Alejandro Jodorowsky – Dancing Poems (in English and Spanish)

The senses continually give what they receive / The world is modeled according to the way you think.

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Kind act pleasing perfume / glass of water poured unmanned / pure liquid is like the soul / created by the thirst of another benefit.

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The reality is embodied illusion / Birds sing because we believe in them / produce the melody between the two / eternity without them is not.

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I speak from the darker / Site Lamp From the river / takes the magic of life is the encounter with the countless deaths.

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Things are from the moment that we call our / discard them possess is / is in giving that you get.

Ferenc Juhasz – Birth Of A Foal

As May was opening the rosebuds,

elder and lilac beginning to bloom,

it was time for the mare to foal.

She’d rest herself, or hobble lazily

after the boy who sang as he led her

to pasture, wading through the meadowflowers.

They wandered back at dusk, bone-tired,

the moon perched on a blue shoulder of sky.

Then the mare lay down,

sweating and trembling, on her straw in the stable.

The drowsy, heavy-bellied cows

surrounded her, waiting, watching, snuffing.

Later, when even the hay slept

and the shaft of the Plough pointed South,

the foal was born. Hours the mare

spent licking the foal with its glue-blind eyes.

And the foal slept at her side,

a heap of feathers ripped from a bed.

Straw never spread as soft as this.

Milk or snow never slept like a foal.

Dawn bounced up in a bright red hat,

waved at the world and skipped away.

Up staggered the foal,

its hooves were jelly – knots of foam.

Then day sniffed with its blue nose

through the open stable window, and found them –

the foal nuzzling its mother,

velvet fumbling for her milk.

Then all the trees were talking at once,

chickens scrabbled in the yard,

like golden flowers

envy withered the last stars.

URL: http://able2know.org/topic/16231-1

gardens in a candlelit room

i take a hammer

and a nail

to my brother and sister eye,

one gazing south

to shared sand of desert and sea,

other north

through motorcycle lens

to fields of open pleasure,

my visceral concern

is not getting lost between both,

naked to contradiction

my form is seen

bare paleness of a wanting moon

sand still tasted between teeth,

without movement and sound

to the board of memory

each eye nailed

swiftly

so there is no gelatinous collapse

blinking obscura of pain,

i now want

flesh cold

still pale

not written upon by her lips,

hammer has fallen

indenting ground

taking root

Andrew Wyeth Man and the Moon

threat of nature

waxwing

on your long leafed bough

through your mask

why do you fucking stare at me

through the window

i stare back

do you see me for what i am

a cuckoo

in another’s nest

mating with another’s wife

i cant help it

you beautiful bastard

if i had a gun

i would shoot you

yet watching head bow

beak rub bark

fragile in bone and feathers

you are nervous

afraid of predators

above and below

so fuck you

i am of the high order species

and do not forget

it