The hills are a green so vibrant
It sears my consciousness.
The skies tumble with a blue so rich,
Grey clouds, heaving and saturated,
Barreling towards the earth and rising towards the heavens
in molten pure white.
I laugh with the sun as it breaks through,
The rain still pouring in the light,
The storm still moving in the light...
The air bursts around me Radiant
Churning
Igniting
Dark and fiery light
It's all so beautiful
It's all so beautiful
It's all so beautiful
With the merest glimpse
I hurt constantly
I hurt constantly
Aching and burning away...
My heart is passing on my lips,
Infinite possibilities
bursting on my tongue.
Dreams and light fill me,
Sighing, sighing, sighing.
Beaming with laughter,
Beaming with
each
individually
savored
fermion of existence.
Continuously leaving
Continuously arriving
Streams of fire as weightless as the
air in my lungs...
Rejoice!
Expansive Nothingness by miquluva-coia, literature
Literature
Expansive Nothingness
Seasons pass
Memories shift and
I change in your heart
You drift through mine
Always becoming something unknown.
We separate and we fade
From brilliant stars into ghostly winter haze and back again
But in the stillness even now I hold your hand
Through every layer of this illusion.
And I dance with you
Ablaze in a moment
That cannot be created, cannot be destroyed
Fingers intwined and never leaving your side
Never leaving your side
In the night under the cool reflection of the sun
Twirling and spinning on a plane
That moves beyond time
Beyond your body
Beyond my form
Whirling
Deep into our eyes and out through the expansiv
Nothing has been birthed.
No one has created since
The beginning and the end
Of the infinite everything,
Unfathomnable neverything,
Dreaming of existence I am -
God has not created.
We have not created.
You are not created.
Dreaming of existence in the -
Stop.
A myriad of lifelong dreams fall heavy through my fingertips
Reaching toward the deep of the earth below.
They call for a nirvana of the most personal kind,
Needing a moment of destructive healing,
Needing to continue the universal rhythm.
Bailamos con la Muerte.
Dance with death..
And by so doing…
Dance with life.
A myriad of ragged desires fall heavy through my fingertips,
Reaching for the soulful ocean surge somewhere beyond
The horizon of my visibility….
The horizon of my fear.
They call for a moment of namelessness,
A moment of formelessness,
A chance to resurge into energies more rich.
My soul is pregnant
With colors th
On any given night, if the dry Pueblo winds are in your favor, you may be lucky enough to stumble upon La Loba, the Wolf Woman. She is found deep in the desert, in a place between consciousness and all the depths below. She is as old as the earth. Wise and wild. Beautiful in her ugliness.
The old crone works quietly joyous in her cackling, quirky, earth bellied knowledge. She is the thick, whiskered and weathered protector of that which is in danger of being lost to the world.
With her skilled and gnarled hands she digs up the bones of desert animals, but most notably that of the wolf's, and reassembles its body bone by bone, polishing eac
She waits desperately for the sky to reach the earth
For the continents to congeal into a form she can understand.
She holds her breath for a rhyme within
This chaotic rhythm of time and space,
For the reasons behind every involuntary breath,
The gasps that echo across the oceans.
Under the darkened atmosphere
Lay a thousand answers,
And questions within answers
That cannot be satisfied, cannot be swallowed;
She chokes on their visage.
Our daily bread rots in abundant store,
Far from the sea of hungry hands that turn the earth on its axis
The countless lives who wither so that the few can flourish,
Life for life. Loss for gain.
I am the dark of a wooden railroad tie
Seeping streams of tar from my deepest pores.
The wind caught me when you uttered those words
I disintegrated like an autumn leaf in winter.
Each day I have painted with charcoal in your absence
I remember you whispered of oil and turpentine
Do you remember rediscovering breath?
Every secret passed between fingers and palms making love to the world
Precious metals intertwined and settled in our touch
Have you kept the silver wrapped around your wrist?
You extinguished like long worn kindling each time you turned from me
Did you never learn the wood is dry within my soul?
Spring comes and I re
The hills are a green so vibrant
It sears my consciousness.
The skies tumble with a blue so rich,
Grey clouds, heaving and saturated,
Barreling towards the earth and rising towards the heavens
in molten pure white.
I laugh with the sun as it breaks through,
The rain still pouring in the light,
The storm still moving in the light...
The air bursts around me Radiant
Churning
Igniting
Dark and fiery light
It's all so beautiful
It's all so beautiful
It's all so beautiful
With the merest glimpse
I hurt constantly
I hurt constantly
Aching and burning away...
My heart is passing on my lips,
Infinite possibilities
bursting on my tongue.
Dreams and light fill me,
Sighing, sighing, sighing.
Beaming with laughter,
Beaming with
each
individually
savored
fermion of existence.
Continuously leaving
Continuously arriving
Streams of fire as weightless as the
air in my lungs...
Rejoice!
Expansive Nothingness by miquluva-coia, literature
Literature
Expansive Nothingness
Seasons pass
Memories shift and
I change in your heart
You drift through mine
Always becoming something unknown.
We separate and we fade
From brilliant stars into ghostly winter haze and back again
But in the stillness even now I hold your hand
Through every layer of this illusion.
And I dance with you
Ablaze in a moment
That cannot be created, cannot be destroyed
Fingers intwined and never leaving your side
Never leaving your side
In the night under the cool reflection of the sun
Twirling and spinning on a plane
That moves beyond time
Beyond your body
Beyond my form
Whirling
Deep into our eyes and out through the expansiv
Nothing has been birthed.
No one has created since
The beginning and the end
Of the infinite everything,
Unfathomnable neverything,
Dreaming of existence I am -
God has not created.
We have not created.
You are not created.
Dreaming of existence in the -
Stop.
Civilization Smivilization by miquluva-coia, literature
Literature
Civilization Smivilization
-:written January 2000:-
They talk in history books
Like the beginning of civilization
Is the beginning of life
Like you need organized commerce to be complete
And city churches
And corrupt leaders
And technology….
To really live.
Whatever.
I'm staring at this computer
And it's giving me a headache
In fact I could throw up if I hear another commercial
Blaring out of our mindless TV
And it's clear to me that I'd find life better spent
Sitting on a log in the middle of nowhere
With a wild apple tree ten feet away
And a friend
And I think I would learn more from life
Doing nothing
On a log
In the middle of nowhere
Than anyw
-:written November 2000:-
I said I was going to fly
Because my dreams soared too far for me to hold them back
And they've soared
But I've never flown
But rather walked up the mountain
To reach the sky
To launch myself over the top
Into the blue
Cloudless
Horizon
Where maybe I could catch
Those dreams
I lost sight of
But the mountain keeps growing
And I keep walking
Until I don't want to walk anymore
And suddenly on this solitary night
I realize that
perhaps
My dreams
Have already landed
And I am reaching for something
I do not want
And cannot bear
And I'm tired of trying to be
Farther than I am
When it's not my tim
And I Know Nothing... by miquluva-coia, literature
Literature
And I Know Nothing...
-:written July 2001:-
I've breathed 18 years on this earth and I still know nothing
I learn and I grow every night
when I'm alone with my empty pages and pencil
and a cheap desk lamp
covered in a tattered old safari comforter
but always in the company of a million thoughts
Oh I am learning, learning how this existence works
Learning about the nervous nature of this creature called hope
How it readjusts its feathers unceasingly
How it always wants to fly
With or without me
Learning how to call it to me
Softly, honestly, carefully
So that when it must fly it will always return to me
And oh heaven thank you for such small revelati
What was that word again? by miquluva-coia, literature
Literature
What was that word again?
-:written August 2001:-
Frustration in my fingers
Iron in my jaw
Seething in my breath
With eyes that defy the movement of reality.
Anger set in stone.
Everything's crazy
Everything hurts
Everything
And what was that word...
peace?
I think that was it
I can't quite remember now.
i'm giving a hundred and seventy-five dollars.
one dollar for every thousand people who have died.
on my budget, that is alot.
but in the face of it all, it's just insulting.
how can you give enough to make up for a life?
how can you think about giving enough for a hundred thousand lives?
if we sold everything in the world, we couldn't buy one person back.
we couldn't hold onto them.
they would still have been sucked away in the beautiful bluewhite terror,
the bodies of death,
children and cats, furniture and cars, diamonds and manure
floating past,
ignorant of our joy, stoic in the face of our fear.
i'm giving a hundred and s
She waits desperately for the sky to reach the earth
For the continents to congeal into a form she can understand.
She holds her breath for a rhyme within
This chaotic rhythm of time and space,
For the reasons behind every involuntary breath,
The gasps that echo across the oceans.
Under the darkened atmosphere
Lay a thousand answers,
And questions within answers
That cannot be satisfied, cannot be swallowed;
She chokes on their visage.
Our daily bread rots in abundant store,
Far from the sea of hungry hands that turn the earth on its axis
The countless lives who wither so that the few can flourish,
Life for life. Loss for gain.
I cannot believe how long it has been since I last was active on this account. Journal entry October 2004? Seriously? Time played a trick on me.... or I played a trick on it. Who knows which.
A few things have changed.
October finds me in poetry class,...the first writing class I've ever taken. It's non-credit and the youngest person in the class besides myself is 30 years older than me. The class is made up of retired journalists, editors and professors, along with some talented hobby writers.
I'm really enjoying it! I can't believe the command of language this class has. I'm laid back into my seat over and over. I'm sufficiently humbled every week ;)
It is a pleasure to be in the company of those that have had so many more years than I. Their views of the world are quite different. They are mostly more at peace and light hearted. Such charming
Sweet simple surges
Of tides that know…
the meaning of patience.
Of sands that know,
All the secrets found
In the gentle touch
And torrential pounding
Of a chorus of waves
Thundering deep and whispering light...
Refining the shore
To a softer kiss of land and sea.