Wednesday, June 21, 2017

A BONE BROTH FOR SOUL-MAKING #NationalSelfieDay




















WILD HUNTS and The Secret Instinct

In the full light of a theology of sin, the false self appears as not just logically incoherent  but morally dreadful…When the duplicitous subject turns away from god in his duplicity he mocks and parodies god’s own good activity. –Blaise Pascal


see
it’s not that it’s a witch hunt
it’s that it’s a wild hunt

a furious host
the white house
in something

morally
dreadful
disembodied dees

secrecy falsifies—
simulacra is
no photo

no video
press briefings 
logically incoherent

the house
man
eye

white with duplicity, "his
imaginary" press briefings
try to make “good”

knot this start again
it’s not “make great again”
it’s make “good” good again

stay with the wor(l)d you face
as it tries to make something
good grow down in your bones

empty your will—not “empty vessel”
the face of her wild long river
is working into broth underneath you 

D-meter vagina dentata eyes of blood
and wings of angels rage after the
white-housed man with the

falsifying eye
driving under
the influence

inside, the furious host
in the white housed
secrete dees

worms fall out
to make our
story come clean

deny
delay
deflect

deceive
the outside
furious hunt

seeking soiled linens
duplicitous parodies
gods borscht boys &

goodfellas; outsides pair and
dye dees showing in phainein form
the false nature of being creative

duplicitous gods
brown this June
with Demeter’s refusal

disembodied is our spirit
times, even the wild hunt is claim
to the disembodied in lives now loosed

upon the soul. But, the maiden underneath
makes “good”  materialize
apart from the materializing of things

so give yourself to this other kenotic life
and let it shape the talisman, an
immediate access to profound wisdom


broth in our bones


©2017  Wild Hunts & The Secret Instinct stephanie pope mythopoetry.com

_____________
notes

see  Blaise Pascal, On Duplicity, Sin and The Fall: The Secret Instinctp. 120






Monday, June 19, 2017

A REPRESENTATIONAL SELF

























A MAD DESIRE FOR A JUST WORD

Click on this image. Watch
the cat disappear— all but his smile!











Cat up a tree

gone into canopy
smiling angel
creative emotion  
insighting power
under the pen—me
ow me-oozing, smiles
throwing words into
their true order but

never trust a smiling cat[i]
grin hanging in a tree

©2017  A Mad Desire For A Just Word  In A Representational Self
stephanie pope mythopoetry.com  #GarfieldDay

___________

notes


 additional quotes:

1.  “But, I don’t want to go among mad people.” – Alice   ("Alice in Wonderland”, Lewis Carroll)

2. “Soul, aware of the dreadful nature within situation’s reason and reasoning’s intelligences, understands there is no use trying to account for the grinning existences hiding in words.”

 
 see  Be(e)Speak! The Deformational Image by Stephanie Pope







[i] Famous Garfield quote

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

GUEST POST "song of the white dove" Beth Anne Boardman #mythopoetry #author #wednesdaywisdom









song of the white dove



the white dove came again.

i love how she sits far back
in the black, tangled branches
of that wild oak tree –

she glows through the falling darkness,
a phantom of herself….

she used to frighten me,
appearing unannounced
at nightfall….

you’re not from around here, are you?
i thought at her,
that first night….

i’ve tried to make up all kinds of stories
about why she visits when she does….

a harbinger of death?
of change?

but every day changes and dies,
as do we….

her song differs from
those of the mourning doves
that have surrounded me
since birth –

(my father taught me their song)

softer than theirs,
her song floats featherlike,
unmournful….

it curls

wispy
tender
wraithlike
(holy….)

we have watched each other
for years now….

through black ash
and endless smoky grey –

we are dual-captured
by blue-white
myriad starfields --

(our secret)

and still,
her song stops me midstep
midbreath
midquestion --

like an incognito
gasp of surprise….

then i recall an elder’s words
and realize:

she sings
not as a warning of death,
but as an

encouragement
to keep dying….


©2017 song of the white dove by Beth Anne Boardman for mythopoetry.com
©2017 song of the white dove Beth Anne Boardman All Rights Retained



_____________
NOTES

The last two lines recall the wisdom of Chungliang al Huang, who appears in Finding Joe, a film by Patrick Takaya Solomon.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children.


BLOG


For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE


POETRY BLOG



POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD




Tuesday, May 30, 2017

GUEST POST "reconciling grey" by Beth Anne Boardman #amwriting #poetry #authorslife

























reconciling grey



sometimes the world’s beauty

seems to vanish
in one whoosh….

death bookends life,

fate turns on its dime,

and rugs shift
under our feet….

poems, words, colors, disappear
metaphor leaves….

shall we hope for no more happiness
if gifts come
on the sharp edge
of a knife?


this morning

i stood on my front steps
and this foreign wind
played in my hair,

ran all around my face
and made me dizzy

birds sang confusingly
of nests and mates
and territories….

the sun shone strangely
springlike

and i brought in the laundry….


© 2017  reconciling grey by Beth Anne Boardman  on mythopoetry.com
© 2017  reconciling grey Beth Anne Boardman All Rights Retained


ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children.

BLOG


For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE

POETRY BLOG


POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD




Sunday, May 28, 2017

GUESTPOST "Oh Mother, Mother" by Beth Anne Boardman #amwriting #SundayMorning #poetry

TROPHONIUS & THE BEES
photo courtesy Beth Anne Boardman


       OH MOTHER, MOTHER... 




in grief
sometimes
i cannot say more....

‘mother of gentleness’
‘mother of mercy’
‘mother of kindness’

visit me....
give me the vision
of the next few minutes –

remind me to breathe....
remind me of your presence....

remind me that these events
that shake me –
that topple my world
into pain –
remind me,
oh mother,

the sun will rise....
the sun will rise....

and oh mother, mother –
you will show me how to begin again....


©2017 Oh Mother, Mother Beth Anne Boardman mythopoetry.com
©2017 Oh Mother Mother Beth Anne Boardman All Rights Retained 
____________

notes
In mythology Trophonius or Trophonios is the story of a man who is swallowed up by the earth and transformed into the oraculur demigod or daimon (spirit) of a cave near the town of Lebadeia or Boiotia.

Trophonius translates  as "nourisher of the mind" from the Greek tropheô words and noos. 



ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children.


BLOG


For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE

POETRY BLOG


POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD



























Sunday, May 14, 2017

GUEST POST "a mother glows" by BETH ANNE BOARDMAN #mOTHERSday #SundayMorning #ReasonToKeepGoing #mythopoetry

PHOTO OVERLAYS mythopoetry.com
























a mother glows




a mother glows
a mother gets sick
a mother swells
a mother dances about
a mother waddles
a mother wails
a mother dotes

how precious the hands!
how sweet the toes!

how frightening the wails,
how lovely the cradling….

a mother loves
a mother helps
a mother waits
a mother tries

to be redundant
to be unneeded

to be heartbroken
to be older

to be a mother
to be a lover
to be chosen
to be blessed

to love
to leave
to live

 
©2017 a mother glows Beth Anne Boardman mythopoetry.com
©2017 a mother glows Beth Anne Boardman All Rights Retained

ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children.

BLOG

For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE

POETRY BLOG

POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD




Wednesday, May 10, 2017

GUEST POST: "day and night/silent wings" by BETH ANNE BOARDMAN #wedwip #mythopoetry #poetry

























day and night/silent wings



day and night
my house is surrounded
by sacred wings….

two hawks call to each other across my roof
in the still dawn….

their screes grace the silence,
point to the silence….

they dance on the lifting currents of air
caused by the difference between night and day,
cold and warm,
dark and light….

often they come back just before noon,
when drafts of air surge up off the warming hillsides….

their calls ring like temple bells:
reminding me to be still for a moment,
to stop and touch the eternal in the day,
to take a breath and offer myself to the mystery….


another calls
as the sun turns orange
and falls slowly down
into the billowing cotton layer
that covers the western ocean,
drawn up over the day like a soft blanket….

this one summons the night-shift:
the ones who will soar over us as we
live on in the darkness,
as we sleep,
and dream,
and sometimes dance….

when the night is well-established,
their sounds, too, pierce the trying-to-be-silence:
shrill ghostly gliding white cries
of barn owls
and great horned owls
tracking their crawling prey….


if you’re outside walking in
that rare warm coastal air,
oohing and ahing over the surprising sharp blue glints
(priceless diamond stars making a
one-night-only appearance….)

if you’re out there,
you can sometimes catch a glimpse
of white wings glowing high above you in the night,
coming in fast,
and soon gone –
right over your head,
without a sound….

but a sheerly distant whistle drifts somewhere behind
those silent wings,
leaving a certain trace
of untouchable presence….

            •

on the very darkest nights,
there is one who comes to the roof-corner
right outside my room….

and even though the window might be closed
against the damp night air,
he announces his landing
with an unmistakable, commanding scree….

I am here for the night.

I sleep and wake
under the jurisdiction
of sacred wings….



ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children.

BLOG

For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE


POETRY BLOG

POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD




 

Saturday, May 6, 2017

WHEN THE FIFTH IS WITH US #mythopoetry #slapdashsat #ThingsJesusNeverSaid #amwriting

May The Fifth Be With You




















WHEN THE FIFTH IS WITH US

      "May The Fifth Be With You," my friends on facebook repeatedly exclaimed yesterday.  Well last night the spirit of the fifth was with me!

Last night, Cinco De Mayo, May the 5th was filled with a night of dreaming.  I decided earlier in the day a “staycation” was in order, a staycation of another sort.  My sweetie and I stayed home and created our own celebration which included a fifth of another sort as well—tequila instead of whiskey (naturally!)

I made beef chimichunga, pico de gallo, mango salsa, refried black beans all from scratch, got out the Mexican placemats, tabletop sombreros, Our Lady of Guadeloupe candle stick and a set of authentic maracas.  Then my sweetie and I got the bright idea to share our fare with the BFF couple who live across the street.  Gathering up a share of the feast and a pitcher of my sweetie’s marvelous margaritas we had one of those unplanned perfect evenings.

This morning I awakened from a dream.  In it I was roller skating through Texas.

The dream me was tired and looking for her hotel among the many shops and restaurants about her.  She stopped into a neat restaurant to ask directions.  They didn’t turn her away but they did have a strict dress code and wanted to seat her in the fast food, casual dining area as opposed to the fine dining section.  This is when she looked down towards her wheeled feet and noticed she was missing the right pant leg of her jeans.  She also realized the folks at the restaurant misinterpreted why she walked through the door! 

Here’s where I awakened feeling the mood of things.

I tried to work with this dream today without success until I got the bright idea to work not from my own image associations for the dream but hers.  Let me call her Texas Roller Girl.  This means she is now a personified notion.

Texas Roller Girl has a missing right pant leg.  She could never keep her pant legs rolled, she can only keep the left pant leg rolled.  She has a mortal side, her left side and an immortal side, her right side, the one already missing its fabric.  Yet, Texas Roller Girl stays rolled or “rolling” by the nature of her soles, a polutropic dream pun, perhaps, for “soul” and maybe too, an image gerund-ing to presence “a wing-ing” movement in the dream figures that moves us, first, beyond our own perceptions of things to its perception of things and then through it again, moving (us) from object (the itness or psychic realness) to fabric or to fabricating (that gerund-ing notion again) what may be working the next room of the dream.  The fabric is the image telling its own story we experience as a dream. What seems like a strange fabrication makes no sense at first until seen through the eyes of the pilgrim roller girl passing through it.

Now, let me turn to “the working in”, “the next room of the dream.”

Long before supper time yesterday I had just read about the ancient Greek sculptor Lysippus and his ideas regarding a certain figure in the Greek pantheon, Hercules Epitrapezius, Hercules of the Table.  For Lysippus, he is the guest who may knock at your door anytime, that guest for whom you must always reserve a seat at the table.
The sculptor goes so far as to say, “to this guest goes the seat at the head of your table.”

This is a figure that begs hospitality.  Moreover, this figure’s herculean effort over sees and rebalances the boundary between interiority’s and exteriority’s too rigid divide.  The outsider and the outed sides are suddenly showing up as part of a dream figures context. Under this theme of guest, host and pilgrim, interior figures and exterior figures can speak their peace freely to each other, be welcomed and be listened to, exteriors and interiors performing together  i.e. gerund-ing to presence like a pair of wings on a lyre, that is soles no longer soles are signaling a winged instrument at work, an ensoulment. 

Ensouled with wings, the spirit of the fifth reminds me of one of the epithets for Hermes, homogenie.  This is the idea in the word homogenized. Coming and going, Hermes Homogenie unites inside and outside and this is like a pair of wings on a lyre playing together. When the fifth is with us soul claps its hands and there is singing school.
 

©2017 When The Fifth Is With Us stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


Thursday, May 4, 2017

GUEST POST BETH ANNE BOARDMAN, PH.D : THE SPIRIT OF ACTION #MayTheFourthBeWithYou


THE SPIRIT OF ACTION


              If one could bottle the elixir of motivation, one might make millions.  What moves someone from stillness to action? 

 - Dr Beth Anne Boardman
    
cultural mythologist





THE SPIRIT OF ACTION



If one could bottle the elixir of motivation, one might make millions.  What moves someone from stillness to action?  How does one overcome complacency or emotional paralysis and take healthy, constructive, creative action?

Motivation fades and surges according to its own inconstant logic.  How wonderful would it be, as one slumps at one’s desk, preparing to prepare one’s yearly taxes, to be able to chug down a quick shot of elixir-of-motivation, and get the job done?  How fabulous to conquer stage-fright and let one’s passion fly with an effortless sleight of hand, or get that dissertation done by just opening the laptop.  One hears the phrase liquid courage, but the spirit of action is more mercurial, more insubstantial than Jack Daniels. 

Mercurial: difficult if not impossible to pin down, grasp, define.  Uncontainable.  Not always apparent.  Unpredictable.  Written in the wind.  Words point in the direction of mercurial; images, though, evoke more complex meanings and help illustrate the enigmatic.  Ancient cultures around the world drew or painted or carved the likenesses of winged humans, angels, gods, fairies, and mythic beings who moved between the worlds—between heaven, earth, and the underworld.  Wings signify the unseen power of the air, the mysterious aspects of communication (prayer, intuition, meditation) between humans and what they perceive as invisible, divine energies outside of themselves. 

In addition to angels, gods, goddesses, and other mythic beings, people also honor and pray to saints, prophets, stars, the spirits of the Ancestors, and/or the planet’s natural elements.  Celtic tradition collectively names these unseen energies the Otherworld.  Fantastical images and stories of otherworldly beings emphasize that Divine Power(s) exist outside of the human world and thus remain unpredictable and inscrutable to humanity.  Jungian and Archetypal psychologies suggest that each individual’s mind and imagination can reflect these otherworldly energies, with the caveat that one may contain aspects of the divine but cannot possess all the power of the divine.  In other words, we recognize Love in ourselves, but we do not command the power of Venus or Aphrodite.  One may embody qualities of a Warrior or Defender, but one cannot bend the energies of Mars or Aries to one’s personal human will.

Diverse sacred traditions admonish humans not to gaze directly upon the gods.  The gods/the angels/the spirits – all shy away from explicit contact, and their reticence must be honored.  When the Biblical Moses encountered I Am that I Am on the mountainside, he saw only a burning bush, and through this interaction, understood that the human form cannot contain or withstand the actual power of God.  In the Greek myth of Semele’s contact with Zeus, her pleas to see him directly resulted in the spontaneous immolation of her human form.  These stories and others like them reinforce the reality of human frailty, our divinely ordained imperfection.


Early Greeks and Romans told of Hermes (Greek) or Mercury (Roman), gods who traversed between the worlds, passing messages between


gods and humans and accompanying beings that needed to travel to and fro between heaven, earth, and the underworld.  Represented by wings on his cap or the heels of his boots (or both), Mercury’s essential responsibility and quality, therefore, is to come and go; and since he is a god, his movements are beyond feeble humanity’s ability to predict or command.  Mercury gives a face to the unseen spirit of action, illustrates the ephemeral power of motivation. Alchemists, the philosopher-scientists of old, called this spirit Mercurius, the force they recognized as the power behind both worldly and spiritual transformation.

This is the mystery of motivation: human will-power can achieve much, but only inspiration, the visitation of the mercurial spirit of action, can lead us to accomplishments beyond our planning.  Mercurius provides us moments of its otherworldly power to transform ideas into actions, dreams into realizations. Like any of the other gods, the Spirit of Action will not be summoned, only invited.  And when invited, it may or may not coalesce.  A humble stance honors that the great energies of the universe defy human containment.  Creative, purposeful action requires a sensitive dance between power and receptivity on this spider’s web of life. 

In paying attention to the quiet whisper of our inner guidance and gathering up our human willingness, we take the first step on a new journey.  Along the way, we honor the otherworld and welcome the mercurial power of action to suffuse us with inspiration.  Honor the gods, the old stories say, and remember to give thanks for those times when we find ourselves wonderfully mid-action, not knowing quite how we got there, and amazed at finding done what we thought we couldn’t do. 
















ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Beth Anne Boardman, RN, MA, PhD lives in California and New Hampshire. She travels and lectures on the Mythology of Sport; Women and Myth; and the Alchemy of Adolescence (her dissertation topic), in addition to consulting as a writer to websites.  

Recently, Beth has served on the board of the Pacifica Graduate Institute Alumni Association and as Regional Coordinator for local alumni. Her career spans work as a registered nurse, the study of world dance and music, and the profound joy of raising two children. 

BLOG


For stories and essays on creative life and culture visit Dr. Beth Ann Boardman at MYTHMUSE

POETRY BLOG


POEMS FROM THE OTHERWORLD



Sunday, April 30, 2017

POETS OF MYTHOPOETRY: BRADLEY OLSON : Four Poems #mythopoetry #guestpost #NationalPoetryMonth2017

























FOUR POEMS


PAUL VERLAINE'S AIM



You have me disadvantaged, dear Arthur.
You possess the sharp, quill tip of your pen
And your youth.
I have only this pistol…
If only my wounds were so easily mended.

I have not yet come to terms with written words
As you have--when you were yet a boy!--
And now you leave them,
And me,
Adrift in a drunken boat.

©2017   Paul Verlaine’s Aim   Bradley Olson  mythopoetry.com
©2017  Paul Verlaine’s Aim    Bradley Olson  All Rights Retained




WINTER LEAVES


When I first heard it, I thought
It was really only rumor,
That this late in December's unforgiving draught
One golden leaf could still be in good humor.

Yet there it was, a palsied beggar,
At the mercy of winter's biting caprice.
How often have I (unwitting figure!),
Governed by an unattractive eye, failed to give notice.

I entered his world a puzzle, mostly skulking about
Then, by turning each leaf, I saw myself reflected.
His folios revealed me, so shockingly fleshed out,
That the sound, the fury, the Lear-ing suspicions no longer infected

A dislocated soul.  A corroded spirit.
The littered psychic landscape unveiled by a warm spring sun
Is healed by the call away from winter if one can hear it
And grasp that, though logos contradict it, there is never, finally, a "done."

©2017   Winter Leaves   Bradley  Olson  mythopoetry.com
©2017   Winter Leaves   Bradley Olson  All Rights Retained




FLIGHT INFORMATION



I watched her from behind my newspaper
Trying to read a pulpy paperback
While the disembodied voice of flight information
(in both English and Spanish)
destroyed her concentration and sent her
eyes scouting the page for the word she last read.

When she left to board I wondered if she would ever finish
If the heroine would find love at long last
If the evils in her life would be overcome by good
If the someone waiting for her at some other airport gate
loved her Passionately, Deeply,
And Truly. 

She looked like someone I usually wouldn't think about twice
Unless she were to trade the battered paperback for Hegel
Or someone else I couldn't understand.
I don't want what's familiar to me; I ran from the provincial long ago
I know instinctively by watching her
I ran away from everything like her; not towards anything.
She looked happy--comfortable in her own skin--it alarms me to think she actually was.

©2017   Flight Information   Bradley  Olson  mythopoetry.com
©2017   Flight Information   Bradley Olson  All Rights Retained





LIMINAL SPACE



I am puzzled of  late
by my single and peculiar life.
I am not what I used to be:
An airy dreamer
with a too truant disposition,
nor any longer a dark, upheaved soul
alone and lonely,
but rather betwixt and between
suffering from a usurpation of the senses.

La belle dame sans merci
draws from her black sack
“beautiful untrue things,”
the necessary deceptions
symbolizing and signaling life;
those heralds most deeply felt and dreamt of,
yet remaining oddly unapprehended…
the soul’s fugitives
bringing substance to an insubstantial life
and imagination  to a mundane world.

From this sack,
the very same one,
She brought forth Ilych’s death.
Grotesque to those who watched,
but did not see,
beautiful to him
whom it brought forbearance and joy.
Beautifully used and artfully worn was It.
Beautiful and holy.
So holy It seems
It can hold nothing at all
but air…
and light…
and time…
and space.
Giving room enough to live,
saving room enough to die,
proposing room enough to discover (to my surprise!)
where It is,
Death cannot be.


©2017   Liminal Space   Bradley  Olson  mythopoetry.com
©2017   Liminal Space   Bradley Olson  All Rights Retained




ABOUT THE AUTHOR



Bradley Olson, Ph.D is a former police officer who returned to school to earn a Bachelor’s degree in psychology and literature, two Master’s degrees in psychology, and a Ph.D. in Cultural Mythology. Dr. Olson is currently a psychotherapist in private practice at Mountain Waves Healing Arts in Flagstaff, Arizona; his work with clients is heavily influenced by his interest in Jungian Analytical Psychology and Mythological Studies. Brad is also the author of the acclaimed Falstaff Was My Tutor blog, which has earned him a nomination for the 2012 PUSHCART PRIZE in nonfiction.

BRAD'S BLOG


FALSTAFF WAS MY TUTOR


BRAD ALSO BLOGS FOR JCF.ORG


MYTH BLAST


WEBSITE


MOUNTAIN WAVES HEALING ARTS


VISIT BRAD ON FACEBOOK AT


https://www.facebook.com/bradley.a.olson





Saturday, April 29, 2017

POETS OF MYTHOPOETRY: BRIAN LANDIS Two Poems #guestpost #mythopoetry #NationalPoetryMonth 2017
























TWO POEMS


EL RANCHO GRANDE


Avocado trees planted in rows
       walnuts and grapes
In the arroyo, pampas grass
       as if trilled or plucked
A chord of pampas grass
singing down the breezy cañon
       to the sparkling sea
Two dogs in the sideyard
       barking
A lazy cat opens one golden eye

©2017 El Rancho Grande Brian Landis mythopoetry.com
©2017 El Rancho Grande Brian Landis All Rights Retained


FAMOUS PEOPLE


Pablo Picasso
          sits with Jean Cocteau
          praising miracles
(not life, which is common).
They drink espresso
          and eat Italian pastries.
"God," Jean philosophizes,
"judges us by our appearances
          and is the ultimate idiot."
Pablo paints God's portrait
          and is the ultimate idiot.
Idiocy is relative.
Albert Einstein, at the next table
          scribbles in the margin
          of his New York Times:
                   "Relativity is next to godliness"
He signs his name.
He leaves it on the table
          for the waiter to see.
(If you don't promote your own work,
          who will?)


©2017 Famous People Brian Landis mythopoetry.com
©2017 Brian Landis Famous People All Rights Retained




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Brian Landis is a Buddhist/Jungian psychotherapist, because poetry is a very bad way to make a living, living and working in San Luis Obispo, California.  As the years unfold, he looks more and more like his beloved arroyos and potreros, wild and unkempt.  He likes it that way and is ecstatic to be going to seed after a lifetime of bloom.

BRIAN ON FACEBOOK

Visit Brian on facebook

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