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My Mother is the Night Sky

New Chapbook now on Amazon Kindle

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The Infernal Climaxes of Weather Vermillion sun, The fire burned the hills in Agora An orange wall of creatures Reaching spindles of arms Up toward the darkening sky The cars lined up like cattle, Bale fire crossing the black road And the air alighted with the colors Of sirens, the terrible worry, And the building wrought in smoke Such arcane celebrations are cut short these days, for the Infernal climaxes of weather: The mercurial Mother, celestial, Earthly, overbearing. #Poetry #poems #poetrycommunity #poetsofinstagram #poet #poemoftheday #poemsofinstagram #climatechange (at Agora Hills) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqYlEBYvSKb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Jiddu Dusting of snow, pageant of will, a chime breaks the time between exhales and the mountains bring the cold from Canada The silent room holds many unturned gems cushions lining the walls, winter at the window, a decanter of glass water The lavender bell blooms in the color of rust A circle and conch in the quiet wilderness And the valley crows fly in sweet dark lines Our clouds line up in their war like formations Ironically bringing their charming silence well the father sun peeks gently through the break Although the pepper tree from Peru Fell in the cobble of driveway It’s old boughs still bear young flowers #Poetry #poems #poetry #poetrycommunity #poet #poem #poemoftheday #poetsofinstagram #krishnamurti (at Krishnamurti Foundation of America) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpJlYY-r2Dw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Grandma’s House Painted Yellow Running round the tree roots on the old avenue, the white house painted yellow. Uncle took a tumble, I pictured him dying there. The court battle was long, and swollen like those roots, growing nodules where people wrote their initials. Juvenile. I have a sense of wonder for people who write on trees, like inscribing memory in skin, bark marred by superficial lovers. Once I saw my aunt walk her shopping cart, past those roots, her heart enfeebled by those glory days, powdered noses, alphabet soup. The entire family would congregate there, In that white house, painted yellow, and I wonder who lives there now, Elephant God on the porch step watching. #Poetry #poetrycommunity #poet #poem #poems #poetsofinstagram #poetrylovers #instapoem (at Culver City, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co1BV4SL84x/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Devi Bhava In these wild wanderings we begin to find the tune of our music like lotus water and red painted sindoor paper folded cranes in a sun stained window and the shadow of the master standing on the wall A woman dances in circles, bhavatarini, and screams at her mother. We all touch her feet in this carnal church adoring only this rapture: this tantric window that whittles away the barriers at the tops of our skin We confront those stained glass windows that cover the cave of the heart like sun shadows moving in the daylight: I’ve got no where to go I’ve turned right at every fork in the road all these cobbled pathways lead back home #poetry #poetrycommunity #poet #poems #bhakti #bhaktipoetry #goddess (at Ojai, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoHDzlsriwB/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Todays haul of yoga studies / Hindu studies texts from @bartsbooksojai From the head of the yoga studies department @lmuyogastudies where I did my MA. Always nice to find and old hard copy: Chapple, Christopher Key. Yoga and the Luminous: Patañjali's Spiritual Path to Freedom. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2008. Eliade, Mircea. Yoga: Immorality and Freedom. Translated by Willard R. Trask. New York, NU: Bollingen Paperback, 1990. The Gospel of the Holy Mother Sri Sarada Devi. Madras, India: Sri Ramakrishna Math, 1984. Mittal, Sushil, and Gene Thursby. Studying Hinduism: Key Concepts and Methods. New York, NY: Routledge, 2008. @vrinda_sheth My wife highly recommended this re-telling of Ramayana from the perspective of Sita: Sheth, Vrinda. Shadows of the Sun Dynasty: An Illustrated Series Based on the Ramayana. San Rafael, CA: Mandala Publishing, 2016. Tyagananda’s rebuttal to the notorious Kali’s child in which Kripal forgets that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar: Tyagananda. Interpreting Ramakrishna: Kali's Child Revisited. Delhi, India: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers, 2010. Whicher, Ian. The Integrity of the Yoga Darśana: A Reconsideration of Classical Yoga. New York, NY: State University of New York Press, 1998. White, David Gordon. Tantra in Practice. Princeton, NJ: Tantra in Practice, 2000. #yogastudies #hindustudies #hinduism #yoga #yogaphilosophy #hinduism #goddess #yogainspiration #tantra (at Bart's Books) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoBdnNsLaFJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Little Boxes A fallow wind breaks over the US Bank Building and the huddled masses ‘neath share blanket fires and cardboard, Post No Bills. Sweep the camps, a chain link fence and a black and white solution Rain comes and sops up the houses. Little boxes, little boxes, The Wall Street Bull is Raging, and the common man waits, without patience to take pictures with its backside. The sun beats down on the colonnade and it’s delightful light never touches the trade floor. The bean counters in bank shoes tighten up their Windsor knots and puff their magic odors: a deadly obscura, the art of concealment, strong and steady. No sense in kicking a nickel down, they’ll die in golden graves. Beards line up in a bread line, Passing expired yogurts, we held a grocery of wilted vegetables and the city just keeps sweeping, fencing, barring, holding firmly, under the necklace of the morning stars as the sun breaks dawn. Garbage heaps held an awful court dripping down the freeway sides. As the Maserati races down the lane, it kicks up the waste water, on window wipers and, the houseless at the gas station offers a good cleaning Such is the meandering of the mighty imperial city, the empire core, where the suits make decisions in long glass houses, only a place of stones thrown, I remember The odor of spray cans, black plume, and redolence made, under the awning of night, the shadows cast under city lamps, and crowds fuming in the particle masks. Oblation, Hyperion, can you hear the riot down here? Feet shuffled in the bean stalk of windows, the phones ringing, the crunch of feet on gravel, churning into the city tunnels, cardboard accoutrements, a shamble of protest, breaks on the helicopter blades that beat, beat, beat, and the women scream I feel the push of the mob, the air of another man’s breath, down the nape of neck, the crunch, the sound of gun fire breaking, Bleating, bouncing off the criminal walls of our containment. The revolving lights that win the day, and erect another fence, another dead sweep. No man without a house can live strong. #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem #poems #poet #writing #poetsofinstagram (at Ojai, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn52svlLMOb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇa Book 1 Chapter 3 Reflection

New reflection on #devibhagavatapurana

Chapter 3 begins by enumerating the various purāṇa based on their linguistic nomenclature and ties each of the 18 purāṇas to a specific deity. It then clarifies the length of each purāṇa and the 28 incarnations of Veda Vyāsa. It is quite interesting to note the oxymoronic character in the text that contains overt misogyny when discussing women: “The more so because women, Śudras, and the lower…

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Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇa Book 1 Chapter 3 Reflection

Chapter 3 begins by enumerating the various purāṇa based on their linguistic nomenclature and ties each of the 18 purāṇas to a specific deity. It then clarifies the length of each purāṇa and the 28 incarnations of Veda Vyāsa. It is quite interesting to note the oxymoronic character in the text that contains overt misogyny when discussing women: “The more so because women, Śudras, and the lower…

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Leave the Door Ajar

In the valleys between the blare of sirensAnd the bite of flashing lights Sometimes you can still hear the sound of bellsRinging, ringing, askingWill She come to visit in my open door tonight?I’ve left the hinge ajar in waitingNo anticipation can be greater,She claims the moon as childIt’s complexion is sweet rice milkStanding in the night sky’s gravity Spinning, spinning, givingSoft…

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John Jay Flicker ~ The Never Ending Topiary

The Never Ending Topiary from DM Du Jour

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Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇa Book 1 Chapter 2 Reflection

Having established the nature of the goddess as Creatrix, Chapter 2 further clarifies how the goddess acts within the physical universe. The text declares that the goddess is praised by the major deities, and is the source of liberation for yogis: “O Brahmins! I bow down to the gentle lotus feet, known in the three Lokas as the Devī Bhagavatī, praised by Brahmā and the other devas Visnu, Maheśa…

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Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇam Book 1 Chapter 1

Journey through and reflections on Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇam begins. Also looking to begin a reading group with interest folks :)

“I meditate on the beginningless Brahmāvidyā who is Sarvachaitanyarūpā, of the nature of all-consciousness; May She stimulate our buddhi to the realisation of That.”Verse 1.1.1 The Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇam begins by extolling the goddess as brahmāvidyā, the one who possesses knowledge of the creator or according to the Monier-Williams, “knowledge of the ‘the one self-existent Being’” (MW 740). This…

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Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇam Book 1 Chapter 1

“I meditate on the beginningless Brahmāvidyā who is Sarvachaitanyarūpā, of the nature of all-consciousness; May She stimulate our buddhi to the realisation of That.”Verse 1.1.1 The Devī Bhāgavatapurāṇam begins by extolling the goddess as brahmāvidyā, the one who possesses knowledge of the creator or according to the Monier-Williams, “knowledge of the ‘the one self-existent Being’” (MW 740). This…

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Offerings I gave the bones to seraphim, and prayed to shrines of devas: the flower petals are falling from the altar, old husks, blown in the sweep of clothing as I walk by and bow, upright. I studied all the arcana in summer, and carved the runes in discs of oak. More word bundles, obeisances, offered to the muse of Calliope, there are no creeds that make much sense anymore. The blinding street lights, bend their arc of brilliance, and the crass line of vehicles passes all the godly faces by and the highway roar wakes me from a unkempt meditation. Still I burn these incense bundles, and procure the light of flame, the water purified by flower offerings. Who can say if we are hedging bets, faith is a joyous master that moves in the shadows of the home, rustling in the open window. #poetry #poems #poetrycommunity #poetryofinstagram #poetryoftheday #poem #writingcommunity #keepwriting (at Ojai, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnkK1-APp01/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Heather Sleeping 2/24/22 Window, hark, and fire willow I've slept nights in the heather cordons, wheat lines, weather patterns call from the window. Age brings us beyond that: No more worried sleep under the wonder of stars. I have become Father, I carry this with me, old times moved by Bourbon now no more. The contort of the home is unique, Among the constraints of worldly living. Though, I'll never own one home of my own. #poetry #poems #poet #poem #writing #writer #poetrycommunity #poetryofinstagram (at Ojai, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cnd9KjYO7tp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Honoring the Goddess Brig in OBOD’s Touchstone

Happy to say that the Order of Bards Ovates and Druids published my poem Brig in Touchstone