McChrystal Switch — Nothing Lives Forever — The City of Hope

McChrystal Switch - Nothing Lives Forever

The City of Hope

I am become a Knight Templar 

Gathering strength on my new Majorca

Tattooed with my crosses the spirit portals

For the spun woven beams of radiation

To braid my life and the world’s myth.

Art Perfects Truth

The armor of my life’s alchemy 

Reverse constructed into grand Machines

That whir and wind around the tumors growth

Music of the River of Life sung by Nature’s 

Choir and orchestrated by the gods.

Choreographer and Dramaturge

This is my Work, my very spoken Word,

This is your canvas, your map and territory

You have the same freedom as the painter or sculptor

To hear what I have said and make it dance

To be the Prince of Prance in Life’s galaxy.

Children of Hope Children of Light

For now the darkness is without lightness within

But Soon for he who waits the codes will break free

The Middle Land the great Middle Sea becomes a raft

And as we are disenfranchised by civilization 

We are reborn dancing dunes playing frisbee.

This Land is Not Your Land, This Land is not Mine

Now the Knights resurrected and restored

Physical and spiritual therapists remounted 

In humbling creation of rituals which rebirth Love

Stand tall in our saddles take comfort in our song

Turn the switch, switch the gears, Sing, Sing, Sing.

Sinjab2020:0822Mcj

 

 Visit, read, and direct me to better use https://www.circusofwords@blogspot.com. Lots of poetry and more to come. 

It Is Too Late

“I should stop, before it’s too late. But it is too late.”

John Banville, The Blue Guitar, 2015

It is too late.

We have transitioned from years (73) and through months (11)

To weeks and days with divisions there no longer easily discerned

All the collapsed time and space requires every one to be

At multiple times and places, at the table blowing out candles

Wandering from room to room, perhaps a last week in a truck bed

(Not clear just how best to use the last metaphor with all its 

Political and poetical contexts and complexities)

Every day is still a new day, a complexity, beauty, possibility, option

But now those are all expanding again, the last contraction 

And last push puts choices back on the table, back in play.

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Work in Progress

 Work in Progress

Time has just gone its own way

A great deal that follows this 

Was not planned for

Is still not expected to stay

It was still in the can so they say

This physical system of wires and bones

Mechanisms of movement and coolness

Does seem to change little day by day

When suddenly it declines those same

Day by day with discontinuities hour by hour

Where yesterday there were letters and words

Vowels and consonants of safety and constraint

Today there are gaps of millennia lesser extremes of heat

Your face goes with an ancestor’s name

Bones belong to creatures long resisting or extinct.

Memes and narratives shifting in space

Rates of change exchanging their pace

With elements like condiments of Legos

Chips and codes translating thoughts into being

Discovering that everything has feelings.

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It Isn’t an Insult

I think more material will move smoothly onto the blog site as we transition.

It isn’t an insult

t isn’t an insult

My grandson calls me

He who shits outdoors 

Which was an act of need

Performed as required

At the beginning of the long walk

As the clan secured the corn for floor

And made sure the walnut nut jack

Was packed with the mortar and he got

The finest stash packed with the fire starter

The clans, bear, wolf, blue jay

Each shed scat of the recent bounty

Records which when amassed 

Became the projection of the promise

Of what was daily routine and now is history.

And was done frequently enough

In a low squat perfectly described

A ritual of desecration if you were

Abandoning the clan’s residence

Ending with a whistle as the chief 

Rose among the oak trees the final gift 

The circle evidence on a successful stay

Requiring only a short march of a few days.

ii

 

Lizard Visitor

 Lizard Visitor

The least of these

You are indeed

Of such small stature

Easily mistaken

For a walk-off leaf

Or more generically 

Silver foiling

Smoke wisping away

Recognizing the carpet

As perfect camouflage 

But even tongue-n-groove

Bamboo flooring

Works as forest detritus

In which to hide while we

Innocents in our tête-à-tête

Bob-and-weave our lives

Together into this new 

Narrative of romance...

Interspeciative creatives.

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We’s it eh bro?

We’s it eh bro?

Tres close no?

Smiles eyes

Sass tease

Sarcasm chasm

Pass it on

So long gone

These words go

Sí se puede

Wishful thinking

Road warriors.

sinjab2020:0813mcj

Commemorating the launch of a blog that was never flung skyward toward the skies but rather was one more dustbin of archives for the poet peacemaker. The goal over the next ten weeks is to gather my poetry and commentary in a blog while my brothers Brian and Kirk And I travel from Claremont, California to Cobble Creek, New York in an RV for a purpose yet to be shared: stay tuned. Come along.