a moment
Black hearts flavored red
And so delicate
Warmed them pink
Against the drab of deserts’ stretches
The sands of our souls
Colored like earthen paintings
Holding fast in the fleeting measures of the wind
The night was long and we embraced
Held tight and settled in

Sunday, February 3, 2013

The Silence of the Bard

Clear your head of the moving forest of ideas

Implanted by the river of mankind

Free of places called home

Where the whims of Mother Earth stretched infinite

In the wooded shadows of an aging aesthetic

A nostalgic yearning for peace and quiet

Closed beneath them

The tall standing trees

Holding fast their gentle sways of wisdom

As spiders writhed

In the lightless clearing of their existence

Ceremonially paying homage to their roots

Silently prepared their next departure

See we keep coming home in our minds

Night by night

We keep fast to the lost yarns of Bohemia

No matter how far we roam

On the frayed currents

Of deeply clutched desires

Even should we shelter our coming

In a veil of absence

Our spirits are felt

Dancing with the spiders of ourselves

As they do their best to entangle us

In coy silk webs of the past

The resolute familiarity

A journey of shadows

By which to stir the old oaks of wisdom to life

Weeping happiness

And searching in circles for an inspiration

Rustling in the branches

Of the categories of an aged reason

In the movements of the wind

A mind left to hearing

Towards Mother Nature’s throes

The mistress of the thoughtless echoes

Of trees writhing on the forest floor

And not a soul to hear the beauty

Of the silence of the bard

The temptation to sing

Gently swaying like a pendulum


Muchas gracias por la inspiración, Andrea Dispenziere, muse309.squarespace.com, her dance piece "I came to the forest."


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com