Zoo…..

THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me … a silver-gray fox … I sniff and guess … I pick things out of the wind and air … I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers … I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me … a snout and a belly … a machinery for eating and grunting … a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me … I know I came from saltblue water-gates … I scurried with shoals of herring … I blew waterspouts with porpoises … before land was … before the water went down … before Noah … before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me … clambering-clawed … dog-faced … yawping a galoot’s hunger … hairy under the armpits … here are the hawk-eyed hankering men … here are the blond and blue-eyed women … here they hide curled asleep waiting … ready to snarl and kill … ready to sing and give milk … waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so. 5

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird … and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want … and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Dirty Talk- Rives

Seems pretty simple.
You wanna get your teeth cleaned for free?
Date a dentist.
New addition on the house?
You should screw an architect.
But if you need someone to talk dirty to you in bed,
you better fuck a poet.

Because the average civilian is gonna hit you with something like,
“Oh, we are really having sex!”
While a poet might phrase that a little more like,
“Lovermuchmist, my where, my why, my how,
I wanna do you like all three dudes in Blue Man Group
because that’s what color my balls are right now.”

Sexy but clearly that is just a hypothetical
Because me, when I’m actually in the saddle,
I’m straight freestyling.
In fact, afterwards, even
when I review the videotape,
honestly, I can’t make out half the crap I’m saying.

And hey, I know you don’t always want the dirty talk.
That is great.
Fuck a mime!
Have a knockout time.
But that little creep is gonna spend the entire day
in his imaginary box
and he’s never gonna make it to your money spot

And you call me when you need the dirty talk.
And that does not make you nasty, baby —
That makes me nasty, baby.
And clearly, I’m okay with that.
And so are most poets, which is the point.
Know thyself.

If you can’t stand firemen,
don’t light fires.

Can’t stand a sofa in your swimming pool?
Never rent your house out to rockstars.

And if, after tonight,
after seeing what a dope-ass lineup of poets
can do-do-do to a mic,
if you still cannot fathom the imagery and ecstasy of
eons or ions
spun into speech
from your actual spasms
by a soul, in a room,
with an immortal mouth
gnashing loudly for true love over loneliness
and moaning to the moon, the moon, the ever-loving moon
so that all the neighbors know it —

— if you can’t fathom that,
don’t fuck a poet.

Passion

“Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted… unbidden… it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us… passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead.”
Joss Whedon

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley 

Universal Love

‎”You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” — Buddha

Thinking of others

Its not always easy to do but that does not mean you dont try. If someone flies across the country to spend time with you it is not a smart thing to ask them if they want to babysit on there last night in town while u go out with your girlfriend. Lets be smart about this people. Even if the person says yes sure they will do u really think thats what they want to do. They did all of this to spend time with you in the first place.

Love is a Many Splendored Thing

When it comes to love
I, at times, ruminate on Rumi:

“The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere,
they’re in each other all along.”

and, then, there is Tennyson’s oft-quoted line:

“Tis better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all.”

which reminds me of a woman of relative high society
I recently met in LA
as we sat on her luxurious living room sofa sipping tea –
with downcast eyes – she said to me:

“I have never really loved anyone, you know, with
the kind of love you read about and see in movies.
I don’t know why.
But yet, I still yearn to love and be loved.”

her voice, lips and eyes held hints of sadness
an inner turmoil bordering on madness

I am thankful she gave me pause to think and see
pause to meditate about loving and being in love
pause to consider the secrets to discovering love
for – such is my luxury of choice in the passage of being

seemingly, long ago, when in high school and afraid to dance
I remember hearing Frank Sinatra sing:
“Love is a Many Splendored Thing”
these lyrics stirred my heart during a new romance
once, while sitting in my car looking into Judy’s pale blue eyes
I turned up the radio and sang along with the song:

“Love is a many splendored thing
It’s the April rose that only grows
In the early Spring
Love is nature’s way of giving
A reason to be living
The golden crown that makes a man a king

“Once on a high and windy hill
In the morning mist two lovers kissed
and the world stood still
Then your fingers touched my silent heart
and taught it how to sing
Yes, true love’s a many splendored thing”

what is love – is it fulfilling one’s defined passion during the journey –
is it a fleeting fantasy – a mirage that evaporates upon
reaching its destination – a superb source of Madison Avenue revenue –
sublimation of primal energies into lustful synergies

is love a ruse of the Muse to abuse

like loving a particular turn of phrase – an unforgettable melody –
a dream – a cliché’ such as “love at first sight” – or, the love of
awakening to embrace the wonder of living another day

I remember once, when I was in great pain on many levels – but yet,
I was curious as to the experience – for pain, I philosophized, may only be felt while you are alive, here, on this plain – therefore,
pain serves as an affirmation of your living manifestation

through the pain – I could still see the profound beauty surrounding me –
beauty imbued with the love flowing through this bewildering creation

so now – if asked about love –
I feel I have gathered some wisdom –
for love “is” a many splendored thing –
limited only by our imagination

William Waterway

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