The Sound a Tree that is us Two…
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Recalling
A dog at Rodin’s portal chasing wet sticks
A dog in view of feather weights
A dog on the lawn by the tree of bay
None on a leash…
Cerberus, the three-headed guard at the river styx
Anubis who guides us through-out our lives
And weighs our hearts against the lightness of a feather
Apollo, the most obscure, chasing Daphne like the dog that many a man is
But most importantly, free
Feeling like
A Picasso bull
Needing to writhe in vines
Fervor builds as beauty reposes
Amidst grape leaves fluttering
Doth a more thump my pulser
Be still my beating heart
As it pulses for the Lokeng that begins as poetry
And will transform itself as the evening turns into the deep of night
And as I wind my way through the labyrinth of understanding your references
You surreptitiously and playfully sneak peaks
Making the world tree that is you and me
Forty-nine days under a tree
Or was it seven,
Anyway, what with the rays blinding me
I saw little other than the terror of heaven
Who tried to deviate purpose into possession
Possessed by the Lady O’Domestico
Fingers tendrils
Hands leaves
Arms branch out
Chest trunks
Waist no bark—I shout!
Legs firm, feet root grounded
Head swivels to see the false moon
Running through glimmering deep woods
And I sigh an acornic relief
For now lover and I are one
Not trapped by but transformed by
Not turned into but turning within together
Two sexes into one
Two individualities into one
Having individuated turning now to the unity of the one
That we are together within the divinity of the Oak Tree
Making the world tree that is you and me
What if every wave were a slinky? {listen to this, NOW}
Treeless and treeful nonetheless
Tearful peerless mouthful issues
Into ways of hearing colors
Of seeing vibrations
So that what is breath
Tastes like the fragrance of long-past fallen leaves in jump
Here is not there nor where but whenever
And whenever is nowhether for our simplicity
Enjoin nothing to feel it all
And within the lack is much
Therein I revel in L’O
Is it not so, S’O
SOPotter, Sir O’Domestico, Sir Oriam
That L’O is your Lady
The Lady O’Domestico, Lady Oriam
Is Your Lover
Loveling in our lokeng,
Revealing herself in You
Making the world tree that is you and me
How can I say, Lisé so they understand?
S’O, L’O, so low the slow show knowing
Clothes loss trailing the strenuous
Mixing, frenetic is now
And she moves beneath me
A rhythm that soaks into my soul
Sweat is our air
Muscles tense and relax
We sigh in gratitude there
For the plenitude of what once rare seemed lost
Not archaic any longer
No archaeological dig unearths
The ancient connection
And we feel it in its embrace of our souls
For there is no escaping the tomb
There is no escaping the waves of energy we ride
Surfers of the underworld, nay, but of everyworld
For we make no such distinction while in this field
And it is not Elysian I speak of
It is not Halcyion I dare utter
It is not the Paradisical Eden
Or any other kink of what was once flowing
What we offer is one and whole to the other
And in your river I dive as deep and swim as far as….
As I come into you my love,
Further, deeper, higher, lower than I have ever delved before
And I release my love
In waves of orgasm
Gushing like the waves of the sea
Like the sound of one slinky slapping
Like the feel of one hand clapping
Like the brilliance of your mind mapping
The helixical fractality of our existence
Releasing waves of pleasure
Like the waves of the sea
I melt into you and am complete
Making the world tree that is you and me
Leases given for lesser rinds
Not for chaste observance of graver
Rather the giver shivers in vivid
Remembrance of what word winds
For always when coolness finds
Heat encompassing the glossing
Of love in its bloom
We see the doom of not a June gloom
But that of a one thinking they know better
And this then forms the fetter
I’d pry away from my eyes or another’s
For words do not come lightly
And though they jump spritely
From one’s fingers
And sluggishly from whomever else’s
These classifications have no bearing
Where love seeks Redwoods north of here
Nor when love roosts here
For this time spent with you
Has and will always make me do
Things that I never conjured before
Thinking myself some sort of Merlin afore
Now I know the magic pervades all
And resides not in just me
Making the world tree that is you and me
It is not about me myselfing Iness
Nor about you yourselfing Thouness
As you know
But the togetherness
That we embody and as specters
Upon the breezes of centuries forward
Shall frolic and feel again
What it is to be a tree
What it is to feel the tree next to us
And know it is You or I
And in that instant
Become the seeds or nuts we drop
To grow again
In dappled sunlight
Underneath our own canopies
And then to look up at ourselves
Still together,
We will know the real we that we are now
And we do
And that is what makes me love you!
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Recalling
A dog at Rodin’s portal chasing wet sticks
A dog in view of feather weights
A dog on the lawn by the tree of bay
None on a leash…
Cerberus, the three-headed guard at the river styx
Anubis who guides us through-out our lives
And weighs our hearts against the lightness of a feather
Apollo, the most obscure, chasing Daphne like the dog that many a man is
But most importantly, free
Feeling like
A Picasso bull
Needing to writhe in vines
Fervor builds as beauty reposes
Amidst grape leaves fluttering
Doth a more thump my pulser
Be still my beating heart
As it pulses for the Lokeng that begins as poetry
And will transform itself as the evening turns into the deep of night
And as I wind my way through the labyrinth of understanding your references
You surreptitiously and playfully sneak peaks
Making the world tree that is you and me
Forty-nine days under a tree
Or was it seven,
Anyway, what with the rays blinding me
I saw little other than the terror of heaven
Who tried to deviate purpose into possession
Possessed by the Lady O’Domestico
Fingers tendrils
Hands leaves
Arms branch out
Chest trunks
Waist no bark—I shout!
Legs firm, feet root grounded
Head swivels to see the false moon
Running through glimmering deep woods
And I sigh an acornic relief
For now lover and I are one
Not trapped by but transformed by
Not turned into but turning within together
Two sexes into one
Two individualities into one
Having individuated turning now to the unity of the one
That we are together within the divinity of the Oak Tree
Making the world tree that is you and me
What if every wave were a slinky? {listen to this, NOW}
Treeless and treeful nonetheless
Tearful peerless mouthful issues
Into ways of hearing colors
Of seeing vibrations
So that what is breath
Tastes like the fragrance of long-past fallen leaves in jump
Here is not there nor where but whenever
And whenever is nowhether for our simplicity
Enjoin nothing to feel it all
And within the lack is much
Therein I revel in L’O
Is it not so, S’O
SOPotter, Sir O’Domestico, Sir Oriam
That L’O is your Lady
The Lady O’Domestico, Lady Oriam
Is Your Lover
Loveling in our lokeng,
Revealing herself in You
Making the world tree that is you and me
How can I say, Lisé so they understand?
S’O, L’O, so low the slow show knowing
Clothes loss trailing the strenuous
Mixing, frenetic is now
And she moves beneath me
A rhythm that soaks into my soul
Sweat is our air
Muscles tense and relax
We sigh in gratitude there
For the plenitude of what once rare seemed lost
Not archaic any longer
No archaeological dig unearths
The ancient connection
And we feel it in its embrace of our souls
For there is no escaping the tomb
There is no escaping the waves of energy we ride
Surfers of the underworld, nay, but of everyworld
For we make no such distinction while in this field
And it is not Elysian I speak of
It is not Halcyion I dare utter
It is not the Paradisical Eden
Or any other kink of what was once flowing
What we offer is one and whole to the other
And in your river I dive as deep and swim as far as….
As I come into you my love,
Further, deeper, higher, lower than I have ever delved before
And I release my love
In waves of orgasm
Gushing like the waves of the sea
Like the sound of one slinky slapping
Like the feel of one hand clapping
Like the brilliance of your mind mapping
The helixical fractality of our existence
Releasing waves of pleasure
Like the waves of the sea
I melt into you and am complete
Making the world tree that is you and me
Leases given for lesser rinds
Not for chaste observance of graver
Rather the giver shivers in vivid
Remembrance of what word winds
For always when coolness finds
Heat encompassing the glossing
Of love in its bloom
We see the doom of not a June gloom
But that of a one thinking they know better
And this then forms the fetter
I’d pry away from my eyes or another’s
For words do not come lightly
And though they jump spritely
From one’s fingers
And sluggishly from whomever else’s
These classifications have no bearing
Where love seeks Redwoods north of here
Nor when love roosts here
For this time spent with you
Has and will always make me do
Things that I never conjured before
Thinking myself some sort of Merlin afore
Now I know the magic pervades all
And resides not in just me
Making the world tree that is you and me
It is not about me myselfing Iness
Nor about you yourselfing Thouness
As you know
But the togetherness
That we embody and as specters
Upon the breezes of centuries forward
Shall frolic and feel again
What it is to be a tree
What it is to feel the tree next to us
And know it is You or I
And in that instant
Become the seeds or nuts we drop
To grow again
In dappled sunlight
Underneath our own canopies
And then to look up at ourselves
Still together,
We will know the real we that we are now
And we do
And that is what makes me love you!
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:33 AM
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