Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

When My Mind Is A Constant Stream

when my mind is a constant stream
running in places where i wish it would not go
coursing through the contours of my cortex
i am the spinning leaf in the torrent
a visitor to areas cold and dark
memories familiar yet strangly different
tempest tossed
through caverns
wall painted pictographs
passing by in a blur
then falling with the bright spray
out into the light
to float awhile
until i am returned
back to
when my mind is a constant stream…

Posted in Prayers

The Cubicle Christ (or Prayer for My Kick Ass Jesus)

O Jesus,
in the cubicles of my mind,
where work,
both good and bad,
is done,
will you be my
Temple Christ,
the Table Overturner,
the Barrier Breaker,
my angry Love-that-will-not let-me-go
Jesus?

Will you tear down these ugly walls,
expose the thieves who have roosted here to steal my joy,
reveal the dark places underneath the desks where they hide,
and rip the cords of distraction from the walls?

Will you set another beach fire in the center of my brain,
burn the reams of paper where they scribbled their lies,
cross the ashes on my forehead,
and ask me again if I love You?

O Lord and Master,
I confess that You have become neither to me.
I have tried to hide from You within these post-it-note-covered walls.
I have become unaccustomed to the searing pain of your Light.
I have been bent over before the screen of my agenda for so long that I have become crippled and blind.
My mind is sick.
My soul is lost.
My body is no longer your temple.

So,
my Kick Ass Jesus,
on my knees now,
I beg You:

Start swinging.
Open up this workroom.
Throw out the wall makers.
Show me again the Holy of Holies.
Shatter the shaded windows of this place,
until all I see are the shards of my brokeness falling like lightning from on high,
glistening like my tears
in the burning
glare of Your
all consuming,
jealous
Love.

Amen

Posted in Peace Quotes

Man in the Mirror – Michael Jackson

“If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make the change.

You’ve got to get it right while you’ve got the time. If you close your heart then you close your mind.”

(Listened to the song this am and was struck again by its depth. Mourning the loss of the troubled artist too).

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

the circling conversation

image

the circling conversation in my mind of endless run-on sentences spins around like a nauseating carnival ride with a passenger of one returning to subjects old and bruised and battered until I stumble through the day sick and dizzy from the pounding wind of the circling conversation in my mind

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Mental Surgery

image

Cut
my mind,
world,
a lobotomy
on my
dreams
and visions
(if you can
pierce
the thick
skull
of
idiosyncrasy).

December 13, 1984 (age 17)

Posted in Spoken Word

Occupation

occupation by kmls

Stream of consciousness spoken word by the author

Houses unoccupied quickly deteriorate.
Weeds encroach.
Bugs invade.
The elements eliminate.
Ever so slowly a structure no longer cared for
sinks back down into the earth from
whence it was raised.

Beware when you cast the devilish things
out of the home that is your soul and do not
replace them with the good.
For that which is unoccupied soon shall be and
with things that will slowly and surely
bring about destruction.

Be mindful that you are a temple and that in
all temples there is worship.
An empty house occupied by evil is
ten times as empty.

https://archive.org/details/OccupationByKmls

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Resistance

Nothing, No nothing
can penetrate the exhausted cobwebs which cloud the corridors of my mind.
Nay! Dost thou dare to send thy words treading down private paths.

Get thee back or soon ye shall be
trapped within and remain wrapped thee,
tentacles of anger to poison you and free
the words you so unwittingly spake
to curse you in future paths you take.

The mind is mine,
alone to own.
The door is locked and closed
and I alone have authority
to give to one I love the key.

(2.2.87)

Posted in Finding Frost's Road: Encounters with the Culture

Island

Dedicated to my sisters everywhere.

island-by-kmls

I lay awake in the night, waiting.

We had talked often of this night and our love. Yesterday had been the one year anniversary of our unfortunate encounter with this place when an angry and raging sea had vomited us up onto a lonely island. The wreckage that came with us and washed up in the following days convinced us that we were indeed alone. We were too weak to bury the corpses and watched as Nature went her constant, unerring way and picked the bones meticulously clean. I marveled at her apparent lack of concern for our fate, then realized that I had done the same with regards to her in the past.

At least we had each other. The thought of someone close by kept the panic of never seeing home again from rising too high and choking the sanity from our brains. We were indeed alone, but we were alone together.

The wind and the sun toughened us; browned our skin and bleached our hair, but we refused to become barbarians. We prided ourselves in the two huts we had constructed side by side amidst the palms with wreckage, palm fronds, and whatever else we could find. We laughed at their strange, ungainly appearance at times, but they were dry and represented home for us here. We surrounded ourselves with as many things as we could make and find that reminded us of our lives before and we spent hours daydreaming together about that far away place called Civilization.

I joked often about turning our little island into a resort and pointed out to Maria where the women could lay out on the beach with their oily bodies and smooth legs glistening in the tropical sun. She never showed much enthusiasm for my imaginary resort or women and chose rather to focus on her family, life, and us. I talked of Jean and the kids too, but the dream of the resort was less painful to think about.

We had chosen to live separately out of respect for our families in the event of a quick rescue. We were pleased with our self-discipline, and yet, as the days slipped by, the hope of rescue diminished to a dull throb and love began to grow and take its place. We did not discard the bands of gold on our fingers and struggled often with our dilemma. In this time of death and despair, something had chosen to blossom within each of us. We had accepted the emergence of our love as we had accepted our fate here and rose to meet the challenge.

A soft step on the beach behind me roused me from my musings and I turned to see Maria coming down from the huts. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight and fell in golden hue around her shoulders. I raised myself to one elbow as she knelt beside me and I read her desire in her eyes and in the smell of her hair as it brushed my face. Then she was in my arms. I kissed her eyes, the curve of her neck; my lips couriers of my love and desire for her.

Tenderly, I placed my hand beneath her skirt and began to caress her leg, moving my fingers slowly up her thigh. She shuddered beneath me, in desire I thought, and I entered her.  We moved together, our bodies writhing, moaning in ecstasy. Warmth exploded from me and I swam in the sea of pleasure. I held her thus for awhile, basking in the glow of her thighs wrapped tight around me.

Maria trembled again and I opened my eyes to hers. She turned quickly away, but I had seen. I turned her face towards me, saw the tears glistening there, the speck of blood on her lip where she had bitten it in pain. Puzzled, I pulled her legs from around me and found them sticky and wet. Her legs were covered with cuts from the ankle to the thigh, ugly streaks of scarlet which dripped tiny drops of her blood. She read the question in my eyes.

“I used a piece of glass that I found on the beach,” she said. “I wanted my legs to be smooth for you.”

In a flash, I saw the resort in my mind’s eye, the rows upon rows of luscious flesh stretched out across the beach. Then the picture shattered before me in awful misery and the pieces fell down around me like Maria’s silent tears. Mine joined hers and as we wept, the moon disappeared behind dark clouds and it began to rain. We stayed huddled together on the beach and let the water wash over our bodies, two lovers lying broken on a deserted island in the sea.

Written 3/15/90 (Edited: 11/15/93)