The Ocean of Winter

The Ocean of Winter

[we are persisting this acquaintance with the rise and fall of spontaneous emotion and color, whereby doing becomes the partial “take”, moving, the inebriated “wake” …some faults are invisible inside this movement…all obvious feelings are noticeable to one’s eyes and other features if one is securely Blind to taste fascination]

Preface: “Vibrancy”

we first heard rumors tonight of the First Snow blowing in from the West, capturing the Long Trains carrying soft coal, as letters are forwarded and another Desert dreams aloud, preface…

and from the West the first Snow will follow, in tides, resembling those Paths first awakened before this overture…

the wet Snows of the West signal the Crows and the Mountain People to begin their journey, as East into the Storm as the Ocean of Winter will allow- straight into that Depth, straight into the bottomless climb from which remarkable Gravities are motionless, nonetheless noticing all transpiring movements…

few can withstand their own flow and not tumble, reminded an ebb arises from the Opposing Moving Forces that Mother Ocean is…

cannot we recognize a momentum, originating not from a decision to return, but from a particular destiny to survive, and continue, taking as many one-step four-steps eight billion steps from that arbitrary starting point…

the East or the West of it all is said to be and to gather Directionless, bearing little design or false matter in its haste…

then let us be sustained from our descent,

Directionless into these Snows,

let us decide to untie our feet from the vines that would suspend drowning, for Religion might be revealed by the Feminine Colors she wears…

(Woman inside Love-melted sheets

turning an occasional deep of Breath,

her chance to clarify all that she has tasted from today, while i remain a partner only until she will Dream again, from Her thighs into warmer frontiers, traveling with Her on that long Journey East…

and tomorrow She only need Smile and Rise to begin the next Slumber that will offer another wave of clarity of Blind Destiny…

together a certain Empathy Flows between, Waves of Space Birthing Life, as the Poet shall Dream on unearthing more about this Woman and Her Journey, delivering us to the shores of the Ocean of Winter…

(for We often parted from many Winters in hidden retreat)

the Ocean of Winter tears at the walls

Her Winds guided behind the Sight of the Ageless,

remaining invisible,

impossible to take to form

an amorphic masterpiece North stretching

South, confused by Shadows

reflected after a lasting Sleep,

a trancelike state unswaying or recollected from past histories,

episodes and Seasons withstood

the Ocean of Winter will occasionally smile to Her Children

their baby mouths opening into Her embrace,

diving down into the Womb of Her Mixture with their singular and significant Beings

as all previous currents subside,

with calls of Wonder ceasing

Sounds of the Night amplifying

the constant Energy hum of the Living

inspiration Continuing,

and those Silent Sounds accepting Change as their Fortune. no enclosure.

an afterLife shared with another afterLife shared with another afterlife to be shared with another…

whatever the Take- no matter the Affair,

only this Experience to Wander some more,

to Endlessly Search past any Personal Eyes

departing from the Center

commencing all the way forward to Creation once again

this is the elastic simplicity of the Ocean of Winter,

a Cycle of burdens without Form,

an Experience of being inevitably Alive

while passionately Dead,

frozen and celebrated at any Moment’s notice

The Ocean of Winter

Ocean of Winter becomes Green transparent

mean unconscious

vast and colossally flexible.

We have beckoned this Ocean to transport us, unaccompanied, across sea-ship parking lots,

all the while in the company of an everlasting open body of Blood-Tide.

This is our destination, at last halting, enduring these seaweed- strewn water banks, Silver-reflected from Snow eons melted ago.

The Ocean of Winter is a dynamic geode, fantastic fanfare carnival serpentine discovery, some settled sprinkle of a violet-setting Sun over silvery-December Ocean:

{light the night, oh come to me Oceanwoman,

and light the night}

And warm Winds swirl some island, caressing Brazilian banana rainforests seashell coral mines fathoms below, where Starfish dive, to survive again,

the further sinking of this Oceansky.

The Ocean of Winter is this practice Bird

balancing decades of Water-thrust

cross its swoops and Water-curves, sight remarkable,

solo journey,

watcher of the melting icebergs astonishing,

Freedom bound,

pouring off scattered salt-riffs with its fake dives,

duping and deeking billowing mushroom waves,

restocking the Silver Garden,

Memory Gardens,

collecting connecting trails and tributaries further East opening.

The Ocean of Winter blinks her shadows at passing strangers (are there strangers drowning?)

fleeing across winding never ending salt-spray,

joining her falling and rising ride into tobacco-less farms near hypothetical Dixie line,

admitting easy espionage as fake accents jive

mirage waitresses from giving lessons in Ocean survival, beyond her means, across state wonderlands,

peeling back the blind undertow.

{and She takes pride in her Heritage, full of populations and Green settled anywhere along the border rocks where her Waters are made more virginal each time a new drowning survives the rest, and ontop some newly arrived Glacier track she can be found trimming ancient rockpiles or trading coral shells for another divide, some new found possibility, to begin again…}

Glass unbroken wind focused mixture of Waves

grinding out Ocean’s salt Tears

no holding back unpredictable motion,

preposterous momentum-break at the zenith of Fire Moon,

Neptunian trance dark secretplaces between

human seekers of this mysterious calling.

Mother Ocean is purposeful Dada,

sharing her remarkable laughter

in spite of her Loneliness,

no irony here,

expresstrain shoring up the earth

embracing various climes

no distinction of colors,

Inspirations just blow regardless of season,

Humanity realizing

the lesson must be to continue to lose all reason,

to survive from instinct,

this, and nothing more,

this, written all over

inside the glass Wind

Ocean of Winter is an anytime Will choosing to express herself to Dreamers and the rest of Humanity.

Ocean, transcendental warrior

the Mexican sorcerers conjure,

untamed, unpredictable, void and impeccable,

unaccountable yet deathly responsible,

the coming-on-anyhow Dance recognizing

the spinning twilight lesson of removal dust faceless

wonder of it all,

Spirit builder,

cold yet the ultimate guide

all Creatures turn to resuscitate,

to clear out the constant internal dialogue.

Ocean destroys all such agreement and digression.

She has no enemies who fear Her

as they devolve simply like humble Skies,

Leaves harboring dew drops at Dawn,

obscure paths to a free running doe,

ultimate postcard too awesome to mail,

improbable Friend yet the One to count on always.

The Ocean of Winter consists of a billion specks of Rainbow Lights

dancing inside their utmost instinct,

patternless,

buoyant,

a viable mambo machine

spinning vertigo of bath,

and with the Sun sprinkling Heaven about Her eyes,

She is all the more alluring,

and with Her tides incessantly drumming 

feverously underwriting the Laws of Man,

She is busy building a stage upon which

Present Tense can be performed

to be dealt with once

and for all time

free the True Will of Expression,

be the Poem created after Death has been experienced.

Ocean of Life:

beercans,

statues,

sand and of Mercury,

air, paint, of cloud,

of hair and the slime,

of multitudes of members and doors,

of sponges, metaphors, distance, height, wood,

of especially Milk,

of sperm,

and Blessings.

The Ocean of Winter relives no Memories

those romances go unfulfilled

thus may not be revisited or resolved.

Ocean is the Green graveyard transgressing all reason and Humanity

for nothing is dead.

Ocean is a father alive

Mother Coyote aboard a roller coaster

riding a sensitive Sky,

revealing a humble smile,

alive awhile,

a trickster and magician

flying through the Night

into the Alive

to suddenly transform

some mere Victory to Freedom.

The Ocean of Winter is always the Lady:

Ladyday Ladynight no difference,

maybe dressed in cypress sandals and a hush-Logan green shawl,

maybe lounging upon a mint green chaise lounge

waiting for white-winged Lovers to dive into her perpetual youth, 

Lovers resembling swans changing her form with the capture of their wing,

sleepily encasing her Water-wash thighs,

impregnating her,

upwelling her passion with luminous cerulean seed.

{And once Mother Ocean conceived Leda,

the horizon Goddess, in her ease}

The Ocean of Winter exists outside all stretching boundaries,

filling in the horizontal drift linking all directions.

She is the unamplified echo of a Tempest for all Seasons, 

gusting grey and cold across forlorn Northern seas, 

ultimately joining her scattered torrents

till soon warm sands may shift around once again to play in Time.

The Ocean of Winter lives in peace with her world

as she kneels and prays to the circling Clouds

to cleanse and renew her Energies with more Rain.

And she remains silent to curious ears

continuing her piano masterpiece recital of reticent Music

to a key of exacting inevitable internal movement.

The Ocean of Winter is the Great Smokey Mountains gazing downward,

stretching skyward reflecting MotherEarth's syncopation,

resembling one of God's descending leaves of newborn Sunlight,

soft to any touch,

invisible to any parting glance.

{Continuous action/reaction, soundingboard of improvisation, Holy Measurer of immeasurable landscape}

{Born from a simple reverie, Mother Ocean is recalled whenever the Worldship sinks into loneliness}

She is the true mistress of Joy,

yet for all the World’s sorrows,

she cultivates as does a great Mother Bird

dreaming with her baby-blind Children

even after her seeds have dried up…

and she understands this sacrifice,

for there is much to remember and learn 

when impending moment’s Death revisits.

{Mother Ocean has witnessed too many starving Winters

to compel one distant shore to house her own sweet Garden,

and as the Holy Queen of improvisation, she welcomes

the further hungry Snow-Moons looming

drawing her closer to the next coming-on-anyhow Life-Tide lesson}

The Ocean of Winter cements the Earth-plates into what we know of Green and Brown,

realizing but unaffected by faults,

she is the filling cement solidifying Earth’s crust, 

and this is her Power.

The Ocean of Winter calls the rest of the Earth’s wonders to her Harbor,

offering all her message of Timelessness.

She is heroic inside this drama with an easy sure sweep of Change!

The Ocean of Winter epitomizes a Woman Masterpiece of Transition

effortless in her brilliance,

assertively secure in her explosive Majesty!

She is: 

the birthplace of exactitude

rememberer of pure cycles

companion of emancipated eagles

swimmer with the ebullient dolphins

fertilizer to springyellow cactus flowers

indicator to grateful lighthouses

waver of farewells of welcomes

romancer of gypsy girls

sailor of moonships

catalyst for unrelated circumstances

lamplighter to unfocused stoplights, 

beckoner to festive shipbirds

exacter of unmeasured distances

freebooter to stagnated waters

builder of sovern empires.

The Ocean of Winter, image of an incomplete universe, lives on only to be alive each moment,

reawakening then preparing more Dreams of Simplicity,

integrating them with the fabric of our naive Visions of Eternal Dignity.

There are always other continuing pronouncements,

other crevasses forming for her to explore then lustrate,

always another breath to be exhaled then imagined,

always another time to proclaim Winter's Sea of veracity, sincerity, and exceptionalism.

Revised: Tucson, Arizona, 1988

Revised: Delray Beach, Florida, 2011

Revised: Tucson, Arizona, 2023

“for the Poet, the final ecstasy does not lead into the daylight of God,

but into the nocturnal darkness of Passion”

-Henry Miller