the sea elegy silt of the earth animals devotions renewal otherworlds natural supernatural additions and subtractions the dark oran post-christianity notes from underground death water-folk earthweal beauty heals voyagers art and heart
space When a whale dies in the deepest of seas her fall is the song that angels us all. No longer buoyant with air from above, her bulk is down- ballast for great depths. Falling slow—weeks, sometimes months— sharks and crabs … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I spent years in booze’s blackest forest, blundering every night from road to bar to road to bed like some hunter-gatherer of the Abyssal Age, so deep and lost inside the wild of uncorked spirits that blackout was the only … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space You sing about loss: I am lament. Comb your blues with my black throat, in meters that have no feet to wind the moody shade. Your songs are suitors: you lured Persephone from her loom, Cerberus bawled for his … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came to me out of some emerald of wave urban night, dripping black girders and neon rain streets, a vision icily candescent, the most beautiful X chromosome to date. A blonde Higgs boson whose charm danced both too … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  My father’s been dead a few years now so his pulse tonight is low and slow beneath the living, liminal with star, wind and stone. His example was poor to terrible as a husband and father to four kids; … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I’m learning to write the way I always yearned to play piano. Not the upright in the family parlor that I banged on trying to read sheet music for a year.  Nor the spinet in a college rehearsal room when … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space On perfect days like this—after the coldest night of a short snap, temps rising gently into the 70s, wan and sunny, skies so blue and still and pure—I think of the day after the night my brother died now … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

notes from underground oran immrama memoir madness and mania infernos forest shenanagans feral animals of the soul lives of the poets on the road the dead addiction boning the ghoul alcoholism devotions this is my box otherworlds natural supernatural ship of fools noir big night music the dark neolithics
space I spent years in booze’s black forest, blundering every night from road to bar to road to bed like some hunter-gatherer of the Abyssal Age, so deep and lost inside the wild of uncorked spirits that blackout was the only … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The dream fish nudges the rushes of my sleep and breaks a silver bubble in my mind. Spends the rest of the night beholden to a depth so marrying I leave all breath behind. But then the wake fish nudges … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  You’re still on that island, I know, your t-shirt still sweaty from your last bright springtime run, your eyes still blue as the sky which no longer oceanned you. You are that sunny rock because Salem by the time … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  The renewal’s out there in a great wide haze lingering in deep night like the world’s own shade or ours—who can say—black and void except where the streetlights delve it, or a passing car, a lingering width of fume … Continue reading &... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

poetry history otherworlds mythology additions and subtractions the dark war and peace culture big night music noir madness and mania death post-christianity mind the dead the future
space He’s a bit of every one of us who failed to come back from the Great War. Observe how he was assembled from the charnel loam of Passchandaele: torso of the Brit picked off barbed wire, hand of Boche … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The apartment in my dream is an old one, the sort of place where despair wrecks eternal. A cold, used-up address, harrowed by too many bad nights and rude coming-to’s. The walls yellow with age and rafters so rotted … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came up from the sea of night to teach me her wet druidry. “Here is Womb,” she rasped through a larynx of gale, pointing to the sea inside her scales. “The water of birth and firstness, blue glitters … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space It was coming on Christmas 40 years ago when I found myself alone with Dena in her bedroom, down at the end of a dark hall in her parents’ high-rise over Lake Shore drive: A bitter cold night, wind … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space They float across the pond in boats of folded poems. Occasionally one dips the clef of her neck beneath the ripples, chasing depth and gripping down. When her head returns it shakes her entire body free of water as … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

sounds like earish puddlefootin' feral animals of the soul forest shenanagans water-folk madness and mania octoberals oran paleolithics the dark noir big night music celtic myth natural supernatural otherworlds poetry nature
space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Blue is not an image to indicate the sense of the holy. Blueness itself is the holy, in virtue of its gathering depth which shines forth only as it veils itself. — Martin Heidegger   On mornings like this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com