[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”

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

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

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

so few can stand into their own flow and not fall down or be reminded they fall from opposite Moving Forces that Ocean is…

cannot we recognize this momentum?

not based upon a decision to return, but from a particular destiny to survive,

to continue,

thus taking as many one-step four-steps eight billion steps from that arbitrary starting point…?

the East or the West is said to be and to gather Directionless,

carrying little design or false matter with its haste…

i wish to be saved by my fall,

Directionless,

into these Snows (wherever they may blow),

only i have decided not to tie upon my feet the vines that will suspend my broken neck,

for i can only recognize Religion by the Feminine Colors she wears…

(Woman inside Love-melted sheets

turning an occasional deep of Breath,

it is her chance to clarify all that she has tasted from today, and i, the Poet, her man, remains a partner only until she will Dream again, passing from Her thighs into Her warmer frontiers, to travel with Her on the long Journey East…

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

there feels a certain Empathy, this new Wave of Space to Life, the Poet shall Dream further to discover more about this Woman and this Journey,

bringing us to the Ocean of Winter…

for We have parted from too many Winters in secret retreat)

(and the Ocean of Winter tears at the walls

guiding Her Winds back

to the Sight of the Ageless,

so remaining invisible,

impossible to take form,

amorphic masterpiece

or at will She can become confused with a Shadow,

the balanced reflection of a long Sleep,

one not swayed or remembered in the shame of past histories

other Seasons lived through

the Ocean of Winter still sometimes smile to Her innocent Child

opening its baby mouth into Her embrace,

drive with its singular and insignificant Being into the Womb of Her Mixture,

and all the previous subsides,

calls of Wonder cease to be Sounds of the Night,

the constant Energy hum of the Living

inspired by the Continuing

and those Sounds which accept 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 seen as an Experience to wander

to Search as far out from the “personal eyes”

as can be

and back to the Center, Creation. again

the elastic simplicity of the Ocean of Winter,

a Cycle of burdens if Form is considered-

the experience of being

inevitably Alive

while passionately Dead

frozen in this Moment’s notice…)

********************************

The Ocean of Winter

Ocean of Winter turns out to be 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.

Oh The Ocean of Winter is this practice Bird

balancing these 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, cross 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 wind unfocused mixture of Waves

grinding out Ocean’s salt Tears

no holding back unpredictable motion,

preposterous momentum-break at the zenith of the 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 Deathly 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,

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.

The Ocean, transcendental warrior

the Mexican sorcerers conjure,

regardless,

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

they devolve simply like humble Skies,

Leaves harboring dew drops at Dawn,

an obscure path for a runaway 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

all dancing inside their utmost instinct,

all patternless,

all buoyant,

a viable mambo machine

spinning vertigo of bath,

and with the Sun sprinkling Heaven about Her eyes

She is all the more alluring,

drumming incessantly

underwriting the Laws of Man

building a stage upon which

Present Tense can be performed

dealt with once,

and for all time

True Will of Expression,

the Poem created after Death has been experienced.

Ocean of Life,

beercans,

statues,

sand and of Mercury,

air, paint, of cloud,

of hair and of slime,

of members and doors,

of sponges, metaphors, distance, height, wood,

of Milk,

of sperm,

and of Blessings!

The Ocean of Winter permits no Memories

for those romances go unfulfilled

may not be resolved.

Ocean is the Green graveyard transgressing all reason and Humanity,

for nothing is dead.

Ocean is the father alive

Mother Coyote aboard a roller coaster,

sensitive Sky,

humble smile,

alive awhile,

trickster and magician

flying through the Night

into the Alive

to suddenly transform

from Victory to Freedom

The Ocean of Winter is a Lady,

Ladyday Ladynight no difference,

maybe wearing cypress sandals and a hush-Logan green shawl,

waiting for white-winged Lovers to dive into her perpetual youth, Lovers resembling swans changing her form with

the capture of their wing,

oh 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 deserts, ultimately joining her scattered torrents

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

The Ocean of Winter makes peace with her world

as she prays to the circling Clouds

to cleanse her Energies with more Rain.

She constantly remains silent to listening ears,

continuing piano masterpiece of reticent Music,

a force exacting internal movement,

The Ocean of Winter is a Great Smokey Mountain gazing down,

stretching skyward in reflected syncopation.

Yes, she resembles a fallen personal leaf of newborn Sunlight,

soft to any touch,

invisible to any parting glance.

{A continuous 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 like a great Mother Bird

dreaming with her baby-blind Children

even after her milk has dried up…

and she understands this sacrifice,

for there is much to remember and learn from

when this 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 appreciates

the many more distant Snow-Moons looming,

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

The Ocean of Winter cements the Earth-plates into what we know of Green and Brown…she realizes but is not affected by faults- she is the filling cement, solidifying Earth’s crust, and this is her Power.

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

offering to all her message of Timelessness:

oh she is forthright in this recognition,

heroic in this drama with her easy sure sweep of Change!

The Ocean of Winter is a Woman Masterpiece of Transition, found anywhere close at hand,

effortless in her brilliance,

so assertively secure in her explosive Majesty!

…She is: the birthplace of exactitude

rememberer of pure cycles

flyer of the eagles

swimmer to the lost dolphins

fertilizer of springyellow cactus flowers

indicator to the lighthouses

waver of farewells of welcomes

romancer of the gypsy girls

sailor of the moonships

catalyst of unrelated circumstances

lamplighter to the stoplights, unfocused

beckoner to the shipbirds

exacter of measured or unmeasured distances

spoiler of stagnated waters

builder of becoming empires…

The Ocean of Winter, image of an incomplete universe, seems to be occupied inside hibernation,

still she is only alive some more,

reawakened,

preparing more Dreams of Simplicity

tying them all into our naive Visions of Eternal Dignity!

There is always some other continuing pronouncement,

always another crevasse forming somewhere for her to fill, explore,

always another breath to be exhaled and imagined,

always another time to proclaim

Eternity by her rightful maternal name.

Revised: Tucson, Arizona,1988

Revised: Delray Beach, Florida, 2011

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

but into the nocturnal darkness of Passion”

-Henry Miller