Memoria



We will not go
headlong into your blinding, bright future.
We will not be pushed
over the edge of your making
to crash into visions that have no memory.
There is life here!
There are lifetimes here!
There is blood here.

Spread your hands in the black, rich dirt,
be still.
Put your ear to the ground, let your cheek rest on the grass.
Be still and listen:
breathe.

There is blood here.
Dropped in the dirt, now part of the earth,
from war: son against son, for your very freedom:
Life for Life.
From war: daughter against her self, for your very birth:
Life for Life.

There is sweat here,
dropped in the dirt,
shed from hands that toiled and planted and crafted;
from brows that wondered and invented and discovered;
from backs that worked from springtide to winter's end.

There are tears here,
dropped in the dirt
from all that has ever made anyone cry with elation,
or keen with sorrow;
from all that has ever made anyone weep,
from all that has ever made anyone weep.

There is peace here.

Lift yourself and close your eyes into the rays of the same sun
that has always warmed the faces of those
who stood in this place,
emboldened and forward bound,
grand hope in their chests.

No, we will not go.

Future will come without goading.
Empty and honorless it will come;
with no foundations it will crumble
back into the earth.

Build your visions, but build them with providence.
Stay alert. Stay watchful.
There is blood,
there is death.
There is life here!


M.Black 4/10



Dedicated in memory of Walter Jones
and in honor of his sisters, his brother, and all those whose lives he touched.

Madescent

Dimmer stars tonight.
My cloak is worn too thin,
the damp gets in.
Footfalls from long ago; another lifetime of mine, of yours; scritch scratch surreptitiously behind me,
not quite keeping pace, without conviction or grace.
When I look there is no one there, the night is empty, and yet~
the back of my neck tells otherwise.
This cloak has worn too thin,
it has lost its billow.
The milk weeds have not yet burst their pods.
Their mission is singular, focused, to their death.
I mean to pluck one, to thwart their noble end, to enter my will upon such a lowly mortal,
gut its unborn seed, occlude its destiny with my own baleful hand,
but the burdock will have none of it.
They catch in my cloak as I lean in to find purchase in the swamp grass.
I will need to pick the burs one by one, needle by hook;
destiny's shook.
My hem has come undone;
Mother will mend it, dear one.
Trailing roils in the gathering fog 'round my knees,
slow whirlwinds winding with my saunter.
Dog cries crack sharply from the edge of the haze, their urgent reports embogged forthwith
before they reach what distant ears so intended;
dire warning of the impending morning.
I have heard them; I pull my cloak tighter, but it no longer swaddles.
My fingers find a hole, a tear; tattered for wear.
My cloak is worn too thin, and now the end begins.

M. Black
2010 

Blind Rebellion

 
Let not my rebellion betray me.

My eyes are open to the hot, mean atmosphere;
                        they open ever wider.
Sand and partiality pelt the corneas;
                        they open ever wider.
Discriminating air dries lubricating tears of denial,
            pollen and disillusion swell the delicate capillaries,
            threatening to blind me;
                        in amazement, they open ever wider.

I long to snap them shut, to turn away and
            only look at cool, moist shadows!

I rage slowly to close them, and stay,
                        rebellious,
            not seeing, not caring.

Let not my rebellion betray me, for then I will be blind.

M.Black
copyright 1992

THE SECOND COMING

          

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

           ~    William Butler Yeats

Truth

“Those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply”

~Lucy Montgomery

As If

Keep on walking as if
there is no dagger
buried in my heart
stabbing deeper
with every step I take

Keep on talking as if
there is no white hot pain
shooting
through the core of my being
with every word I speak

Keep on smiling as if
there is no rage
behind the flash of teeth,
showing fangs;
snarls look just like grins

Keep on motoring as if
there is no drive
to push the pedal to the floor
careening straight through
the wall
smashing bricks
into the nothing

Keep on laughing as if
I can take the burn
in stride
like it never hurt
like there was no fall
like it was all on purpose

Keep on partaking as if
I pleasure
in the ecstasy of taste
in the bliss of savor
in the company of strangers


Keep on working as if
my hands
are too full
to make a fist
and break the shining face
of the sky

Keep on breathing as if
there is any air left
in the world
at all

Keep on living as if
I am still alive
after this

Keep on acting as if
I still believe
in the Future
in Heaven
in Love
in Magic;

because I do.





~M.Black

"We Are All Connected"

My friend Silas Lane posted this on his Facebook page, this is amazing. The artist's name is John D. Boswell.



"'We Are All Connected' was made from sampling Carl Sagan's Cosmos, The History Channel's Universe series, Richard Feynman's 1983 interviews, Neil deGrasse Tyson's cosmic sermon, and Bill Nye's Eyes of Nye Series, plus added visuals from The Elegant Universe (NOVA), Stephen Hawking's Universe, Cosmos, the Powers of 10, and more. It is a tribute to great minds of science, intended to spread scientific knowledge and philosophy through the medium of music."

Mr. John D. Boswell's website for more original music:
http://www.colorpulsemusic.com

Sarah and Me


“Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.”Angela Monet

One Thing

Wouldn't that be something~

Sarah Chamberlain

SARAH CHAMBERLAIN: PHOTOGRAPHER

My very dear friend Sarah Chamberlain's primary passion is photography, and it comes through clearly in her work. Using the shutter to capture her unique vision lets the world in on the privilege of seeing what her mind's eye sees. All photographs are copyright 2010 and earlier, Sarah Chamberlain. Thank you Sarah for allowing me to post your passion!

Prayers

Praying for all of my loved ones and friends, especially those who are experiencing pain and hardship, I will not post your names but you know who you are. I am thanking God for watching over you, for healing you and for delivering you. Thanking God for the Light that drives out the darkness.
I listen to this song when I really need to, but only then.



You are here for a reason.

Concord

I don't want to be with you
in your pristine early morning
smelling of dawn, glimmering with hope
like dew drops on a new dandelion.
I don't want to walk with you
in your august afternoon
glaring with purport, striding with mettle,
hiking stalwartly up your mountains.
I don't want to partake with you
in your long-shadowed golden dusk
beaming with peace, lambent with grace,
grateful for the very air you breathe.
I don't want to run with you
in your deep Cimmerian evening
flying as the wind, rushing with ardor,
exultant in your continuation.
I don't want to stay with you
in your immortal night
harkening rectitude, beholding totality,
symphonizing with fidelity.
I don't want to be warmed in the shine of your spirit
only to have to give you up to God.

M.Black

Sacred

Dare not to lift your eyes from the ground beneath your feet;
the path through the sun-dappled God-woven pine-needle thread-bare throw-rug
is for you alone.
Follow the way the ferns guide you, they bow and beckon the direction you may go.
See how honored they are for their stations;
a whisper can tear them to pieces, and yet they stand like a colonnade,
avid and ardent in their mission.
Sweetly caressing your naked ankles as you pass.
As you pass
on the soft black earth, cold on your skin,
damp with morning dew that lingers even after the high noon.
As you pass
through muck and mire that sucks at your feet,
viscous with bilge that does not drain.
As you pass
on the dry white sand, scorching your skin,
seared with no relief from the relentless sun.
As you pass
on the rich green Earth, warm under your heels,
wet with rains that do not end, and always begin again.

Forward, onward, vanward.
Look back for a moment, for a year,
to see where you have been, to see from where you came,
to remember why you are here, but not for longer than you must.
It is all still ever there, always.
But the way back is not the way ahead.
The ferns are waiting ahead;
eager in their purpose, sure of their calling.
Be gentle as you pass.


M.Black

Amy the Artist


My dear friend Amy Scappaticci Sullivan is an amazing talent, don't tell her I said that please. A lifelong musician and artist, brilliant and passionate, and best of all humble. She has allowed me to share some of her art here with you, and I'm grateful for it, I really love her work. If you have questions or expressions regarding Amy's work, please contact me and I will be pleased to relay.






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St. Thomas School in Southington, CT showed their 32nd Passion Play. They always draw a full house, and there's a good reason for it. It is an amazing production, the air is infused with the passion of the players, children and adults alike, there are no amateurs here. Blown away by the raw talent and the polished performance, as well as the arrangements and music choices. Here is a full article from the Meriden Record-Journal from March 28:

St.Thomas Passion Play


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New Englanders are known for skepticism, and for forging ahead regardless of the weather report. More often than not the hype about the weather is just hype, but not this time.

I made my drive to Providence on Tuesday, skeptical to the usual wolf-cryers, listening selectively to the oft-said Northeasterner advisement "It's only the back roads the highways are fine". This time it was worse than they predicted, I spent about 9 and a half hours in my car. I was very lucky. The flooding is severe and widespread, both Southeastern Connecticut and Rhode Island were hit very hard. My heart goes out to all of my friends who are dealing with this, stay well and please do call.

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Some local news links about the March 31, 2010 flooding below

Westerly Sun
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ProvidenceJournalVideo

NorwichBulletin.comFlooding-in-eastern-Connecticut

The Day - Backyard waves | News from southeastern Connecticut

The Day - Backyard waves | News from southeastern Connecticut

The Day - Stonington largely cut off as local roads remain closed | News from southeastern Connecticut

The Day - Stonington largely cut off as local roads remain closed | News from southeastern Connecticut

If you're wondering where all the posts are

Birth, Life, Death, Rebirth, More Life, Death again, Rebirth, etc. I need to clear away clutter every once in a while, burn my stuff and rebuild. Shake the dust off, lay down burdens, rinse the road dirt, wash away the tears, release the anger, let go and let God. What and who remain then are true, solid and lasting.
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