Emily Dickinson & other poetry.

[pre] The Green Insect

John Steffler

I had a green insect, a kind that had never before been
seen,
descendant of an ancient nation, regal, rigid in ritual.
It would sun itself on my windowsill, stretching its legs
one by one, its hinged joints, its swivel joints, its
claws,
unfolding and folding its Swiss army knife implements.
It was ready for a landing on the moon.

Around my page it marched itself like a colour guard.
It halted, and its segments fell into place, jolting all
down the line.

It uncased its wings which glistened the way sometimes very
old things glisten: tortoiseshell fans, black veils,
lantern glass.

It was a plant with a will, an independent plant, an early
invention wiser than what we've arrived at now.
It was a brain coiled in amulets for whom nature is all
hieroglyphs.

People gawked, and a woman pointed a camera, and I
hesitated, but -- I did -- I held the insect up by its
long back legs like a badge, like my accomplishment,
and the air flashed, and the insect twisted and fought,
breaking its legs in my fingertips, and hung

lunging, fettered with stems of grass,

and I laid it gently down on a clean page,
but it wanted no convalescence,

it ripped up reality, it flung away time and space,

I couldn't believe the strength it had,

it unwound its history, ran out its spring in kicks and
rage, denied itself, denied me and my ownership,
fizzed, shrank, took off in wave after wave of murder,
and left nothing but this page faintly stained with
green.
[/pre]

"If You Haven't Been Gone"

if you haven't been gone
you can never come home
and leave again
if you haven't been gone
you will never know if it's wrong
you'll just take the day by day
bits and pieces of it pass away
but you'll never know
if you haven't been gone

if you haven't been gone
the changes will come
in increments
if you haven't been gone
it's just another night until dawn
your world will slowly fade away
little details will be replaced
but you'll never know
if you haven't been gone

(bridge)
places you grew up
are gone without regret
for those who stayed those years
they haven't noticed yet
changes take away
the misty film of yesterday
and leave you disillusion
progress in collusion

if you haven't been gone
the world goes on
and doesn't care
if you haven't been gone
you think you're singing the same old song
the special ground you walked
is under concrete around the block
but you'll never know
if you haven't been gone

yeah, you'll never know
if you haven't been gone

(db michel)

This is for all the people who will travel back to their hometowns during the holidays...and notice it's not the same as it was the last time they visited...many years ago...While those of us who remained there fail to notice the difference because the changes occurred over time...I know some old friends would be shocked to see how my little town in Southern Illinois has changed over the past 30 years.

. . . Note: just wanted to drop-in and say Hello to My Friends in here @ Einstein ['finally'] got mi box to work again

The following was Posted in the SETI Cafe - but then some of you may not see that there

- so here you go . . . hope you all had a great weekend too . . .

> the following Writing's have to be 'formatted' and worked yet [lot's of editing to go ;)

- sort of a 'stream of consciousness' style . . .

and shall be published in 'The Equation' . . .

a Compendium of Collective Works [Art / Drawings / Poetry / Photographs]




THE EQUATION by the norseman . . .

copyrighted by a Leonardo Studios Production 2003

did you imagine my walking with you

along the pathways?

i was there with you

did you feel me

so - as to the question regarding my sleep

i slept some - but i had to walk a little

with you . . .

i climb the stairwell to your mind

- with a butterfly upon my back

- and she sings the echoes

- of footstep songs

- about being carried upon my shoulders

- and is glistening in colours

- so brightly shone as she stood up on the podium

- of altered beliefs

- and tells the story of her flight

- Too Here and The Easel . . .

with intentional desires

- running downstream

- the river seeks it's beginning

- and wanders around

- as if aimlessly - but has always in mind - direction

the birds are singing songs of the rainbows

- as they echo slowly through

the mystic morning

the iceberg began to melt - slowly at first

- then the surface was

penetrated

- and the understanding began

and the water's surface smiles

- with such generousity

- such a broad

smile

- simply seen as a wave of the arm . . .

as the sparrow sees his reflection

- the raindrops smile has fallen unto

the water's surface

- and becomes as one

the sparrow sails gleefully across the windswept waters

- in search of

itself . . .

looking downwards

. . . noticing it's own reflection in a raindrop's smile

the white stallion stares back in reflections of the pond

- wondering . . .

the mountain floats in reflections of the clouds - that have desires

- welled up and ready to rain down

- upon the shadows

- of the dragonflies wing

as the dragonfly soars above the waters

- the pond smiles back with reflections of light

a dragonfly soars above the waters

- intent only in the sheer pleasure

- of it's wings vibrating the molecules - of the waters below

the lily - covered pond

sought the answer to the raindrops

- thinking / believing

that the clouds were crying

the Oxen crossed the leaf-covered pond,

seeking the shadow of the moonlit night

the fathers have lied to the children

as glass-like surfaced stones

- merely pebbles asking to be caught between the toes . . .

as the winds chilled the forgotten sands

- the waves softly caressed with warmth . . .

the Oxen Shares the Soil with the Clouds

- that Seed the Earth with Water, and

when the rains

Fall from the Sky . . .

a very small flower opens it's bud - reaches out to the warmth of the sun

- as the sunlight warms the moss

- the dew begins to sing

- as it evaporates in the warmth

- of a long winter day

standing in the shadows of time

- the medicine man talks to the residing tide . . .

i sing the songs of artic winds

- in the land of the midnight suns

climbing to the stars

- the black panther sees

- his reflection in a raindrop

seconds before the rise

- of the midnight sun - the grizzly stands

- in the shadow of night

a sparrow - sings on the branch - raindrops fall on his wings

- and he begins to sing louder

love has no boundaries

- while children play in the fields

- butterflies float by their windows - in the sky

my silence is a voice that speaks with the winds of time - from the heart

the shadow of the moon sat idly by

- as the seconds danced on twilight eyes

someone's eyes shone

- as the stars filtered through the sky

stands proudly amid the trees

- towering slightly higher

- reaches out + touched the clouds . . .

as the medicine man, on the rise

- thunder in the distance

- with rains a song

that one sings - just as blossomed, smiles sing

- their songs, as sunshine rises.

with stolen glances

the clouds have hidden stories

that leaves can only tell

standing alone amid the driftwood

- drawn to the sandstones

- caressing my toes . . .

with single sighs

- the orchestra of the winters light

- played snowfalls on lillac fields and turned over a new leaf . . .

i adore life, as the flower blossoms for the light

. . the raindrops appear once again - and dance to that moonlight songs

- as flowers blooming

- spread their happiness

- with petals reaching out

- to the stars at night

- teaching . . .

the sound of the butterfly - as she dances - in a moonlit night . . .

the raindrops dance in sunlit pools

with stones that are gathered

- for seven days & seven nights

- as flowers smile with blossomed lights

a sparrow's wings a fountain sings

- as waterfalls seduce the mountainside . . .

silence awakens pebbles

- lying on the sand

- as leaves gently wave,

together

the blossom songs of twilight - across the skies in showered lights . . .

as they fell into one anothers arms

- the moon eclipsed with their hearts . . .

as the evening slept

- two hearts that echoed the songs of the rains in morning . . .

starry eyed - the child looks in the sand

- to reflect her smile

- as she falls in love with the thought . . .

the shadow of a smile echoes on the water as the rains refect the moon . . .

as the night falls

- our memories filter songs

- that are sung in our dreams . . .

i love life as the trees love the rains

the rains have desires that tell stories as they fall upon the Earth

----------

i don't know . . .

the colour
of the sky,

the taste
of the
sunshine
on Autumn
leaves,

the
openness
of the skies
above
with clouds
that
hide,

the rains
of winter in
times
that snow,

nor
the emptiness -
of being
away
from you
at these times,

but the silence
of the
night -
as in dreams
that pass . . .

as i lie down -
by your
side . . .

and
this
is when

i know -

everything

will be alright . . .

while's away in the garden

- stands tall on a moss covered mountainside

- sails gracefully 'cross the brightly coloured sky's

- and sits on his wooden chair in the moonlit night

- erasing traces of past & and future origins

- of untold tales

- and rewrites history

- before her very eyes . . .

Listen

Deep down,
Where Spirit resides
is a forest
of deep reaching paths,
twisting, all wound together,
running over themselves.

Stand still,
breathe deep.
Let your feet connect
to that which is Earth.
Steady yourself
before moving on.

Feel the rain as it falls.
Let your roots feed
from the moisture.
Nourish yourself.
Feel the new growth bud
and become part of you.

Be very quiet.
Listen to the trees,
they whisper softly.
Open your heart, your mind.
One will call you,
if you are able to hear.

Follow the whisper
with comfort
and know without doubt
that it leads to your path,
out of the twisting maze
to Knowing and Beauty.