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They were all shadows of the Queenof pools and ocean draughts, Sapientiaof heart-music for which all else is naught.She I fell in love with down gripless hallsbeneath a chance bed’s rapt thrall,Dionysian frenzy become the Other’swhite float eterne, I and … Continue readin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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To be more specific in the malefic which      my dead hymn ensoired — a night thenso much like all the other drunken sorteeshaunting the dead with the poorly living,1985 perhaps, that especially drunken yearI grieved the loss of real love in bedstoo plentiful and obliviate to recalland keep buried in that guilty valewh... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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A fury then, who in death become ban sidhe,Eurydice of the darken vein which soggy mendo ill to in both their venery and restraint,the distaff Other of the Mother’s darker taintBibling the honkeytonker’s bed reliable,Madonna’s robe of Lets Get Drunk … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Winter 1978, a bad, mad time, 21 yearsold & living in a Spokane apartment sharedwith my bass player Dave as our desireto play in bands was freezing down and far,obsolescent in the ferally cold weather ashappy hour in any bar. … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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A glistening slick of rain heavies the stoneswhich jut their verses from the dead,my vantage reading them as I sat on a benchby the field after my brother’s memorialmade heavier as I recall the moment now,days back and by the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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I flew up over the world to descendinto my brother’s grave, dead before 70,fallen to a cancer in life’s gate and fountainushering him far too soon to the dead.His family and friends assembled at ourfather’s henge of stone, his ashes … Continue reading &#... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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On wind and wave, forest and field     you are light now, the essence of allyou lifted, carried and set in placein your mountain heart embrace. Your burden’s lighter now, freedfrom gravity’s trudging stanceand clumsy third-dimension dance.May sails now lift at your … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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An alchemy then, in Rilkean versehearsed by deep rinsings in the sea.That was the dream, hauling upthese corroded azure things whichallured poems as I wiped andrinsed and wiped again, glossinga magic auric hidden insidedepths of worst marauderings. Dreamt and versed: … Contin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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September 1986, walking Cocoa Beachone cool breezy rain-flecked afternoonwith a German woman named Marguerittewho wouldn’t be around my history for long,not with the sort of potty soul I had become. A fin-de-siecle day, summer in collapse:dark days coming, beach condos lost in … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Booze and sex were ever my glimmer twins,the hex and ooze of that shimmer whichpromises transport out of dull dumb self,the token and limited and frail. Greater powersare livered and loined unbottled and bedded,unattainable faces appearing toward midnightat the window … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Down at the lake on my earlywalk the morning stills tohalcyon, first sun glowing onhouses toward the far shore,the sycamores strummedby a wan slow breeze. I hearda bird’s wounded cry, grievingher young gone to a gator perhapsor herself fading at … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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So here I am again, trying making sense ofmysteries my ancestors ran from and seethedraising sand castles against wave-heaves of time.Down and back into the fraught places askingthe dead to speak more of their unease, theirlament tercing the matin mortar … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Hot days return and with them summer’sboony bane, heated involvings booting theyear’s harvest grain. A feral time, termitesswarming again, sweat worse than its equityand the cats drowsing most of the days now,their ferocity aswoon on a breezy blue swing. My … Continue rea... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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To him the blasts were only exclamation pointsscattered in the manual of deployments.  He won’tblame the strangeness of coming home on thatcertain blur in the view that comes from a reattached retina.Nor can he attribute the dislocation of his homewardcompass … Continue read... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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“You know for someone whosays art is pure heartyou sure aren’t much of a lover. I like little gifts that sayyou’re thinking of me. I like animated men whogo at things with gustotearing into dinnerand belching like camels. Who know … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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What breadth and depth my dead occupyjust beyond the facts of mortal breath.A forest, the sea, mountains and valesripe with old songs and relic Things—my father’s blue robe and skinny shoes,my mother’s fridge-door all a-skewwith report cards and pictures and … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Marriage is as much to a person as mythtroths the fancy of the time, day afterday of a long life believing in and living itwith fork and towel and wallet and scythe,the lover’s vowel troweling Love’s plinth.Committed to unio & … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Those cold years I lived in SpokaneI had no car so I walked, however farto get my booze and then get homeafter the bars all closed. Step-by-stepliaisons with the hellish one who walkedmy thirst unsate through darkerstations long and late. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Susto (Spanish): Fear that spooks the soul away. Those dreams I fear suggest the Broodof Night sometimes have other plansthan mine when calling me to housesof old, like the one last night whichI grew up in behind and down from … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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My three great failed falling-in-loveghosts appeared on their wave, steppingto that beach where Love bid them away.Back from the dead of my bad historyto speak for themselves at last and emendthe fuller catalogue of latter amends. The first spoke. “We … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Falling in love in my years lips to bottleswas the ultimate booze, welcome andrapture ascending that dizzy silver stairwhich was also a falling, submergenceand absorption in the other, Belovedversion of starry Thou. The first time ithappened I was 19 and … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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A wheel turns: My older brother marriedhis wife in a chapel three decades agoand I relapsed, the wife buries my brother’sashes in the same chapel while I tendermy white chips and make amends tothe dead. Last night I dreamed I … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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My father died seven years ago and I wonderwhere all my grieving went. We were reallyclose for decades, habitual in our playing outa thought for hours, seasons, years — a life even —recurrent enough for some verbal Stonehengeto erect between … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Surely I was just a fool, drunk on what came too easily.Poisoned by rock god lead, that sickle of toxic thrallconvincing me the only victory was winning all, the wholeshe-bang, fucking all the girlies in Atlantis & pocketingtheir golden applause … Continue reading... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Hiya Holly, writing to you the day after I found outyou died five years ago. When you appeared ina recent dream, I took you for a successful versionof myself, a mature adult whose art had accomplishedboth stature and fine — … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Maybe poetry is a form of magic, invoking inspiredfish up from the waters who sing palpably, direand too true, attempting to make verbal senseof silver-sounding croons so heart and mind canbe still and know that God speaks where dark waterscommend … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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As my big night music story goes, I playedin two more bands after Slick Richardand was promised the biggest third inlove’s boudoir oosphere, that swampyreserve where lovers and rockers cohere— not. Come late April and my tax returnI booked a … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Don’t expect her to tell you much in dreamsbecause those leaky seams are mere fish-hooks,means for hauling her trope up from invisiblethemes. No dreams the night after the fat ladysang reams of my wrongs, but last nightmy prayers for a … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Winter ‘79-80 The rest of what passed in Spokane before I flew South was likethe motions of the sea after the great one dove deep: Waves to wavelets crashing every which way like snippets of songslost in radio static: For … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Such a young ghost, a girl-woman aged 16 or sowalking hand in hand with me through a dreamneighborhood familiar to now and forever, closeto this home and one I walked in puberty hungeringalone. Red haired and supple, virginal and not,holding … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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I. 1974 When I began college at age 17 I had lost the churchbut still believed in saviors who could play guitarin a winging apotheosis of self, like Jimmy Page.What other gestures could be appropriate in 1974with the Sixties in … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Surely I was just a fool, drunk on what came too easily.Infected with rock god lead, that sickle of toxic vaporsconvincing me the only victory was winning all, the wholeshe-bang, fucking all the girlies in Atlantis & pocketingtheir golden applause … Continue readi... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Who knew that while wewere stick-figuring historyan ogham of arch huewas notching behind it,trellising an oracle’s hue. The young man with his loudguitar roaring at everythinghe neared in the poured rageof the fall: Who knew eachpower chord slammed infatal triumph … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Sometime in January a singer Joe came outof the frozen night saying he wanted to forma band to play big arenas. He looked the part,even sanglike Lou Gramm of Foreigner … Besides,he had a monster rack of PA equipment, 24-channelsoundboard, … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Cut loose now of the only face I felt wortha damn in the marketplace of love’s means— no longer that blonde wastrel boy-manweaving power chords of big night sass ona crass river roar guitar —  my world unwitchedinto an ebbing, … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Christ spent three days with the dead before ascendingto heaven. The Creed of the Apostles says only thatHe went down and came back; but Gnostic sourcessay Jesus preached to the dead to redeem them and Adambut forbid them to speak. … Continue reading &#... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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Easter 2025: 6 AM, the dark still boundto the Savior in the underworld of dream,wounded terribly by His refusal to letits dead speak. He will rise at dawn andtake the faithful with Him, in the year 33 ADas now though … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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And then — as soon as we had surely begun to make a namefor Slick  Richard onstage, the only place that mattered at all – the band broke up.  Several weeks after the Fuck the Seventiesgig, we had a lurching … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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The crowd for our third and last gigthat cold Saturday at the endof rustbelt time was so smallit unmitt the grand slam of our rage: Three girlfriends with theirfriends, early gawkers — mostlysnarf-faced preteen boys inKiss t-shirts, one or two … Continue reading... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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A privileged position, then, thislivid singing with and for the deadin a Gaelic too obscure for medievalistsand long forgotten, like last year’sautumn dyings, recalled faintly assummer blazes now to its end. Glorious, yes, the vantages oftransformation, cliffed and cleffedin primaries … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com