posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:46 AM
0 comments
Friday, May 23, 2008
Love & Loving You Lisé
I cannot say, nor can words, or deeds
thoughts or gestures, movements or creativity,
dreams or visions, brainstorming or coupled ranting,
lovemaking or lokeng, Sir O’ or CLG,
not even all of these at once
appearing in ecstasy with an envisioned
Sequoia de O’ lived in in twenty years hence
none of the above, nor certainly I, me or myself
can say adequately how much I and all of me
loves you!
Let this bouquet then,
part “humble weeds” in bloom
part store bought “hanging basket” this year
part nursery purchased in our first year here re-blooms
part nursery purchased last year re-blooms
part humble “Santa Barbara man” blooms this year
speak what messages it will to you my love
and may these simple words complement
For truly, in the annals of love
poetically and very real in actuality
there is no love better than ours:
no love that sings more harmoniously;
no love that finds deeper roots into past or future;
no love that seeks intenser interaction in the moment!
Life’s Force & Utmost Love,
Sir O’
thoughts or gestures, movements or creativity,
dreams or visions, brainstorming or coupled ranting,
lovemaking or lokeng, Sir O’ or CLG,
not even all of these at once
appearing in ecstasy with an envisioned
Sequoia de O’ lived in in twenty years hence
none of the above, nor certainly I, me or myself
can say adequately how much I and all of me
loves you!
Let this bouquet then,
part “humble weeds” in bloom
part store bought “hanging basket” this year
part nursery purchased in our first year here re-blooms
part nursery purchased last year re-blooms
part humble “Santa Barbara man” blooms this year
speak what messages it will to you my love
and may these simple words complement
For truly, in the annals of love
poetically and very real in actuality
there is no love better than ours:
no love that sings more harmoniously;
no love that finds deeper roots into past or future;
no love that seeks intenser interaction in the moment!
Life’s Force & Utmost Love,
Sir O’
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 6:32 AM
0 comments
Monday, April 28, 2008
House and Home update at Sequoia de O’—End of April 2008
We dropped the lawsuit after the mediation session during which: 1) the lawyer for those being sued made it clear he was ex-partners with both judges in town, 2) the mediator clearly did not like our lawyer and seemed to have sided with the other side, 3) the prior contractor-owner pulled an Archie Bunker meets Santa Claus routine that would have wowed any jury of his peers in this area, 4) the prior owner-contractor offered to fix everything that was bad at his cost (while wanting to leave wood that wasn’t too-badly termite-ridden), and, 5) our lawyer seemed not to know how to proceed with deference to these observations.
Since then, we have remodeled the living room, removing the rotten wood in walls and baseboards, and redoing the rotten hardwood floors with gorgeous Travertine tile. The walls are now a beautiful green-blue turquoise splashed with gold, depending on angle of vision and light source. New windows and slider and French doors all have a clear-lacquered wood finish and nicely compliment the new front door of dark mahogany with grilled sidelights and working grilled speak easy. The tin-ceiling with cornices reflects these colors in various areas, always shifting with the sunlight streaming into the room. Lisé decided to move some different curtains downstairs as well, and so the golden and tan curtains brighten up the room. With two matching arches leading into the kitchen and into the stairwell, bathroom, and entertainment room alcove, the room leads nicely into other areas while feeling completely its own as well.
Outside, we continue to work on and are committed to the notion of Sequoia de O’ as a botanical park of sorts, with sustenance in the form of fruit (cherry, plum, pear, apple, peach, huckleberry, strawberry, raspberry, and blueberry) and eventually more herbs (oregano, thyme, sage, and rosemary currently) and edible plants and vegetables, and visual aesthetic nurturance in the forms of arches, trellises, arbors, gazebos, sitting areas, benches, and definite garden areas, such as the Hebe-grass-cherry-canna grove, the deodora-cedar-rhododendron-echium grove, Mother’s Garden, the rock fountains gardens, Lisé’s rose garden, the ponds grove, the deck grove, the hot tub grove, the aborgola grove, the big ponds grove, Grandmother’s Grove, the pagellis grove, and the flowering tree grove, each of which forms its own area of interest and all of which are interconnected in some way other than by being on the same .66 acres surrounded by a bamboo fence.
Duncan, nearly two-year-old AKC-registered Black Lab, and Pan, a nearly one-year-old pound-rescued perhaps German Shepherd and Pit Bull mix, have run tracks and trails into the grounds in various places.
Duncan catches tennis balls thrown at speeds from slow underhand tosses to fast pitches overhand, preferring the throws to occur while he sits on the waterfall rocks in the ponds nearest the house. He lost a lower-right-side-jaw molar tooth during a tug-of-war that we have since ceased performing. But, Duncan loves to run after chuck-it thrown tennis balls (as it seems many labs do), and to play what we call “kick-ball,” during which, Lisé or I kick the ball and try to get it past him, as he situates himself like a soccer goalie in net during an attack by the offense. He will often block the ball with his chest or one of his four legs, but, if kicked just right, one can score, as the ball soars on past! Caution must be exercised as Duncan will run over trees in his wild enthusiasm to chase the ball down. Duncan possesses serious speed in the straightaway, running so fast that his back legs outpace his front, making him look as if his bottom is dragging on the ground when he is galloping. His muscles bulge like those of a finely tuned athlete. We hope to find Duncan a female friend to pass on his genes since he is such a loving and beautiful animal!
Pan seems not to like many games, chasing balls only as a way to compete for attention with Duncan, not because he thoroughly loves it but to wrest our attentions for himself. He, instead, enjoys to run and chase, chasing bike riders and cars at the front of the fence by the road, chasing and being chased by Duncan, or chasing or being chased by me (Scott). Pan prefers to be chased, but will initiate the chase if need be, quickly turning it into a reason for others to chase him (a coveted rawhide or piece of stick with Duncan, or a ball that Duncan was playing with for Lisé and I). Pan’s prowess is rolled up into quick turns and changes of direction, and so he loves to run around the edges of the ponds, changing direction to try to offset Duncan’s overwhelming straight speed and strength. Pan, unfortunately because of his incredible elegance and colorings, cannot pass on his more surly genes because the pound enforces a mandatory fix rule upon adoption.
Life's Force and Love,
Scott Michael
Since then, we have remodeled the living room, removing the rotten wood in walls and baseboards, and redoing the rotten hardwood floors with gorgeous Travertine tile. The walls are now a beautiful green-blue turquoise splashed with gold, depending on angle of vision and light source. New windows and slider and French doors all have a clear-lacquered wood finish and nicely compliment the new front door of dark mahogany with grilled sidelights and working grilled speak easy. The tin-ceiling with cornices reflects these colors in various areas, always shifting with the sunlight streaming into the room. Lisé decided to move some different curtains downstairs as well, and so the golden and tan curtains brighten up the room. With two matching arches leading into the kitchen and into the stairwell, bathroom, and entertainment room alcove, the room leads nicely into other areas while feeling completely its own as well.
Outside, we continue to work on and are committed to the notion of Sequoia de O’ as a botanical park of sorts, with sustenance in the form of fruit (cherry, plum, pear, apple, peach, huckleberry, strawberry, raspberry, and blueberry) and eventually more herbs (oregano, thyme, sage, and rosemary currently) and edible plants and vegetables, and visual aesthetic nurturance in the forms of arches, trellises, arbors, gazebos, sitting areas, benches, and definite garden areas, such as the Hebe-grass-cherry-canna grove, the deodora-cedar-rhododendron-echium grove, Mother’s Garden, the rock fountains gardens, Lisé’s rose garden, the ponds grove, the deck grove, the hot tub grove, the aborgola grove, the big ponds grove, Grandmother’s Grove, the pagellis grove, and the flowering tree grove, each of which forms its own area of interest and all of which are interconnected in some way other than by being on the same .66 acres surrounded by a bamboo fence.
Duncan, nearly two-year-old AKC-registered Black Lab, and Pan, a nearly one-year-old pound-rescued perhaps German Shepherd and Pit Bull mix, have run tracks and trails into the grounds in various places.
Duncan catches tennis balls thrown at speeds from slow underhand tosses to fast pitches overhand, preferring the throws to occur while he sits on the waterfall rocks in the ponds nearest the house. He lost a lower-right-side-jaw molar tooth during a tug-of-war that we have since ceased performing. But, Duncan loves to run after chuck-it thrown tennis balls (as it seems many labs do), and to play what we call “kick-ball,” during which, Lisé or I kick the ball and try to get it past him, as he situates himself like a soccer goalie in net during an attack by the offense. He will often block the ball with his chest or one of his four legs, but, if kicked just right, one can score, as the ball soars on past! Caution must be exercised as Duncan will run over trees in his wild enthusiasm to chase the ball down. Duncan possesses serious speed in the straightaway, running so fast that his back legs outpace his front, making him look as if his bottom is dragging on the ground when he is galloping. His muscles bulge like those of a finely tuned athlete. We hope to find Duncan a female friend to pass on his genes since he is such a loving and beautiful animal!
Pan seems not to like many games, chasing balls only as a way to compete for attention with Duncan, not because he thoroughly loves it but to wrest our attentions for himself. He, instead, enjoys to run and chase, chasing bike riders and cars at the front of the fence by the road, chasing and being chased by Duncan, or chasing or being chased by me (Scott). Pan prefers to be chased, but will initiate the chase if need be, quickly turning it into a reason for others to chase him (a coveted rawhide or piece of stick with Duncan, or a ball that Duncan was playing with for Lisé and I). Pan’s prowess is rolled up into quick turns and changes of direction, and so he loves to run around the edges of the ponds, changing direction to try to offset Duncan’s overwhelming straight speed and strength. Pan, unfortunately because of his incredible elegance and colorings, cannot pass on his more surly genes because the pound enforces a mandatory fix rule upon adoption.
Life's Force and Love,
Scott Michael
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 9:28 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Wording Love into Trees
If I answer the query, Who am I?
I am is the ultimate reply…
Regardless of qualities…
No matter the poesis or the eros…
Still engaging in the Third from far afar,
I never feel removed from the abiding love of my life—Lisé
And, in the midst of our rhizomatic lives, the nurturance of love feeds
We, is the subtle name for our manifested interaction,
Which continues to thrive under the current in the background
Pondering the mysteries of love incites a cosmotic reaction;
Stars, moon and sun come mythically vivacious
Stages, from nigredo and albedo to rubedo show unions we breathe
Trees peel back layers in a momentous celebration of lived history—opening, closing four times three
Spells of enchantment impart worlds we rarely see
Dante whistling on the wind in Terza Rimas profound
We heed spirit’s call to descend and ascend in helixical vibrancy
Momentarily you move with rhythmic consonance there and here when I am neither
Yet I feel you and you feel me
Ah, transcendent magnificence that is our love…
We knew semblances of this love in temporality that surpass the imaginary
Shall I tell you a toll of the bell that rings silently,
You might wonder what clanger made it so, if you knew not it was a powdery soft wing
But you once blew that monarch to its destiny and so such a notion proves incongruous
When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what,
and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within
Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows,
in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance
and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast,
more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me,
for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past,
an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings
and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound,
undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament
soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections
of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife
Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome
as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all,
undergirding something unintended so that it might fester,
instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors
leading to blues and eventually to purple,
and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines,
we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…
I am is the ultimate reply…
Regardless of qualities…
No matter the poesis or the eros…
Still engaging in the Third from far afar,
I never feel removed from the abiding love of my life—Lisé
And, in the midst of our rhizomatic lives, the nurturance of love feeds
We, is the subtle name for our manifested interaction,
Which continues to thrive under the current in the background
Pondering the mysteries of love incites a cosmotic reaction;
Stars, moon and sun come mythically vivacious
Stages, from nigredo and albedo to rubedo show unions we breathe
Trees peel back layers in a momentous celebration of lived history—opening, closing four times three
Spells of enchantment impart worlds we rarely see
Dante whistling on the wind in Terza Rimas profound
We heed spirit’s call to descend and ascend in helixical vibrancy
Momentarily you move with rhythmic consonance there and here when I am neither
Yet I feel you and you feel me
Ah, transcendent magnificence that is our love…
We knew semblances of this love in temporality that surpass the imaginary
Shall I tell you a toll of the bell that rings silently,
You might wonder what clanger made it so, if you knew not it was a powdery soft wing
But you once blew that monarch to its destiny and so such a notion proves incongruous
When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what,
and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within
Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows,
in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance
and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast,
more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me,
for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past,
an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings
and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound,
undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament
soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections
of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife
Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome
as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all,
undergirding something unintended so that it might fester,
instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors
leading to blues and eventually to purple,
and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines,
we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 8:55 AM
0 comments
Sunday, May 13, 2007
poem and photo for all mothers
Mothers and Roses
More beautiful than the most curl-fringed rose petals in profusion
More gorgeous than the phenomenal scent of the sweetest rose fragrance
More precious than the rose’s fantastic thorny versus soft petalled juxtaposition
More bountiful than the greatest producing rose bushes’ sight-inducing trances
Are mothers…
Their sweetness and realness intermixed with loving sharpness and compassionate fictitiousness
Roses compare more or less with mothers, depending on the mother, the rose’s part
Yet, none more wonderful than the rose that is you could I conjure
Whose thoughts wax or wane on cycles must return to mothers’ felicitousness
her way of hot soup during sickness, favorite meals on birthdays, her heart
Herein is the secret paramount not to abjure, a mother’s love everafter endures
Life's Force and Love,
Scott Michael
More beautiful than the most curl-fringed rose petals in profusion
More gorgeous than the phenomenal scent of the sweetest rose fragrance
More precious than the rose’s fantastic thorny versus soft petalled juxtaposition
More bountiful than the greatest producing rose bushes’ sight-inducing trances
Are mothers…
Their sweetness and realness intermixed with loving sharpness and compassionate fictitiousness
Roses compare more or less with mothers, depending on the mother, the rose’s part
Yet, none more wonderful than the rose that is you could I conjure
Whose thoughts wax or wane on cycles must return to mothers’ felicitousness
her way of hot soup during sickness, favorite meals on birthdays, her heart
Herein is the secret paramount not to abjure, a mother’s love everafter endures
Life's Force and Love,
Scott Michael
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 2:06 PM
0 comments
Friday, April 06, 2007
house issues
Ah, too long has gone by….
We face an entire remodel of the house after discovering subterranean termite and rotten greenplate damage that boggles the mind!
AND, this discovery comes right on the heels of completing 8.5 out of 10 rooms worth of remodeling, as well as approximately 90% of the remodeling inside done, and, most of the outside landscaping and building of studio, storage sheds, deck, etc., done.
Thus, we are embroiled in a legal battle that is only beginning, while our living room is utterly gutted, termite-infested redwood authentic 2”x4” boards girding a cracked concrete slab poured in 1950 or so.
Therefore, the updates have been short in coming, as I wade through the arduous tasks at hand, which relatively a short time ago included working on the house and a Ph.D. in mythology studies.
Life’s Force,
Scott Michael Potter
We face an entire remodel of the house after discovering subterranean termite and rotten greenplate damage that boggles the mind!
AND, this discovery comes right on the heels of completing 8.5 out of 10 rooms worth of remodeling, as well as approximately 90% of the remodeling inside done, and, most of the outside landscaping and building of studio, storage sheds, deck, etc., done.
Thus, we are embroiled in a legal battle that is only beginning, while our living room is utterly gutted, termite-infested redwood authentic 2”x4” boards girding a cracked concrete slab poured in 1950 or so.
Therefore, the updates have been short in coming, as I wade through the arduous tasks at hand, which relatively a short time ago included working on the house and a Ph.D. in mythology studies.
Life’s Force,
Scott Michael Potter
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 10:37 AM
0 comments
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Love Testament November 2005
Lisé, oh Lady O’, how oft I pine for thy touch when it mingles with the coldest breezes in sundry places…
I see thy face, I feel thy warm breath tickling down upon my shoulders and neck to rest on the pillow of love’s ecstatic union!
You come to me in the pitched night, radiating love and light in cool colors of moon-drapery’s finery tinged with fiercely hot passion throbbing as veins of sunlight shining through your moon-skin.
You come to me in the warmth of the day as bumblebees winging about the Hebe purple blooms accompany the chiming soft wind winding through hair waving on my back.
Lisé, oh Lady O’, what is most important is that you perpetually come to me, whether here at Sequoia de O’ or elsewhere, and in your repeated visits, each time you bring something new and fresh, squeaking citrus one day, the next a trumpeting bison, one day a delicate viola faced flower, the next, a redwood named Mother.
However I count the polyvalency of blessings, whenever I reflect on the wonder that is you, whatever moods inhabit me in currents of at times seemingly endless perturbation and at others of rapturous perpetuity, whomsoever enters and leaves the forest of Sequoia de O’ and our extended areas of influence, none of these experiences will ever match that of holding and being held by you, no matter a thigh or more….
Life’s Force and Love,
Scott Michael
Sir O’
I see thy face, I feel thy warm breath tickling down upon my shoulders and neck to rest on the pillow of love’s ecstatic union!
You come to me in the pitched night, radiating love and light in cool colors of moon-drapery’s finery tinged with fiercely hot passion throbbing as veins of sunlight shining through your moon-skin.
You come to me in the warmth of the day as bumblebees winging about the Hebe purple blooms accompany the chiming soft wind winding through hair waving on my back.
Lisé, oh Lady O’, what is most important is that you perpetually come to me, whether here at Sequoia de O’ or elsewhere, and in your repeated visits, each time you bring something new and fresh, squeaking citrus one day, the next a trumpeting bison, one day a delicate viola faced flower, the next, a redwood named Mother.
However I count the polyvalency of blessings, whenever I reflect on the wonder that is you, whatever moods inhabit me in currents of at times seemingly endless perturbation and at others of rapturous perpetuity, whomsoever enters and leaves the forest of Sequoia de O’ and our extended areas of influence, none of these experiences will ever match that of holding and being held by you, no matter a thigh or more….
Life’s Force and Love,
Scott Michael
Sir O’
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 6:29 PM
0 comments
