Blood of Orpheus


A DEATH OF EROS, A WITNESS TO DISASTER

‘Seeing so much activity of the mind devour her natural beauty

is painful in that blame is always the culprit, to blame others,

to set sin in the heart and feed it anger and hatred, I feel her

and she hates that the shared experience takes place.

A field of rolled hay, the Georgia green fields that when absent

I yearn for as a long in the past love, this land, this air,

Life is always balancing and sometimes it does fall, it is in the Fall

We understand our own methods of what seems to me as

Ridicule of the heart and the mind, of a war that despises the spirit

Rather seeks to understand the Holy Spirit.

I know.

I fought it all my life up until the moment Christ entered and spoke

As he does to many, he spoke those piercing words from his own wounds

Into those who are open to this event, this unraveling of discord: the awakened soul.

I pray she awaken.

The meanness and name-calling, the rumbling roar of hatred shoots across constellations,

I pace each room looking at what I can and cannot move, what and how

Shall I move into it’s place as a memory catcher and lightening rod to poetry

And music, as a direct course to writing again when I see so many boxes

Filled with notes, version after version, expansive poems it hurts to imagine

What awaits, but wait they do and so here I piddle, wondering how to help

Heal one cannot be healed. It hurts to see how she destroys the beauty of Spirit

And of God while thinking it is a direct line. It is not a direct line.

I fear madness has taken hold and she cannot cope sober and blames

Others for the ongoing disaster. To be witness to the disaster is painful.

I must. I smell the slow burning of the death or Eros.

Sad.

Not much can be said in the whirlwind of such hatred.

Sad captures and identifies a mind at war. The balance is leaning downward

Further every day and every day I try to offer conversation and light;

Every day I am a lone figure in a Hopper painting.

Failed. Smoking a non-filter Camel. Glass of Tulimore Dew in hand.

Lone. I must seek more deeply into my heart and soul.

I am witness to the disaster and I cannot “do” or “act”.

It is like being the camera in war.

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Banks Excuses of Dyadic Operators Still Being Used? Grow Up You Young Killers. You know you are Killers. Darkest Night Shining


file:///Users/h.lamarthomas/Desktop/Banks%20Credit%20Unions%20Do%20As%20You%20Will%20We%20Have%20No%20Power.m4a

file:///Users/h.lamarthomas/Desktop/Dear%20Darkest%20Shining%20Night.m4a

Waking and gazing into an asteroid shower at 6 a.m.
Knowing that I was robbed not twice but three times.
Thank you new banking system where you destroy on automatic or lay enough delays to lose your home after being twice hacked and treated as a criminal. Killers making excuses silk thin bringing little deaths upon us all. The poem is a curse. Daniel as he prayed was for a curse that the lions find another meal than his own flesh. As David praying his enemies be conquered and he dance drunken in the streets celebrating and then realizing not by the curse as our government and banks would wish upon us little tiny people. We do as we are told, then throw a CD player out the window and blow it apart with a 12 guage pump Mosburg looking like indie 70s movies playing in slow motion.
Now, this poem incantation as the young sorcerer Milarepa, later Buddhist mystic song writer, would have spoken into his yak dung fire no different than Biblical warriors a thousand miles away. So I paused inside my language to feel the anger rise and subside in hope “change is gonna come”.

The second is a song-poem because I could not decide to sing or recite. My plan was to play piano, but I scrapped that idea after listening to the power again of the rising sun through this brightly lit green edge of the forest where colors you cannot name them all, yeah I dare even a gin and sprite drunk Frank O’Hara could not name. So I left it as it is, an unaccompanied poem sang into each ray of light, sang into each whistle of night bird mocking bird doing their night bird thing, you know, mocking birds singing back as you sing to them and they as well whistle the dawn awake and calmly pull the covers over the last glimmers of night. Yeah, this is late night August night where thunderheads or soft sunshine bring the day alive. . .you just don’t know until it is here. Rushing along the sidewalks, the lawns, rushing into the wood just to hear the peace of a slow river slow soft swirls of water caught circling around a lone rock just past the 1951 bridge pretended to be repaired but it looks like gorilla glue and duck tape to me. This is not death. It is an optimism. The young sorcerer Milarepa stidll looking to find the light of the Diamond Sutta (from the Pali text it is sutta not sutra, that’s all, just respecting the language) after hoping that of the Lotus Sutta would wake his body into life.

Concerto for


Source: Concerto for Those Who …

This is a concerto I have had in my mind for a while and was just able to play and edit it late and today. It is love. But there are those who think if I name them FB will be onto them. If you are on FB you are known way beyond your imagination. A lovely concerto for those I love who despise my naming them for thanks or simply as an act of positive action, I apologize for the pain I have caused you. So here is a nameless concerto that ends in a pretty beautiful two or three minute solo piano extension on an idea of right vision and right speech as forms of expelling the hardened heart and allowing the love to exist rather than to destroy what is good and positive. Be good and positive. One of my beloved said to get over the friends who reacted out of hate. But it’s hard for me. I believe in the positive power of friendship so much that even in the face of hatred or negativity I must offer love and do not harm. No matter the struggles and harms of this life there is still the love and years of friendship worth keeping rather than burying it over some gossip and forms of misalliance. always remember, there is a “hide from timeline” button so no one will know you know me or are beloved even if you yield a hammer over honest conditions. Be love. Peace. Be love now.

Because They Said


 

This is experimental noise poem. Me vox, 4 Tibetan singing bowls concentrating on two primarily and echo phase strings so there is a more ominous undercurrent throughout. This may be a download with book, I don’t know. It may still not be distorted enough as I passed out working on editing at the very end and lost all I had served as a movement between rooms of the vast to claustrophobic drone upon drone.

Poems in Rage and Love with Crazed Sounds Pushing Beyond My Beyond


Do not turn up too loud. Be careful. This goes from gentle to classic earsplittiinloudenbangin one note to the next and if you have heard live Tibetan Bowls you know that they can be taken to the lowest low to a shrill thought impossible, well it is not impossible.

I had a blast recording this. It has a few of my most published poems two I think are personal masterpieces. Can you tell? Probably not. But that is not why I made this recording. I wanted to go beyond even my most experimental capabilities with live instruments. I did. So I Om’d and Namo Abitabha’d a bit just to settle the back heart into motion before an ear explosion happens. Or maybe it is not as risky as I think. Who knows? I don’t. If I did it would sound completely different and that is not why I did it this way.

Stupid background noise had me trash the first 24-28 minute version. So there is some aggression going on. We all need a little aggression.

This is not an easy piece. I would in fact call it about as experimental as I have gotten which is to say Beware Crazed Sounds Ahead. So enter at your own risk. I just wanted to go beyond anything I’ve heard and it may be because it is simply awful or that it just needs work while still being something unheard. I don’t know. Stupid background noise had me trash the first recording so this version has a bit of venom to it. Better to burn on the wing than stooped upon a ladder with some Moloch prince in a three piece suit…

Song: Silent Corner That You Claim and Hide


Three instruments and me. Obviously about the silent corners we fear in our minds, and that those who push the hardest they are strong inside are usually crumbling with fear from deep inside; and then, they point and say it’s you, it’s you whose life and actions cause the curses in your mind, and in ‘yours’ too Psychology Today noodlers. Yeah, right view takes work. And then: Nope. Not me. Sorry y’all. I claim nothing of who you are and dedicate this song to me. So if I want to write hate mail, me to me, who cares, I am more open than the sea; so I hate me about love or a sincere heart showing pain then I can hate me, I can hate me all I want and equally love even more opening up right view, right view as supernatural, as we know, right view is where it all begins; and these are yours and all those screaming blue meanies you seem to adore, yeah I give a hand out to touch the finger of your blue meanies in mind theft and word chores. Then I just smile and laugh. The sun shines too hard for some. If you are on FB you are known. uh the photo is ironic hahaha just making fun of myself

Homage to Kakusandha the Buddha- The conqueror of the army of Mara – 7:6:17, 6.41 PM


I don’t know what happened today. All I could feel was reverence for creative forces.

From Pali Text Chants
Verse 5.Satta Buddha Vandana: Homage to the Seven Supreme Buddhas

2.Vessabhussa naamatthu-nahatakassa tapassino
Namatthu Kaakusandhassa Marasenapmaddino

Homage to Vessabhu the Buddha: Free from all defilements….and possessed of great energy.
Homage to Kakusandha the Buddha: The conqueror of the army of Mara
(note: Mara equivalent to dark evil, dark angels, temptations)