Roses; roses, roses from my garden
Some presentation an ocean…
Roses; roses, roses from my garden imprinted cross my make up;
My faked up, weighed up image…
Movement Kinetic-
Connect it to the cord that is fired-
Internal knot-
HE-ART-HEART-EARTH-MOTHER
Beginnings begin-
Endings end….
I hear a canvas Cadillac racing through the wind
I see some silver surfer riding out a dream
And I hear that shadow’d footfall tread across my path
Laughing laughter, issues up the babbling brook…
Roses; roses; roses, sweet fresh from my garden
White lace on black stem
Purple eyes and buds that smile.
Roses; roses, roses, sweet fresh from my garden
Lost, alone, here –
‘Neath blue heat
White bars
Racing cars
I smell freshly fallen leaves, smoking, simmering in a chill autumn wind.
An old man sweeps gusted piles into corners
Red-Brown-Yellow-Gold….
He knocks on the door –
Old coat –
Hair strung white-thin-lank-
Loose round gills edged grey with unshaven growth –
Eyes deep-set light/dark blue
No in-between
Only what’s seen stark naked in that space ‘twixt star and eye –
Dream weaver -
Time deceiver -
Now you face it-
In your fake it
Made it
Weighed it image,
Voided
Faced with your own face in the sky,
With no reflection, to refract its intention.
“This beach”, said my Father as I stared, as an eight year old, at surf whose zenith dwarfed me.
“This beach,” he continued, “stretches throughout the coast of West Africa…”
In my eyes it stretched for eternity.
Stretch-
Shut out distraction-
Into the depths to re snatch life long dead…
Here now, I perceive that roar across infinity
To Eye-To sky-To eye –Water-
HE – ART THE EARTH IN HEART
Pounding out the rhythm-
The beat in drum message-
Stay still and silent, in moment, in respect of what this tale may tell.
Roses; roses: roses; sweet fresh from my garden
Roses; roses; roses; sweet fresh from my garden
Some presentation -
An ocean of accordion music that strikes the air;
Taking your spirit-
Elsewhere….
© R M
Rose Café Venice Beach California May 10th 1981
