From Anandatandava

[anandatandava]

Open Your Peepers

I write about longing because I long
but you--you think me a sharp-point starling
or frigate bird, guns all ablazing
from a live wire that might sting or burn
Well, not so, and I'm sure you've heard
that compassion was once in the world
you know--
enough to suit a flight-worn bird
a droop-winged, fight-torn twerp
enough even to bathe him in song
But you--you should really give a chirp
before he's gone!

                   - Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Segregation

A prison folded within prison, where
"all life dies and all death lives"   - Milton

Days starved of living light
nights stripped of sleeping shadow
fog-bound island
echoing thoughts:  sirens of sorrow
calling the soul to inner shoals
as time blows its whole hoard of hours
on little old me.

Purgatory of accusatory brick
horizonless world, mud-stone hurled
sterile sheath of latex stain
where seeds of hope catch and die:
barren womb, baneful bitch, what
demons have you birthed
before my hitch?

How long have I lain
in this encircling house of pain?
How long to go, helmless
hulk drifting in a swirling
Sargasso Sea of memory?

Best to cloud the eyes
with cataracts of forgetfulness
pluck them out, set sense aside
throw a darkly silent cloak
abandon every thought and hope
until thrust back into Bedlam's choir
to recommence the chorus as best I can
in the yowling prison world of cats
all crammed into the big concrete bag.

                              -  Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Poet-Stream

The lachrymal boughs of prison walls
throw long forsaken shadow-tones
and strife-laced, sharp-edged stumble-stones
across  poet-stream, in dusk-inked dream
flowing up thru angst and anatheme.

Rock-falls make such a tumultuous plight
around the bend from loving sight
for in battling death with written gesture
each damming locks me down to fester;
a drowning cat with screech objections
kayaking about in white-water gyrations
paddling the air and all standing near
(friends as well are not endeared)
and this bounding clamorous state of alarm
the streaming clash of splashing arms
resounds with every furtive dash and frantic
crash against stifling ironstone ground.

But no stone fist can full overcome a rhapsodist's
lungs, probing the clefts with syncretist tongue;
and no flinty fingers cold and numb can mute
mysongs once they're sung.  However -- it seems more
embodied dreams must be deferred, there being
some bluffs overawning and rapids too daunting
for any  hopeful eelpout's spiritual spawning!

For tho my bathysmal waters run deep and far
your eyes are drawn to just one surface particular --
a condemningly smudged official imprimatur --
full theatric scrim that's badly marred
by convict stain and rippling scar:
the scourge-marks of an outcast Cain
and veil I disclaim as false canard
but you stamp with seal of full regard.

In all fairness it should be said --
your own biography is read as far more highborn bred,
The wind hungrily plucked it up to publish as delightful
tales on illustrated leaves, then circulated and strew
your bright little manifestos all over my shoals.
How can I help but be such a kaleidoscopic fan?!

In the delight where you've played such a prime starring role,
have you glimpsed your likeness in my roiling flow?
Have you ever felt a pull, a shared emotive undertow?
Were you even tempted to tug back to let me know?

But then surely thru my spilling ink-song of letters
came the riffling clink of prison fetters
and you blinked away the gracious thought
and were gone.

- Ananda T

[anandatandava]

Native Son

A reign of consecrate calm drapes the scene......
From gilded boughs knit high above
plaits of light play sarbande grace
thru glow-soft golden grove.

Gentle gusts waft lustrous clouds of drifting
pollen-puffs, like Sutter's sun-flecked glory dust
to sift and linger o'er fertile virgin spires of pine
the auburn needlepoint carpet  below
and a sparkle-haired boy, his soul grown swollen
in permanent pregnant awe and wonder.

Years of private worship passed
then gnawing saws of sightless
men invaded with the snows
deflowering, devouring the land
bruising the soul of flash frozen
boy furiously scrubbing away
the distained modern stain
from his skin --  relieved there
to find, beneath the icy rind
aboriginal blood-waters of
tannin-warm tint welling up
arterial strong: healing, sealing
the wounded primal world arisen
in living diorama within.

So should your own child wander
in the forest with wondering ears and eyes
the wind-chimed trees may dream and sigh
a doctrine deeper than man devised
of land not marred, or bought, or sold
of epoch scales untold
and the balanced pace of a wiser race.

Then silent thru the sylvan dew
strides Native Son fresh imbued
a convert brave in creed and hue
incarnate form of golden spire and forest loam
who with limbs of polished auburn tone
walks hand-in-hand with his earth-born home.

-  Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Stillwater Maximum Security Prison
(Ananda's take on Wen I-to's poem "The Dead Water")

This is a ditch of hopelessly dead water
a place where beauty can never prosper.
May as well culture it thick with vice
and see what kind of world can grow.
It may even ferment into an overflowing brook
..........of green wine
and possess its own small measure of splendor!
Then if the frogs still in silence throng
let this drunken green brook burst into song!

Any St.Patrick's Day requests?

- O'Nanda T.

[anandatandava]

Charybdis

The book never opened, the seed never planted
to never know the dilation and expansion that life offers
in the dark they wait, seen without purpose
moored in the Lacuna blue, the curling Abyss --
Do they feel it?  Do they know?
Some do.

For I know where the autistic gazes
and What it is that gazes back.  I know Who
accompanies him rocking, twirling, and playing patty-cake
in his seeming inner solitaire
I know Who.

I know the Otherworld sources of his off-key noises
the internal Realm he guards against your glances
and your touch
I do.

"I Am! I Am!" he cries in formless voices
in a turning twilight black
where I also too long sat
till my Strange Angel equip'd these hands
with pen and parchment, then gave the command
"Write!"

- Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Silly Goose

Writing is all I have and am, you know,
so for sequels would you throw
a single buck in a communal cup
perhaps a PayPal loving cup?
every month or so?

With a trusted soul it should reside
to show that it's all bona fide:
records kept on open book
so anyone can take a look.

A sad quid pro quo, I know,
but it's touch and go in my skid row imbroglio.
It won't take much, for my needs  are low
and the rest could all then backward flow
and to other paupered pilgrims bestow
a little group love trousseau
eggs hard laid by a silly goose
for their hopeful spiritual use.

- Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Greatest Flame

It takes indeed the Great Flame
.....to burn in full the greatest pain
I chased this Gift and came to learn
.....how to sit and chastely burn
When Sacred Storm came on full strong
.....once my Soul sprang into Song
Sheets of Fire from sweeps of eye
.....all upon a self-born Sky.
My mantra? -- sever, center, in, in...
.....ah -- ignition -- there's the Spin!
I must now ask, O Sweet Divine
.....by what Power are you mine?
To be as with a Treasured Lover
.....holding at the Crest forever
I pierced this Sun true as an Arrow
.....breath-wings drawn both long and narrow
A Lingum stylus dropped in my groove
.....and the Sacred Spiral began to move
Now does the flute care where he lays? --
.....no, only that he purely plays
For not in human clay alone
.....is found God's fondest sacred home
Music floated out as hymnal gift
.....tho razor-wired that it might drift
Crystal rhyme set in wintry rime
.....etched and twined to glint sublime!

Tho long exiled from realms of men
.....no concern this matter has the pen
When writing's become a tantric art
.....where gendered tools play their part
The virgin lambskin coaxes on
.....urging plume to come full drawn
Soon passions reach their highest yen
.....and Love runs directly from the pen
The rush of dreams from up the well
.....choice word-drops stroked aquarelle
This Holy lift of flesh and Spirit
.....much more methinks I'd ever merit!

It seems I've been forever a bell
.....now breath-heft'd up to heartily knell
How easy 'twas to ring my chimes
.....when flying high on melodic rhymes
Gliding the lilt of tremulous cry
.....not caring if I live or die
E'en now I feel my Angel's lance
.....transfixing deeper than by glance!

To think how very long I'd sought
.....what Seed Sound now has somehow wrought
I weep then wheel to Heaven's Eye
.....blind to mundane worlds crashing by
And make madly wanton Love with God
.....jewel-pave' Ground that few have trod
Come, my friend, don't look askew
.....'tis the Fire of Love -- pray you taste of it too!

-Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Dead Lyrists' Society

"The beauty of the world...has two edges, one of laughter,
one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder." -- Virginia Woolf

So -- can I ask a great big favor?
Keep right on air mailing those
pantomimed poison-pen letters
dead on arrival, then poured
down the throat of my choking soul --
that's right -- all your sweet absolute nothings!

Your novel story remains unspoken
yet the words strike true as a cobra's bite!
So stretch those singing coils, Bhujangi
that this stinging silence finds its voice.
There seems to be no other choice
so in hopes thereof to kill my pangs
I'll bare my soul to your phantom fangs
then fall on the ghostly proffered foil
and shiver down its keenly absent blade
transfixed to the quick but unafraid.

For in the deepest wounds I find my center
the single point I may then enter
the open vein my Muse prefers
to dip the pen in  piercing pleasures
and fill me with stigmatic pain and strife
in dance macabre around Her twisting palette knife
painting eviscerated dreams in lurid still life
with saturate slabs of bright blood tones
to draw Yeats up to weep and moan
then flow free down my marrow bone.

All this so the plaintive reed won't stop
the aching joy, the falling drop --
as forlorn love just keeps on gushing
and Kama runs in, fevered, rushing
to fall heart-struck on page-prone lie
condemned thereon to writhe and die
as I hurried jot his expiring cry
and kiss his cuts to make them bleed --
a favored way to hold my seed
yet spill it out for all to see.

So since life will stay this open wound
where love instead I had assumed
a new dream gains ascendancy:
just witness for me -- the Dead Lyrists' Society
for as with Keats I too hold the creed
that Verse turns Death to life's high mead --
every poet's penultimate endpoint plea.

- Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

You Should Really Keep Me Around

"In the gloom the gold gathers the light against it." --Ezra Pound

"God is fully known only thru love, which accepts everything." --Hafiz

With me you get raw grain, not sacramental wafer.
I definitely won't melt on your tongue; you really
gotta chew to get me down! There's no winnowing
process, editorial filter, or the polishing of time,
restraint, or inhibition.  Having lost everything, I don't
even have a reputation to protect. So with the occasional
kernel you get lots of husk, grit, crunchy bugs, and
even the coupled writhing of earthworms
(tantrically dual-gendered, by the way).

You may contrast me with Yogani, who paints with broad sunlit
brushstrokes, good for everyone. I am his bookend -- the dark
to the light: a burnt Valentine, buried ashes, a shadow
that lies beneath the earth. Yogani helps you develop your
spiritual love and I test it. Can you open to even
this... this mess... of me? Well, as you've seen,
even your distant shocked silence is enough to
encourage me to shoot up my own food for thought --
enigmatic cognitive edibles -- dewy and succulent with hope
if not merit. Children frequently encounter and
browse on me in their digging, and, like little Krishna, return home
with grimy faces. Do they know something you've
forgotten? Perhaps you should reacquire the taste...

Hey, I can really be quite good for you! Lots of fiber
and minerals, to start with. So come get dirty with
me! You'll poop papyrus scrolls that floss you
clean as a whistle, plus you'll fart like a bunny
with the fresh scent of clover! Now, who
wouldn't want all that?

Or at least go barefoot so we can snuggle up more intimate:

..........The soul to the soil thru the sole
.......the spiritus to the talus thru the callus
...................ahh, the suchness!

Yup, that's me there,
the fecundity that lies below. So let me lighten
your journey and add a spring and mossy
depth to your vision-quest steps! And let's not
stop at that. Come down to my level -- yes,
way, way down, and let the Night weep me from Her
darkness, out in a lotioned flow in which we may blissful
swim and drift towards the dawn! Then yawn and stretch
and uncurl your toes, my Fawn, for it's time for a
bit of pavane dream and teaspoon-paired sleep. But please
wait to wash your henna-bright feet, as I've grown quite
fond of your Nile-grown cotton sheets!

--Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Kissy Mouse

Here I sit in silent tomb
But am borne on bliss.
Friend me quick and make it soon
Finger-swipe o'er a kiss!

-Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Happy As Your Clam

I knocked on the polished pane of that
crystalline carapace of consciousness
and there you appeared, birthday-bared, nectared
Beauty, slow-cooked in the simmering half-shell
broth of your mother-of-pearl womb-symmetry!

I see that God has ladled out all bitter flavor
and basted in a taste-whetting savor
then tuning-fork'd over a harmoniously
humming oyster of pleasure into the freshly
warmed heart of your elegant banquet bowl!

And now the sand has been whisked from
beneath your private spiritual sanctum
and set you serene as a barnacle upon
unwaivering bedrock, all curled up
and relaxed against the curved cistern
of your unsurpassed moluscan bliss!

So come, succulent scalloped sweetmeat
Little Hooded Bo Peep Periwinkle, I see you peek
from your peaked cone of silence, your domed castle keep
and its high time to ring that in-born temple bell
to hear you drum on the vaulted walls
of your glowing nacreous home
and sing the sumptuous surf-sounds
of the hot-buttered sea-dumpling electric!

For God has carefully tooled cursive scrimshaw
Faberge' glory into the toothsome ivory shell
you now sail like a cameo caravel o'er Ocean swells
shooting the stars of navigational sutra-constellations
carved with such deep relief into your cowrie fo'c'sle
to arrive in the land of madly dreaming lotus-eaters
and their delightful plight of supreme delight:
the crazily consuming bhakti itch
and its completely curative scratch
that like two bodies with a single Soul
synchronize and syncopate as one Whole!

And now, my Snail-Naveled One, your sighs flow light and freely
as you arch and bare both delight-swept bellies
to the pulsing Tide's caress and truly become
the most blissful bivalve in the Sea!

Yes, what a devilishly clever little dual-gendered Dulcet
you've become to swim in God with every mantle-breath!
In fact, packed all secure in the excelsior
of your pearl-strewn clam-bed surround
clad for seduction, gem-enchased and cloisonne'-bound
you "roll and rock" in a rich cradlesong of peaceful sound
and spread cupped wings where smooth sculpture parts
flying in place with love's strong art
thru inner space and gusts of liquid fire
as I rise to burn in tourmaline spire!

So with heartbeat hands I reach in dream
to part your veil of crepe de Chine
and trail my fingers thru flesh of cream
then guide your flight in a graceful sweep
to dip my tongue in the glace' Sweet
and partake in the crux, the seat, the pivotal point of your seafood Treat!
(Dare I add the ambrosial gynecological gyre of inner Heat?)

Don't try to hide your Secret, O fresh-lacquered Child of the Sea
for your callipygian, high-buttressed shape and
briny-firm consomme' taste most certainly give you away
as Pacific-rimmed loving cup and snug harbor for my Seed!

Thus I shan't ever tire to tempt across your Pearl
and urge your welcome Depths to full unfurl
but must I scold o'er who's moist your folds
and warmed the waves since  Time began?
Awake! -- there's more to you than mere enameled clam!

What's that you say? -- it may be sin to put a little yang in your yin
or the touch of masculine in your feminine? Tout au contraire, my Dear.
Here's the real Truth revealed: Desire and Divinity make for greatest Unity!
So unlatch that untouched porcelain egg of yours, and breath...me...in!

-Ananda T.

[anandatandava]

Resurrection

You think thru stillness you forsake me?
No, Silent Lover, it is then you most take me,
the gushing inkhorn, the loquacious dart
pen dipped in your inscrutable dark
free to see anything, all things in you
as I unclasp the gift-wrap camisole
and dawn upon your twin-moon gloriole:
sweet-cakes served upon eager arms
chaliced breasts as alter charms
...and now my Book of Bedroom Rites Opens...

O Sacrificial Lamb marked by gentle cipher
you fill Passover Feast with Pentecost Fire! --
and falling to the dish most admired
I warmly baste love's weeping passage
with tears that seek a full engagement
in life's main urge and hope's presagement
to gorge upon your most cordial places
and trace your well-moist'd conchoid spaces!

Deaf to the voice of a vice-worn world
I hear mute lips speak - for others dumb
of plunging pleasures to flex and come
so I, Zen archer of ardor
body bowed and tautened harder
aim thru closed eyes at the target
to run a mind-shaft around its rim
and raise a boldly swelling hymn!

Well now, little Miss Perfection
since you seem to have no real objection
and show every sign of warm affection
please assume the pose of bipedal bisection
and plug onto my firm hard-wired connections!

You and I start off real slow, as feels apropos
for in flagrante delicto, but as passions further flow
sink suede in suede in breathless tableau
and begin inch by inch to stroking row
in fits and starts, in deeps and shallows
at varied pace, both fast and slow
(mayhaps a foot, to-and-fro?)
in onesy-twosy, then woozy bunches
stirring it 'round from tip to ground
across at times the scandalous line
to pulsing depths, the inmost shrine
where no other sun has rose to shine! --
Consumed by such a stunning consummation
say what you may, it feels like...Resurrection!

So you see, my Sweet, that tho you firmly rule your day
when houselights become finally dimmed
a different stage is revealed, from another play
and there in shadow a new actor is glimmed
with plans to direct a risqué little soiree! --

May you then have blissful dreams, Cherry Pie
for your Incubus throws wide a rested eye
and when he comes in softly stealing
all those bedclothes you best be peeling!

-Ananda T

[BillinL.A.]

Mercy!

...this is as hot as the weather out west in the U.S. today![:I]

130F in Death Valley and 120F in Pheonix, Arizona.

But 150F in Anandatandava's thread![8D]

[anandatandava]

Jungle Love

Shy Gopi, I can taste you thrilling
to my roars in darkness milling:
come my gentle curvate doe
when you plant your feet just so
close your eyes, and breathe real low
you think your thoughts that I won't know?
Hah! - that flimsy ring of hush you draw
I'd breech and gnaw by teeth and claw!

So open wide that thornbush belt
and feel the air of open veldt
no point to cower there and hide
take a stroll on my wild side,
for Jungle Love waits in the night-
a heat to melt all chill and fright!

Then stay as still as you may like
throat held firm in Raja's bite
your form pressed down onto the loam-
but you may well then give out a moan
when to the sharper pleasures carried.
All the same-
if I wanted talk, I'd gotten married!

- Ananda T