DAY 23: Temperance

GT-14-Temperance

Temperance

I temper things as I will.

A silver cup of water,

a gold cup of fire,

I temper into an elixir

you wait to taste.

Sunrise bursts below my feet.

I wear swathes of sunset

and midnight skies.

The moon catches fire,

reflects back to earth.

Walk with me.

See the possibilities

of opposition.

Breathe in clean air,

exhale expectations.

See my right and left sides

blend as sunbeams

race along earth,

yet stars still glitter.

What will you facet today

from that which

will not mix?

I don my jewels,

twirl my veils.

Hold my hand, beloved.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

DAY 22: Pastoral Memories

Fiona

Pastoral Memories

 

The mail-order hickory shepherd’s crook

hangs on a low Ponderosa branch.

I don’t know how to sink my weight

like a sumo wrestler.  I run as

fast as the Karakul ewe Fiona,

Thrust the hook around her wooly neck.

She back tracks, dumps me hard

in the paddock.  But it is the big

brown ram Chops

who broke my arm.

Billy, the cashmere buck,

nailed me, leaving hoof-shaped

bruises along my torso.

When spring grass jumps up,

lambs frolic, kids cavort.

The donkey, Carmen Burranda,

eases, nudges, pushes

her way to forbidden pasture,

munches hot green grass, founders.

The wee angora kid, too weak

to suckle his dam’s teat,

the bleating four pounder

I took to bed with a bottle,

dies at two months.

Edgar Rice Burro, the newly castrated donkey,

bleeds to death.

Be aware, those who yearn

for pastoral harmony.

It is a fast track cycle,

digging graves

at midnight, life and death

a daily possibility.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Point of View

great white sharks

Point of View

 

Bare feet on mossy gang plank.

Sharks chomp below,

thousands of teeth

wait for the push.

Quartermaster of the Universe speaks:

Change places.

Mouth wide, I am shark,

no tongue long enough

to lick over razor teeth,

ravenous for the morsel

above.  Come to me.

Change places.

I will push the scientific

proof against your spine.

You will drop the cloak of denial.

Turn now.  Face me.

You are not yet a shark snack.

Come with me.

Change places.

I am the ocean, immense,

absorbing all things,

cleansing, transmuting.

I flow with the moon,

accept what is tossed.

You are welcome here.

Change places.

 

Observe.  Accept.

Everything changes.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Knowledge Deceives

overlapping ripples

Knowledge  Deceives

If I don’t know North,

I panic. I know the shade

of cedar and willow.

I know the mood

of your eyes.

I know the purr of cat

pleases more than an engine.

I know nothing.

If the sky is blue,

Soon rain will come.

If summer scorches,

I wait for winter.

I know everything.

I trust nothing.

I trust I do not know.

Knowing shifts.

What was black and white

now flips the yin to yang.

My heroes fade

with new facts.

I know Orion, reach

my arms to Casseopeia.

I silently correct

your grammar.

I could be wrong.

I know nothing.

I am curious about

everything.

If I know you,

you impact my life.

The ripples in our

mutual pond

intertwine.

I know gratitude.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

DAY 19: Lady Ravenous Regrets

girl-in-moonlight

Lady Ravenous Regrets

She plucks a deuce of stars

from the blanket of night,

slips them into her azure eyes.

Before the moon vanishes,

trapped in fast dreaming,

she spins down on mossy

midnight grass,

gasps, empty of dripping

memories,

barren as a virgin.

The universe spits no more stars.

She stole the crack in the universe,

feels the void.  Everything

is absent.  Without night fire,

there is no day.

Regrets stick like radical

burrs , villains

on her hem.  No

charms to dismiss remorse.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Can we Live Without the Bloody Brits?

BritishInvasion01s_0

Can we Live without the Bloody Brits?

The British are coming, the British are coming,

yelled Ed Sullivan.

The British are coming, the British are coming,

whispered Jamie Fraser.

The British invasion

rocks the scene. Locals yell

kick out the jams, motherfucker.

Lucy’s in the sky with diamonds.

Who knew Roger Daltry

would never f-f-f-fade away?

The stranger on the shore

wants to buy me love

but I don’t work

in the house of the rising sun.

He might be Henry the Eighth

but he won’t get no satisfaction.

Yesterday, I could work it out.

Today, I’ve got a ticket to ride.

We cannot live without the brilliant Brits.

C.J. Prince

©2015

Mingled Phrases of Friends

HurdyGurdyMan1

Mingled Phrases of Friends

The hodge-podge hurdy-gurdy man

with ropey muscles

raised free roaming chickens

in his pocket garden.

He was a firecracker

but could not live on expectations.

He curled up at the Bodhi Tree,

read a bowl of creation,

eyes glowing like light bulb

filaments .

He blew smoke rings.

Jesus jumpin’ jiminy, bring

me a beer, he yelled.

No one heard him

as he grasped the iron

gate, an ice box of writer’s

block.

Hated, berated, anticipated.

Fire ants.

She sent him air kisses

in a bone china cup,

the expectations torn

open.

Underneath the covers,

he pondered the departure

of his mortal coil.

A daydream, a sanctification

of the fruit of the universe.

On the red eye, he hit his head,

excused himself, no longer

trapped but unwrapped

without insomnia.

He would dance

with a Himalayan gourd

at vespers.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Dear Muse,

purple pointy toed shoe

Dear Muse,

You stand there, elegant as Butterfly Woman,

a halo of white lilies in your pale,  gossamer locks.

Skirts of aubergine and amber synonyms swirl

in the breeze of lip licking meter.

You stir the cauldron of dictionaries, words

that never touch my ears.  I see you

toss in the rosemary of metaphor, a pinch

of saucy simile, a waft of allegory,

followed by a taste of alliteration.

You lift a wooden ladle to your lips.

A fleeting frown.    Deep in your apron

pocket, you call forth the nutmeg

of language, a foreign word, a bliss

of chocolate rhyme.   Your ephemeral

cookbook shimmers with the suggestion

of couplet. You dribble a hint of haiku,

three drops of rhythm,  a twinkle of sonnet,

a repetition of villanelle, a glossary

of mouth-watering Anglo Saxon,

a sprinkle of anonymous antonyms,

a smidge of stardust.

You peer through the amber vial

of Latin and allow three drops to fall.

Bring to a boil, simmer and chuckle.

Then your purple, velvet pointed pumps,

dainty on my window sill, waken

me to the breath of the unexpected.

I remain your faithful servant.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

A Dialogue Between Inner Self & Oversoul

self and oversoul

A Dialogue Between Inner Self & Oversoul

     After William Butler Yeats

 

My Oversoul, I summon you now at pyramid’s peak;

Above me, I perceive, yet in my very marrow,

Why do I await the Owl’s call, to catch your starlit voice?

I plunge through horizontal labyrinths of each day, neglecting our oneness.

In the darkness, I feel your Light never wandering.

My dearest Inner Self, one of many, as you know, unique as freckles on your flesh,

No severing occurs when your mind strays;

You cannot rend the golden thread that flows between thee and me.

Follow the Green Man through flowers and forest, centuries

of incarnations.  With every arcana you turn,

I am there, in the Druid circle, in every stone you hold.

Wear silken embroidery or torn peasant’s clothing,

But fear not.  It is a journey.  Your choice.  My presence.

~C.J. Prince

©2015