BUS TO ANYWHERE
And when there's no real need to go
Anywhere, just the will to be,
Drive to the coast
Somewhere between Santa Cruz
And San Luis Obispo
In a bus that reads The Inner Journey
On its brow, in unassuming print,
Painted with sunflowers, lotus, grape vines,
The night sky, a green man.
Do it on a day when the sunlight
And the breezes are in a dervish,
So that the surf is a wild gallop
Of sparkle and foam.
At your other flank, the vultures
Tease their fluttering capes over
Hills drunk with green.
Stop only if you spot pelicans fishing.
Watch their rowdy plunges,
Wings folded as if in a last desperate
Prayer. Listen through the roar
For the wet slap of their bodies
Meeting the ocean.
You might be hearing the distant thwack
Of a poem, like wet jeans on asphalt.
Write the words on the thigh of the bus,
Or on its snout, or its broad butt..
Recite them to the wind at the next
Stop. Let the sounds trip
Off your tongue like seeds,
Or gadflies for the comfortable towns.
Release them, wild breakers,
To pound the sleeping sand.
‑‑K. Lauren de Boer
April, 2008
The Sweetness of My Life
Poetic Storm Troupers
Poetic storm troupers
Now beached like great hump backs
Resting in a plush sea
of carpets and sofas on my living room floor.
What a strange morphology
These lyric half-a-lumps
Each sleepily holding
Wave strewn diamonds and pearls of
Orphic hymns
And great oceanic soundings
The vibrations of which spread wide
Along the majestic California forests and
Waterways..
Wake up you careening caravan of poets
Today is a new day
And humanity needs you
Come spout your poetic verse
Following the celestial highway
Towards the northern star
Till it arrives
Till you arrive,
Till we all arrive
at the pristine shores of
Our sacred park.
Janet Shirley
YOU CAN JUST RIDE ON THE BUS
SAY: HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT HUMANITIES SUFFERING
AND………
© June Robinson
PUEDES SIMPLEMENTE VIAJAR EN EL BUS
June, you speak the same poetic language that I do, and so I understood the content of you poetry and I connected and I celebrated and better yet,
and… ……I try to do something about, something very little, but if we do something little everyday, the world will be a better place to live… .
Peace, I am very happy to have met you, Omar.
Noodling With Chopsticks
The thing is, potential can easily slip through chopsticks
which, if held properly, lift the food gently
and hopefully before slipping away.
Kind of like my mother's mind
and my relationship to her as her daughter.
All that is changing now.
The Chinese eat with chopsticks
by holding the bowl up and close to the mouth
and then (violently) shoveling the food
quickly into their mouths.
Rather like my relationship with my mom now.
Nothing like the handling of an Ollalieberry Turnover.
Top Ramen Shaman of Soquel
MOTORHEAD
Fast brain, big mouth
Heady thoughts abound
Many hands pulling me on
Pushing, urging, speeding towards
Those who brought the motor home
To us, to me, to myself
In this new and strange form
formed by my head
motoring with my heart
Towards all of you, and
you know who you are.
DON'T PRINT THIS ONE.
IT'S TOO DAMN GOOFY.
I'M NOW SELF CONSCIOUS
AND SEEKING RHYME AND LIMERICK STYLES.
I CAN'T STOP.
I CAN'T STOP.
SOMEONE STOP ME.
Top Ramen Shaman of Soquel
Twelve Steps With Walt
(or at least the first few)
I am Powerless over my pen
I'm sorry for writing bad stuff
I will take each day one word at a time
Laughing out loud.
How many people have I now offended?
My apologies if any.....
Top Ramen Shaman of Soquel
∞ Eternity ∞
We ride on wheels
To sit in an ever expanding circle of now
To spin the mental cogs
Twirling on this
Swirling sphere
Circumnavigating the sun
In our solar system dance
Pirouetting across our galaxy
Tumbling through space
We ponder universal questions of luminescence
Polishing a pearl of wisdom
We are juggled in the Tao.
∞
©Charselle 2008
In the far off time forgot
When Man wandered with the beasts
Through forests Arcadian
Eating berries, nibbling on an acorn
Pan played his provocative pipes
And enravished Echo answered
And so it was at the tree of life
A new Goddess was born
Mom gave her every word ever spoken
Dad supplied his nimble witted, lusty nature
Beautiful, happy and smart
Full grown she stepped into her part
She was the Goddess of Poetry and Laughter
And sexual Happy Ever After
She winked her eye and began her opening soliloquy
Hello world, I Am Be
The word was out, all over the wood
The new Goddess is Good
Everyone's invited, the party is on
Come to Iambe's Cotillion
To celebrate the birth
Of the Goddess of Mirth and Verse
Oh there must have been a million
At Iambe's Cotillion
Of Sirens and Satyrs
And Naughty fornicators
When Iambe's hips began to quiver
All those Gods began to shiver
Zeus said WOW
Athena said HOW
Then the Goddess of Giggle
Began her wiggle
And with a naughty little curse
She taught them how to verse
She laughed and flicked her skirt
And the whole world began to flirt
Oh there must have been a million
At Iambe's Cotillion
©Charselle 2008
WEAVER
The Weaver weaves
A life, a man, a story to tell—
"37 years to come to this point"
And a pattern is born
Strand by strand into cloth
Sound by sound into poem
From all the far-flung cosmic notes
And from all the encounters
Of a human soul.
This, then, is something we can
Wear for warmth, when we feel
The "obscurity of an order, a whole," *
Something wrapped as a shawl around
The emptiness that can never be filled.
An origin, a universe, a story to tell—
13 billion years to come to this point
And we are a young species, naked birds
Traveling along a shimmering curve of beauty.
The Weaver, keeper of the strands,
Preserver of what works,
Lover to stories and mystery
From whose loom as womb stardust unfolds;
Weaver, the spider-mystic,
Along whose web-strands
The great Unseen moves,
Giving birth through holy vibration—
The long deliberation of stars,
The fertile simmer of soul
Carried as embers by the poet
To rekindle, each evening,
A candle at the hearth
That lights the dreamer awake.
—K. Lauren de Boer
April, 2008
| ||
Message From Mark I'm following the tour daily with great pleasure and enjoying all the contributions - especially the mobile poems. I must admit your journey does brings back certain times and feelings. From 18 to 20 I crisscrossed the US several times hitchhiking etc and some moments were pure poetry, as best I knew. I remember arriving to a beautiful bluff on an empty road in Utah before sunrise. The sunrise so overwhelmed us, was so beautiful and moving, that we were dancing and jumping for joy. I'm sure you're having lots of little adventures and encounters along the way. One of the special occasions when hitchhiking were the times meeting and entering the world of someone(s) who, normally, I would have never met in a part of the country that was all new to me. A big hug to everyone on the bus! Mark |
Create/To Be
First energy and first light became
The Spark of existence…So God and Form
Were created…
As the Universe coalesced, it formed and grew;
It became Life in myriad places,
Permutations evolving from Thought and Being
That newly-born man
Called God…
Like a patchwork coat layered with many colors
And with many visions, the Gods
Divided the worlds between them.
"You will see me as Ra or Buddha and live with
Rules created by priestly men."
Yet in this time, shells crack, light reveals…
And through many lives, the "I" sheds layered clothing,
Adjusts to new forms, growing
Revealing the sun within, burning our illusive dreams
And ego-thoughts so we may purify.
Then we are passionately drawing other sparks, other light,
Making the unified whole
For all to be…
(All beings) –
One.
Jeanie Burke
4/20/08
The Song of The Universe
I was walking through the garden
when two birds flew out of the thicket
and startled me out of my dream time.
And through the noise of my busy mind
I thought I caught the sound of the universe
singing its perpetual song to me
A song that pushes life forward
without any hurry
without any discordant tones
as loud as I can hear it
Filling me up
with a perfume that rides
on the golden rays
of life breathing life
And I wept
for this song filled me with a feeling
that I cannot even talk about
All I can tell you
Is that the song loves us
loves all of us
because it loves itself.
Ken Dickinson
Rucha Shirsalkar
http://www.clickingbeforethemoment.blogspot.com/
Lucky Drive
As soon as we hit the highway we got a positive beep
House boats outside, goddesses within
We're headed for the opaque city through the gusting wind
The Buckeye road house winks at Charselle
While Mary sees our photos of her sister
Chugging up the Waldo grade
There are new noises on the bus tonight
And even Walt is firing on seven cylinders
Snow caps wave to us from Alcatraz
As we passed into the night of the tunnel
That framed the Golden Gate Bridge
It's unlawful to throw burning objects on to this highway
And we have to be in a wide lane, pay the toll of our time
John Donne's island seems so close
We can hear the bells.
Kurt & Ken Mobile Poem
Gough Not Vincent
Gough, not Vincent, Franklin not Ben, Van Ness not Loch
As we enter an area where tour buses are prohibited
We don't qualify but we are a tour bus, maybee we better Hyde
Jones not James Earl and Taylor not James
Stockton, hello Rolo and Thelma
We can skip Kearney and turn onto the Embarcadero
Ken's not leaving his cliched heart in this hilly city
And Kurt's heart is in Brooklyn
Shameless pandering again and the city's traffice has us immobile.
Charselle said if she had known we were bringing someone for her to flirt with
She would have worn heels, my precious, my precious
Kurt & Ken Mobile Poem
Lotta's Fountain
We're on Market approaching the Lotta's fountain
Where we all gathered after the 1906 earthquake
Only one man was there this year
The unity of our empire hangs on the decision of this day
Market forces are affecting the buy out of Bear Stearns
And Congress works hand to hand to save the rich
From loosing even a penny, as they evict thousands from their homes.
At Powell and Market Jesus Christ loves us, unconditionally we hope
As Dick's a*s went flying after we picked up Jeanne Powell
Finally Janet is here after she drove herself to the Santa Cruz cousin's reading
Golden Gate funkyness is interspersed with the Levi Strauss building
16th and Mission used to be our second home
A humanist point of light in the late eighties
We're looping around the entire city
Like the african drummers encircling the game of the hunt
Seducing our audience from San Francisco
To bring to Mama's and read them our songs
Kurt & Ken Mobile Poem
Passing Lane Ahead
As we round the Redwood Tree
Taking its last ride on
Aguar's Sun Tree Service
Which seems to be a dis-service
To those majestic trees
It was thought that we had lost
All the first growth redwoods
But Big Basin houses these ancient trees
Some as old as Jesus.
And Swanton road is where Curly used to live,
Who was a milestone in my life because
He changed it's direction 38 years ago
Introducing me to Ouspensky, Gurdjieff and Phenomenology
Isaias, June, Erica, Irina, MaryJo, Dick, Jeanie, Janet, Janet, Paul, Manuel,
Kurt & Ken (Mobile Poem)
Ano Nuevo Opened It's Doors
To show us fossil rocks, crashing waves, distant elephant seals
And rich, green, ancient horse tail ferns.
We're in the fog and its cold which has its own beauty
That only requires several extra layers of clothing to enjoy
After sweating on the Capitola Beach this afternoon dodging waves and kelp
Is a Popeye Chicken and Biscuit Palace
Confirming that this part of the California Coast
Has been sold to the highest bidder
It's not me, we each proclaim.
Kurt & Ken (Mobile Poem)
Pacifica
Offered a moment of clarity in a green cypress forest
Finding the better way to go
Of Daly City's fingerprints.
As we pass the San Francisco Zoo
And the sun has slipped below the fog
Astonishing us with its incredible beauty.
Kurt, Ken & Dick (Mobile Poem)
