IMAGINE

IMAGINE

after the storm
the butterfly comes to the flower
covered with new pollen
in the valley of the mother's garden
near the bird nest at the crossroads
slowly, lofting with the wind
she soars higher than the pansies
smiling at us

BEHIND THE DOOR

the door remains closed
hiding some unknown consciousness
of unconventional wisdom
beneath the sea of infinite vibrations
within the eternal ecstasies of the imagination
controlled by the mystic secrets of the mind
in touch with the perception of the essential nature
of something old or nothing new
surrounded by the mistakes of reality
where the door of perception remains unpasteurized
without filters or conditions
remaining true to the pure universe
of mescaline and whole wheat bread
where naked mummies dance with Tibetan monks
hallucinating to the embodied spirits of lonely nuns
who cry out in hope and forgiveness
in harmony
behind the door

DRESDEN CLOCK

on the mantlepiece counting down the minutes
before another death
ticking on her face of denial
entrapped within her antiqued mind
unable to turn a blind eye
or replace the chains drummed up inside
while the seonds tick away
she grinds away in deadly charm
remembering the momentous death
of the aloof spinster
and the detached life she lived
while watching the handsome dogs
eat the dead parrot
in silence
the ticking stops


......this in response to AUNT HELEN by TS Eliot...and the line ... the Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantlepiece