rohnbayesjourney

two great lights

in the lower sky 
last night venus 
maybe and her lover

across the way in the city of stars
orion watched from his castle
the pleiades chatted drowsily 
andromeda ofcourse chained to her rock waited 
and waited for someone to show up with a key 

but these are not my stories 
someone else saw the starry mask and
described it that way
all i saw were two wanderers walking
where there was no path and there were no stars 

 

my ideas about death

 not only do you disappear at death but all humanity and human history including the pyramids planet earth and the universe and all time present and future although some believe that the future remains and we reappear in some other form and thru some miracle of telekenisis reconstitute some kind of molecular structure to exist again this theory remains unproven although possible especially if there are miracles in the celestial realm assuming there are realms celestial or otherwise and therefore

on the beach I II & III

                 I

i have forgotten the whole
routine and ritual said my
friend on the beach
the wind was blowing from
the east
it's been so long i do yoga
for exercise
can't beat that i say
as i stretch over on my
back and massage my calf
muscle

               II 

Audrey from three weeks
is here for 3 weeks
she has a postcard from
the dive shop that says
3 reasons why scuba diving is like sex
on the back on the front
is a babe in a bikini
with a regulator hose coming
out of her mouth
i like audrey
maybe we will have sex
don't stop breathing
stay with your buddy
pay attention to your pressure gauge

                  III

that grouper was atleast
30 lb. and those barracuda
that suddenly surrounded me
atleast the big one was 3
feet long this isn't deep water

this is just off the beach in
my snorkel gear where i see 
these things and needle fish along
the buoy line silver with hues
all down their side small jewels
hidden in the buoy line among the
seaweed and barnacles going down 

ripples on ripples coming
up the beach the wind
the sand in my notebook
the color of water changing
from blue to hues of blue all
the way to the edge of the earth 

 

new

from across the room
murmuring voices i cannot understand

the sea breeze lifts and falls
the palms by the street light

feathering the wind
the boats dance

the arrangement of street lights
down the beach to pangea

the shadows
the darkness of night 

it would seem the same
except for this time

i notice it's
black above the white pelican

statue to my right
a car passes

signaling change
something moves inside

ofcourse everything moves
in a world full of stuff

the wind touches my face
first right then touches my hair

stops and then touches my shoulder
my chest stops and then

looking straight ahead
changes again

 

watching the progress

bar on my computer
turn a darker green

there is the scan
i am connected

it's uncompressing the download

we're almost done now
i check the status icon
9912004 bytes of
new information is in
my machine
and the amber light blinks
drowsily
informing me that i can
go on with my life
that the coast is clear
and the window is formatted
i can detatch the cable  

the tree of life

the cookie of life
the iphone of life
the breath of life
the triple latte of life
and the sombrero of life
all are religious symbols
if you look at it that way
transcending their corporeal bonds
to attain a higher meaning
in the scheme of things
the trick is to keep it in control
while you establish some borderless
boundry of things

in oxford england the cathedral
has king and pope carved into
the wall al level 7 and above
a dead body floats by
as if saying 'oh hi
hello all you down below' i photoed
the scene standing on the street
in the present time 

in ancient egypt the cranes of death
accompanied you to the other world
or were they crows ??
it reminds me of the story of
the turtle carried by the geese
or the rabbit or the mouse they
all made their journey

to the house of the ruby king
and who knows what treasures
are stored there
maybe a triple latte under
the sombrero maybe
a kiss in the cafe 

my mother

was opposed to the internet
although she had never used it
someone apparently told her
about the vast network of computers
branching out throughout the world
connected together by cables and of the content there
that whatever you wanted to see could be seen and
whatever you could imagine would be there
and of it's powers to enchant
like some crafty witch the unwary
and unsteady

this concern for evil was part of her role
and her tradition her people were pilgrims
the ones in thanksgiving
with the indians

so she married a handsome and brilliant
young theologian waited to start
a family and stayed in touch

with the line it ran
clear back thru generations of strong
folk god fearing farmers
a few reprobates occasional
baptist preachers or otherwise preachers
of this she was certain until
the history grew dim hadn't been written
down or somebody didn't save it lost it
in the dark forest the smouldering campfire
cooking

and someone said will you be in marriage with me
and the marriage was blessed and the child was born 

be the mother of my child for me i have no one to be the mother
someone said
drink this 
someone said
in the forest or in the camp
before there was writing there was my mother 

 

 

my cat has many names

miati tiabi typo
my niece calls her sam
whatever is fine with her
i suspect she hears something
in the intonation and timbre
rather than kioba or bobo ti
which i sometimes call her 

whatever feels right
it's a jazz thing 
like a kiss in a cafe 
something out of the ordinary

a conversation is unreal to my cat
I honestly don't know what she thinks 
so there is no reason really for a name
i'll say it right now taboinka tatasi 
neruda with an elongated you

rising a bit and extending a hand
which she bites with mock fury
usually her assasins aim is for the
soft meat under the heel along
the channels of spurting blood beneath

the milky skin

keeaba chacana bobo ti 
you have your own name but
what the hell do i care
i don't speak cat and
i don't expect to learn it now
mianda sita kioba mata sita

illicit is

they told me i was illicit
when i rode my bike thru
the school playground full of
kids from the nimitz
middle school there
walking the track playing basket
ball talking in groups oh
i tried to do a lap but
was bullied by two mean
teachers who explained that
i was illicit and couldn't
be there presumably i would
be arrested if i persisted
in being there so i
resisted the temptation to
tell the mean teachers what
is this a public school or
a correctional facility of
course i understood the danger
of illicit people showing up
and polluting the minds of these
young people just ready for making
their association of meaning
with the world a tender
time for sure all caution
should be deployed
depending on how
many are needed no child
is left behind says the slogan
so then how to tell the illicit
from those complicit with
the agenda school hell what
i remember most is staring
out the window bored and wish-
ing someone illicit would
show up outside
on a bike and wave 
a similar smile touching
their mouth as mine curled in
time with the teacher
saying pay attention please 

a poem for the writer's group

well first off
i just wanted to hang out
with the writer's group people
but i knew i had to have something
to say my ticket
to enter the core the clique
the cult (which is nothing
but a miniature culture of like minded creatures)

first i had to find my freedom
the sound and the sense of something
the words of my poem and place them
in a form the circle could embrace
i traced the trail back to
some time before the words were formed
and the world was new 

a fine mist rose from the garden
obscured the sun like a moon
it hung above the whispering trees
lit the glowing morning glories
yes they existed back then as they
do today climbing the broken stems of
older frames
in my front yard
picture this a world new as a
two year old and unspoken only
the breeze coming down from
the mountain where the snow
lies where the ice forms before
it releases its water to the
streams the rivers of the valleys
the gardens of the earth
picture this a bird

singing in a voice like a flute
like a lute a song
never heard before
never heard again