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Twelve little days

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  • Bradford Riley
    THE UNION OF SOLACE AND SOLAR Welcome to the soul hole! Winter deep and drunk with inbreath, She inhales the stars, the souls, The animals, the plants and
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 21, 2001
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      Welcome to the soul hole!

      Winter deep and drunk with inbreath,
      She inhales the stars, the souls,
      The animals, the plants and Tugs,
      Yes tugs, on the crystal in the silicon
      Of Pentium in the miniature cathedral of the lighted stone.

      Such an inhale frees the snows from the sky house,
      White cool feathery flakes from
      High Angelic thoughts.. Melting with mathematical,
      While below, all bundled and hysterical,
      We covet and cluster round our (?)family members
      And grip with solemn reverence our sacred calculators.

      Our families gather like the lint in a drain,
      The deep inbreath of the earth, pulls at bloodlines
      Forces face time, smiles, malls, calls,
      Electronic highways buzz;
      Stones with gnomes replay, relay, condense
      Parlay in a parade of minor minds awash.
      Once those gnomes served the star songs in the stone,
      Now the feeble candle in the brain,
      A whistling hollow wind, down the drain
      Through Hollow Men and Hope full childrens eyes.

      Earth listens to her beating heart, her breath
      A count of twelve. Twelve Holy Nights.
      If Olaf Aesteson, passed out the back door
      Of his sleeping soul, and visited her
      In her chamber, where the King lives
      Would we see what he saw?

      Olaf slept and dreamt, but She quivers.
      Her many makers, Undines, Sylphs, Gnomes, Salamanders..
      Weedy mermaids and the long lost drowned nameless,
      Caverns uncasterated by the glance of corporate markets,
      Caves of wonder, layers and rings of Cosmic undergarments,
      On beds of roses and gold.. He and She awaken,
      For Twelve Holy Nights... together.

      The snow listens to Their laughter, that is why it hugs the ground.
      The leaves send their green souls to deck Their hidden Palace walls.
      The water stops its playful running, stiff with pleasure.
      Isosceles send ray, upon ray of dripping star juice down,
      Like honey it falls and drips a starry music to their ears..
      Twelve Holy Days and Nights.. and Olaf dreamt the true earth.

      The animals lay with their hearts close to her, because
      Now her Lover, the Lord of Light and Sun Living Love,
      Gathers the twelve months, the grown old children, each with their
      Distinct Personality... They are mere babes now.. unborn ideas,
      But each day of Solace and Solar love, produces a Month.

      It will have a mood, a manner, a drama, a voice..
      It will be crowned with stars, soaked with rain,
      Brushed by winds...Walked and loved on by Humans,
      Shit and pissed on, soaked with sunlight, and they will
      Tell, a history...

      A history now retold in the Inbreath of the Cavern
      A history of the rock, the water, the air, the fire,
      The animal, the plant and the Human workings of destiny,
      Of Star paths, and wonders wrought through the lands
      And brought forth from Human hearts and hands.

      Each tells its story to the inbreath of the Palace King and Queen.
      They grow young as they recall how all the glory and the gifts
      Were squandered and set free, to
      Bird and butterfly and Bee.
      Songs in hearts sang, and words of rage rang,
      But some felt the weaving message, two or three,
      They knew how time and love would set earth free,
      Those two, those three..

      What Angels walked between the cars, What demons
      Mingled with the blood soaked scars, what ghosts passed by,
      What children, with shattered hearts, cried...
      What love was whispered in the prayer,
      What empty words and lies of every size were
      Celebrated and shared.

      And they grow young, those months, and smile.
      The starry crown she wears, sparkles on each sweet
      Month babe... The golden Sun Force of her Lover,
      Who had tasted Three Golden years and became
      A suitor and the Prince of the the Transparent Rings.
      His hand twirls a band umbilical that loosens and tightens
      The Rings that wyndes the Planets in closer or looser

      Those rings rung round the Ancient throne of the old tired
      Kronos Tick-Tocker... Purple people eater.
      But the Prince and Lord of Her Twelve Days, Father of
      Her Twelve children allowed time and timelessness to
      Loosen and tighten in his thumb..
      An unopposed thumb.

      His thumb, was the thumbs up, not like Rome or savage Man.
      Thumbs up and the Tapestry,
      That Penelope like, His mistress wove...
      Told a tale, each year, from what each Month child reported.
      Woven and unwoven at this time of year...
      When new old dreams and histories were
      Breathed out, one by one, to new months...
      A month for each day of the twelve Holy Nights and Days.

      And when their lovers Words were spoken and the festive
      Stars and songs were heard, Each baby day washed new and fed,
      Her Children loved her, they had no dred.
      Her Lover rarely frowned for Sun was His blood,
      The unquenchable wine of the heart of the I Am,
      Were gifted, month by month, into the laughter
      And the Grace of how the dance would appear, each year.

      Why, when busy, busy shoppers dare and
      Children play and adults sip cocktails,
      So occupied.. why do they not pause to hear their laughter,
      Their Holy Humor and their Certainty,
      As Each new month, a miracle of mystery,
      Is woven with a matter and a Love,
      That hides beneath and rays above,
      And seeks the hearts to give the gift,
      An endless wonder in each unwrapped month to come,
      Why just one day, to slump together,
      In wavering celebration...
      Of what dances daily in unfolding gestation?

      Gifts? Who could count them?
      Stockpiled months, loaded with smiles and moments,
      Lifting joy when sagging horror clutches,
      Breaking visions, when dry loneliness itches,
      Treasure of sunsets, glory of tears,
      Riches for everyone, bouncing off fears
      Gifts galore and learning with leanings past the grave,
      Hairy eyeball and the shave,
      The cunning and the knave,
      Get what Santa cannot ever give,
      A daily dose of why we stay to live.

      The transparent ball, the sun glowing throne,
      The two lovers and the twelve children...
      Slowly murk, opaque, mist and harden..
      The midnight sun dips deep into matters cave,
      She dreams... weaves and dreams...
      But her lover sings a song,
      A Kingly song and prays.

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