I once witnessed
A brilliant galaxy platinum
Into a hovering cloud
I saw a stunning world
Hanging on a mid-night sky
Like a black pearl
In the world
Just as ravishing
As our very own cobalt orb
Into self-red flames
Then stop to exist
I was once
A butterfly who loves
To dance in circles
To the beat of the sun
I’ve been charmed
By the ruby-red eyes
Of dusk ?? s
I’ve been hypnotized
By defiant stars
Pelting Hercules ?? sky
Over an Aegean Sea
Opens her eyes
For the very first time
And the Universe is born
Is the face of God
The lovely face of God
My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusked across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion.
My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.
My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.
I was born of vapor rising from the hairline cracks of skyscrapers. I could fly before I could run. I could run before I could walk. I’ve seen the world in flames. I’ve heard my mother sobbing. I know your pain because I am an old man dying as I inhale the newborn’s breath. I am the wind that churns. I am a young bird weeping. I am the center of the hawk’s red eye. Is it any wonder why I cry so hard? Is it any wonder I laugh so loud? I am a towering tree. I am a shooting star. I’m the ocean I swim in, the mountains I climb, the lovers I’ve known, the light & the dark & the children at play. I am the song of souls singing this melody called life. Is it any wonder it’s been perfect from the start? I’ve always known how to sing, I simply forgot the song. I am old man speaking my borrowed wisdom to the universe. I am a songbird singing good morning to the night. I am its mother laughing all the way, every single day. Is it any wonder?
You’re my lady in waiting. I’m your man on the moon. I’m Magda. You’re Anjum. We’ve Indigo eyes. I’m Mosena. You’re Sallie. We’re two of a kind. You’re Marty. I’m Moses; We never chose love, it is love that chose us. We’re sisters & brothers, spiritual lovers …
… I was an innocent in the time of the great plague. I survived while all of the giants raptured around me. I believe I was meant to live before and after the great deluge. I believe we were all meant to live before and after the rapture. The most merciful and kind were the first to go. Only the good die young. We’re still alive. Only the strong survive. It is the meek who shall inherit the earth.
Life is short but terribly eternal. Regardless the seconds or decades we are gifted with, the remaining moments of our journey will be mercy and kindness incarnate. We are sisters and brothers. We’re opened windows without any walls. If one of us trips, all of us fall.
I walk briskly at first. Shuffling sacred boulders between each foot.
I teeter on the edge of humanity.
I skirt the jagged precipice of earth’s flaming lips.
I am stunned by this porcelain cup brimming over with exquisite insanity;
a wondrous mathematical equation…
all of earth’s treasures scattered before me.
I jump high-I rise-sail and I soar up and over,
down south into the west over & over, under again, about-face
I jump a high-dive I skydive into the heart of our miraculous,
I am a skimming stone on a great pond
we call the ring of fire .
I am a skimming stone on a great pond,we call the ring of fire
If you touch me now, you will electrocute the both of us. I am highly charged. You are gifted with devouring receptivity. The hair along the arc of my forearms stand tall as devoted warriors do. Goosebumps from solar flares tinge the organ covering my being. I feel chill although it is 110 in the shade. My body takes a high dive into the center of your heavenly eyes. I ascend, then glide into the nexus of a perfect tear; a black pearl choosing its own path under the emerald eyes of an enchantress. I fall free empty-handed. I’m stripped bare to the core of my being. With perfect faith in your perfect love, I land heart first onto your wonder world. The truth of your love amazes me. I am speechless. I am stunned.
Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history,
is the story of our love;
a spiritual decree.
Penned onto the memory of my simple,
is the epic of our union,
quite beautifully described.
I am stunned by the depth of your soul.
Shall I be forever mystified?
And this evening,
brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass,
I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart.
While my soul bleeds adoration in silence,
I wonder if this is love’s crucifixion?
Is this the way Mary felt in the garden?
An answer is of no consequence,
for what I shall remember long after I have died,
is the memory of your face,
His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.
We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.
Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust an ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.
Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~ pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.
There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?
This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.
Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.
ALEXANDER M JOHNS
If you’re mystic, come this way & play for me.
Tune your strings sharp & clear with all the pressure I can bare.
If you’re mystic, stroke my hair, kiss my lips.
Take me to your Mother -ship.
Rifle me with your tough grip.
Anchor me to your bright blue.
Show myself to me through you.
Your platinum strings ring clear and true.
Play your harp, this is your cue.
I know you’re mystic, I am too.
Let me play my harp for you.
I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprytes & Green Wood Elves; all very odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?
The Elder Blue Sprytes were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms. They were trying to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learnt to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day. They taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I had believed was it’s ultimate frontier. They showed me how they weave their magic spells with hope I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past & the image of you when we first met. I could never let that happen. Sometimes Green Wood Elves can be so naive.
I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was 10,000 years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.
I am sitting on a filthy floor in an emptied room in front of a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I silently marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. For a flicker of a moment I think this is not the war I fought. The war here is so much bigger & far more brutal than the lonely war I fought. A moment passes backwards until I remember this is the place & I am the lone survivor. Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior.
I wonder at the emotions & the crack-hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway lead to but I don’t remember now. As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to mute with thunderous static. If I were not deaf I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I do not get the signal.
I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember that much. I remember a man squatting in the corner of this room, his eyes shut blind & his ears with no sound to hear. He looks like me. I turn my head away as fast as I can. In that moment I am afraid. I am almost too frightened to breathe, but not afraid enough not to cry. It passes. The moment passes into eternity.
In the next moment, war is over. I am alive. I am crippled, but I’m not lame. I have been forever scarred by razor blades deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but now I hear a song. War is over. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing again.
This is a bittersweet farewell. I see these snapshots of your mind & I wonder why I even wondered how this debris on these walls and that floor ever came to be. I don’t remember now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. These soul creatures are quite beautiful. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter. You are the most kind.
You of the many muses remind me that all I have to do is turn the television off. It is as simple as that. That is what I have just done. I hadn’t noticed that the songbirds outside my window are singing as if their lives depended on it. They are so happy to be alive. That must be why they sing as they do.
I suddenly feel like humming a tune. PER ELISA. You loved PER ELISA but you never told me that. I only know it because I saw you in a window early one morning dancing your heart out to PER ELISA. I had to smile. Alicia sings like an angel from inner space. She came to us from the peerless library of our dear friend, Marty Lont, in Amsterdam. Remember? I know you do. I also remember, it is the simple things that matter most. Farewell my beloved. I will sing for the both of us until we meet again.
In this dream, I am falling free without fear. Suddenly, my descent is intercepted by swift moving clouds. Each one has a distinct face yet they all share the same radiant smile. They carry me along for thousands of miles, pointing out strange and wonderful lands. The spectacular sight below of fantastic creatures roaming free upon a paradise found makes my heart tremble like fine rice paper. In this super world unfolding, predators are never triumphant because predators are never born. Without warning, the cloud faces are gone. I continue gliding along the path of the rising sun in the company of a thousand golden eagles. I soar around our mother earth sailing effortlessly on a grand solar wind in the company of a thousand beautifully plumed golden eagles, and the sky goes on forever.
My name is ‘Prophet’ but they call me, ‘Hey, you!’ I am a penniless drifter shod poorly. I’m diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love; the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light has never me down. My huckster mind tries to convince me otherwise yet to the joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place are the very same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up for in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchbacked, just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. Sometimes I wonder if being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land & cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to god. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.
THE UNSINKABLE TITANIC ON HER FIRST VOYAGE:
LIVERPOOL TO NEW YORK CITY
The TITANIC struck an iceberg on April the 14 of 1912 at 11:40 PM and sank a few hours later. It was early morning of April 15, 1912. They were four days out to sea on their way to New YorK City.
UTLEY COAT OF ARMS
The UTLEY lineage begins with (documentation secured) William the Bastard, the fist Norman King of England , with his marriage to Matilda of Flanders, May 20, 1058. This is when the parish of UTLEY was founded; a gorgeous piece of land just a stone’s throw away from what is now the city of Leeds, Yorkshire, England. Even now, nearly one thousand years later, UTLEY parish remains barely unchanged in architecture or attitudes of its brilliant offspring. All men and women of UTLEY are above average.
THOMAS UTLEY & SONS
The UTLEYS were one of the leading maritime brass founders in the world, having also produced sidelights for Lusitania and Mauretania. They made many of the brass fittings for the Titanic and Olympic. These included the Titanic’s bells and Gothic patterned windows for the ship’s bars and dining rooms.
The disasters of the RMS Titanic and the RMS Lusitania were two of the greatest maritime tragedies of their era.
They were all too similar in scale and loss – the Harland & Wolff, Belfast-built Titanic sinking on its maiden voyage in April of 1912, after colliding with an iceberg in the frigid waters of the Atlantic ocean en route from its final port of call in Queenstown (now Cobh, Co. Cork) to New York. One thousand, five hundred and twenty-three of the 2,240 on board lost their lives, the confidence in one of the grandest ships ever built shattered.
Titanic’s bells and Gothic patterned windows for the ship’s bars and dining rooms.
I know Utley women who speak of premonitions. They even bank on them. I don’t bank on anything. I don’t trust banks. I do believe that there is great reason to trust our intuitive nature. For instance, Jane Utley, wife to Thomas Utley, declined, and coaxed her husband to decline a first class luxury cabin aboard the maiden voyage of the Titanic due to premonitions of a catastrophic event she clearly saw involving the fate of the Titanic. So much for a mythological UTLEY CURSE. Again, one more example of a misinformation rooted in fake news. I rest my case, except to say:
UTLEYS have been burned or hung in England (and probably in the early American colonies) for being witches. One documented example is Sarah Utley, hung 1620 in London. Mother Utley was the name her people called her. She was accused of witchcraft when all she really was guilty of was being a bit misunderstood. A Room with light is more than a match for darkness.
The Utley women never speak about their clairvoyant powers. Perhaps because society associates premonitions, miracles, telepathic powers, etc., as demonic, satanic or of the dark occult; to be feared when it is just the opposite. It never ceases to amaze me. Almost everything we have been taught & think we know is really just the opposite.
NOT ACTUAL LIVE FOOTAGE OF TRAGEDY
September 13, 1907:
Lusitania arriving in New York on her maiden voyage,
sailing past Battery Park.
Lusitania arriving in New York on her maiden voyage
He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him.
He’s a modern day prophet forgiving your sins.
He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too,
A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.
His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain.
He’s a born again Christian with something to gain.
Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation,
In return he receives a standing ovation.
His glorious sermons preach schemes of division,
Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism.
Triumphantly pitting his will against right,
He lusts after money & covets your wife.
An unnatural affection for boys under ten,
He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den.
He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men.
There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.
He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true.
His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you.
He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth,
Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.
He’s a huckster, a shyster, and the devil disguised.
He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise.
This prince of invective is consumed by desire.
While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.
Part of my face is an immense crater. It is here I spend all my free time, sitting beside myself sipping tea on the lips of my cheek bones. I talk endlessly about your perfection; what a profound defect of character that is. I then respond ad infinitum. We compare notes. We laugh, cry, and wistfully whine, sitting beside ourselves, sipping tea, watching you.
I tossed and turned throughout the night. I felt something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by like comets, fast. I wondered if this night would pass? I prayed to God this would not last.
Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in G-d’s name will loved ones say?
Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. The day turned into early eve while deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscious broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs.
I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon the chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in her yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me, alone again, just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?
I am your mother. I make love to the moon.
You are a bird, downy-garbed, not yet ready to fly.
I drink the Earths tears each day I go high.
Youre wide-eyed, lovely and filled with questions why.
Partake of my wisdom, together, we shall kiss the sky.