The days of the great reptiles
Are numbered and few;
Now is the time of the rainbow serpent.
The skydancers are here
And invite your attention.
Look for the heroes and heroines:
They are waiting everywhere,
To be embraced,
To feed and dance
In the fields of your great freedom.

               
                Hold me. Say nothing. Just hold me.
                The road is too strange and beautiful for words.
                Hold me. The silence itself is a wonderful terror to bear.
               

Love meets love as two twins returning,
As the right hand greeting the left hand.
– It’s YOU! –
In that instant of recognition,
That flight of wonder,
Love is reminding itself
Of the great body of which it is part.

http://bigreddoor.wordpress.com/

Saturday’s Secret Cabaret is a particular favourite (and I’m often storytelling in one form or another there…)

Get there now (BYOB until Dec 11th to avoid being crushed by the bureaucratic boot of Doom.)

It really is the most glorious place to be and feels like home. Consider yourself telt.

Let us open all the doors
And invite the ghosts in.
Let us empty the cupboards,
Dig up all the bones
And lay them out: let there be war.

Let the wheels turn;
Enough of this stagnant peace
That is no peace at all.
The thundering lie torments me;
I am disgusted by the deceits that
Underpin it.
Better the honesty of war
Than the deceptions of a false peace.

Line up my enemies;
I will cut them down
And bow to their deaths.
I will honour them like brothers
Who meet me on the battlefield,
But for the cowards of this war
I bring only your burning house,
Your ruined fields,
Your broken family.
Be brave and die well;
Hell has a place for the coward
But the noble dead line the halls
Of Heaven, rejoicing.
Now, come, let my sword feast
On your nobility.

War on falsehood;
War on the idiots;
War on greed;
War on all that divides me
From you and
Myself.

Let all my enemies perish.
Let the dark and the light alike
Be equalised in victory or defeat.
But let there be war.

I will cut the wings from angels,
Pull the horns from demons’ heads;
I will wade through the blood of
Good and bad alike,
Because the war is endless.

Constantly arising,
Falsehood blemishes the page.
There is always the Foe,
Always the battle raging all around me.
For others, peace and the green field.
For me, the slice of sword
On shield
On skull
And bone.

(And now we sit here,
The silence growing vines
About our tongues.
Poisoned water in the well
And the list of crimes
Between us.
Let there be war.
Let the land burn.
Let the forests fall,
The mountains echo with
Blade on bone
Steel on stoney face
And all the armies of us
Exhaust themselves in a tide.
Let there be war.
Let the rivers run red
For a season;
Let the borders close
And all the songs be of
The bloody fight.

Kiss and make up?
Let there be war.
Turn the other cheek?
Let there be war.

The air is thick with lies.
The forests are tangled with briers.
The mountains are full of thieves
And the rivers are choked with weeds.
Let there be war
And purging
And the redemptive fire
Of death and glory.)

Fight me.
I said, ‘Fight me.’
Do not be understanding.
Do not yield for the peace.
Do not bend yourself
Any more
From the shape you were born to.
Who are you?
WHO ARE YOU?
Show yourself, truly, or not at all.
Stand on the dusty battleground
And fight me, as you are.

Screw politics.
We are warriors,
Or could be.
I cannot sit yet on the porch
And rock myself to senility
Telling tales of former glory
And the comrades I once knew.
The war goes on
All around us.

Fight me,
Then we can turn together
Towards the innumerable foes.

How can I know your strength
If you will not show me?
I do not yet trust your sword
Beside mine.
Those who have not fought,
Do not know one another’s shape.

How can I love a man I have not fought?
How can I love a woman who fears me?
Fight me.
Let me feel your strength;
Let me measure you,
That I may then love you,
Knowing who you are.

Let the heavens open
and arrows rain down;
Let Hell burst on the Earth.
So long as I have a sword in my hand
and an enemy before me,
I will never be displaced.

Do not curse me with peace.
I would fade like the captured tiger
Or the dark, cut flower.
Fence me around with Peace
And I will make War with it.

Bring me a war!
There must be a war, somewhere!
(For how can I know who I am without battle?
Though I have seen boys become Men,
Become corpses
In an hour,
I have seen such a flowering of life
Before Death
As I have never seen
In all the village halls
And householders’ days
I have ever known.)

Come here!
You!
Come to me!
I am not afraid to die in front of you,
Only afraid to die without living.
(And if I should die by your sword
Or your powerful word
Or your look at me askance,
I will die happy
And real
And full of blood and laughter and fire.)

Oh, do not let me die in bed!
Unless I was fighting there
A battle worthy of my death.

I know.
You think I am a thug
To speak thus of War.
Admit it!
Speak true words!
You see a brute, a warmonger.
An iron fool.
Listen to me.
I am playing my part.
I am playing my part.
Play yours!
Without fear.
At least I know what mine is.

Are you a child to cower in deception?
Be a man! Be a woman!
Ach.
Bring me someone real
To spar with,
I am sick of your foolish illusions,
Your pretensions of mortality.

I have nothing to hide.
Do you understand?
I have nothing to hide.
Nothing.
And so I am
A God.
Now fight me.

Everything I have ever held of it
Was a handful of dust.
To say, “I love you…”
Is to slay integrity,
Though I will always say it.

But, look;
I will step from the Earth to a star;
I will reach my hand
Down into the rich soil
And pull up a precious root;
I will fold you in my impossible wings.
I will bleed for you
So that my blood can nourish you;
I will stand guard,
Though the enemy flattens me
Again and again.
I will endeavour to become this thing
About which I can no longer speak.
My words have run too thick with
Beautiful lies.
Love was not there;
Quicksilver; dazzling reflections;
The cunning refraction of Heaven…
But not love.
It was there, but quietly.
Making a nest in your heart.

Love is not a bridge made of good intentions;
Love is the sparrow,
The dull bird
That goes unnoticed, here and there;
It is the Wren, the Robin, the brown Finch;
While I was speaking about love,
Love was gathering sticks and straw,
Nesting in the silence,
The humble rest between words of splendour.

Who am I to speak of Love?
I can make Eagles,
Condors,
Cranes and Flamingos;
I can show you the Phoenix,
The Garuda,
Magnificent birds of fire and glory;
Do not listen to the words,
But see if a tiny bird
Is growing closer to you.
If it nests in your heart,
Thank God, or the Goddess,
Not me.
I was not there:
I was climbing mountains
And splitting the world,
Keeping grandeur occupied
So that love might have a chance to know you.

You want to haunt the kingdom of the Dead;
I will haunt you:
I will be the ghost to your ghost
Wherever you go.
All the skeletons of Hell,
All the swords of fury and despair,
All the twisting darkness and stairs of deception;
None of them will touch me
And I will prevail.

I will wait, in constant motion,
Until your ghost remembers.
I will crack open the Underworld,
Because I must.
I will break Death into pieces and plant it
Because I cannot do otherwise.
This is my name;
This is what I came to do.

I will chase your ghost through the garden
Where the black flowers grow;
I will lay all the colours before you;
Though it might take a month,
A year,
Or ten years;
If it takes the rest of my life,
I will not stop.
One day you will see the wildflowers
And the road of them behind you.

You are not dead;
Death has cast a glam on you
And now you wear a garland of shadows.
I have your crown of bright flowers,
I have the memory of Spring;
I have the taste of mint and hawthorn on my lips;
I have the sight of the first blossom in my eyes
And the warmth of the Sun on my skin.
Touch me; I am real;
It is you who is walking in unreality.
You who think you have already died.
I will be the Fury of your delusion.

They say that no one can rescue another,
That your salvation lies with you alone;
Let them rot;
Their words are made of card.
When they stalk the darkness,
I will pray for their deliverance
And that some lover follow their dark footsteps
And place flowers of love
At their deathly feet.

Because I must,
Because it is my name,
I will remind you:
You are not dead;
Your ghost is no ghost.
I will lay the flowers of colour beneath your feet
And, beloved, you will remember again to live.

All along, it was growing in you;
Teasing your limitations,
Searing your heart,
When you turned away from love;
Reminding you,
In dream,
In joy,
In the cataclysm of despair;
“Look,” it said.
“I am your soul;
“Let me grow and I will take you home.”

Did you learn to listen?
Did you seize the moments of grace
When they were offered?
Did you risk it all, again
And again
And again?
The Gods are not arrogant;
They simply do not fear.
What is there to be afraid of?
Only the stultifying death of things.

You are not only human!
Stop pretending!
The Gods can see through you;
Renounce your allegiance to the
Conspiracy of the dead;
One day, the moment will come
And you will be asked to step forward,
Say your true name
And put your shoulder to the wheel of Destiny.
What will you say then,
If you do not know who you are?

Friend;
That moment may come sooner than you think.
Already the Gods have noticed you;
Right now, they are whispering in your ear.
They are kindling a fire in your heart;
It will burn everything.
Already, it is too late to evade them.
Do not be afraid,
Though your limbs shake
And your mouth turns to dust.
Do not be afraid;
You are surrounded by allies,
Waiting to pull you deeper into love.

If you know this,
You heart will begin to call to them;
If you try to hide it,
How will your allies know where to find you?
The Gods will find you anyway:
They are a great predator, made of love.
Surrender, now,
Before the battle has begun;
To lose that battle
Is the greatest victory
You will ever know.