One night with your favorite famous poet.

Perform for caged animals like me...

As a child
I never knew about poetry...

I had no idea
there were famous people
that would write about
lifes tragedies

in such beautiful ways

I never knew about structure
grammar was as foreign
as love

in my household

I never knew about notoriety
and that it meant unfavorable....

So I decided to travel
back in time

and meet Emily..

She was as beautiful as
her protest

that never wavered
and

savored every steamy second
of her

sexual anxiety

an appetite so searing
it saturated societies "norm"

born to perform
for

caged animals
like me...

She unlocked the chains
and invited me over

to "eat"

and it just so happened



I had never been more hungry
then I was last night.....


We ate like
starving wolves

and the moon.....

Nourished the sounds
of our genius

THE POET - ALEISTER CROWLEY
Why would I want to spend one night with him?


Sex, drugs and wickedness

Were not invented by the hippies

A man from 1875 came before Timothy Leary

First he was a mountaineer

Then he was a poet, including erotic and gay

Finally bisexual, many lovers taken and left

Traveled the world, then fell in love with his wife


While visiting Egypt, Horus revealed himself

Told to write “The Book of The Law”

“Had! The manifestation of Nuit.
The unveiling of the company of heaven.
Every man and woman is a star.
Every number is infinite; there is no difference.
Help me, o warrior lord of Thebes, in my unveiling before the Children of men!” (1)


After traveling and mountaineering

Soul searching and studying

He wrote the opening lines of Lieber VII:

"Into my loneliness comes --
The sound of a flute in dim groves that haunt the uttermost hills.
Even from the brave river they reach to the edge of the wilderness.
And I behold Pan.”(2)


You would think Crowley would describe himself as a Magus

Whereas it is said that he described himself as:

“The Greatest Living Poet”

His final crowning achievement, was the publication of:

“The Book of Thoth”


Some called him the “Anti-Christ”

For he was against the Christian Religion

Others called him the Devil Incarnate

Maybe he was only a clever Magician

But was he the “wickedest man on earth”?

Well “The Great Beast”, as he became to be known

Was a racist, but was he Hitler?


To me he was a predecessor to Timothy Leary:

"Turn on, tune in, drop out"

“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law”

The Book of the Law, heavy on poetry

Encouraging a libertine approach to life

The use of strange drugs and oriental beliefs

Like yoga, meditation and the I-Ching

What is his legacy – Scientology

Whatever is old becomes new again.

(the poet: Emily Dickinson)


A beauty such as hers, has given to me life,
From her ink came my death,
A appreciation for the passing of time.
The forgotten,
The mysterious,
The unusual.

She planted a garden in my heart -
Big enough to encompass all,
Deep enough to bury the dead,
Open enough to let them pass,
And breath in new life.

Charles Bukowski

Wanna another beer?
Yes.

He always stated the truth with few words and shocking honesty

Southern Symphony

I lead her through the curtains of Spanish moss
that hang from boughs of
antediluvian oaks
O'er tufted turquoise and emerald feathers
a venerable tapestry that crackles under our bare feet in this great symphony hall  

the sun within its' cradle
cast pirouetting silhouettes about the hallowed creek

I show her her seat

Hollowed water reed for a baton in my hand
My orchestra of fiddlers moving about silkened sand

My body cascading rhythms of shadow and light
Syncopate the the fiddlers in eventide delight

A chorus of crickets begins to call
a troupe of fireflies to dance across the cerulean hall

A final crescendo of rippling waves moves o'er the darkened  pit
Resonating echoes of applause
in the marshy thicket

Now the moon has flooded the stage for yet another performance

He will lead the stars above

She claps for me and yells, "Bravo maestro, bravo!"

Bowed in curtain call stance,
I can only say, "Thank you, Miss Dickinson. Thank you indeed"

A reflection on my recent reading of "A Murmur in the Trees - Poems by Emily Dickinson"

http://www.iloveshelling.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/fiddler-crab-fight-bunche-beach-fort-myers-sanibel.jpg

http://www.cayfatima.com/images/Copy%20of%20Langston%20Hughes06_jpg.jpg

Uncle

We moved through the swinging brass and mahogany doors of the Lounge into the Zebra Room
my Lena and I

There was Uncle
At His table
Scotch over rocks in one hand
Lit chalk in the other
For lessons would be taught

I called him Uncle
For that's the way it was
A man was either
Brotha
Uncle
or Sir
otherwise not a man at all

Billie was cascading through the speakers
I could hear
Scag in her veins
Scotch over rocks in one hand
Lit chalk in the other
For lessons would be taught

Uncle greeted us, my Lena always first
He embraced her as my candle
Yet told her at times she'd have to be the switch

"Baby girl, don't let him serve up no Suga Honey  Iced Tea,"
he warns her nodding towards me

She smiled, "No problema Tio, I don't take his shit"

I ignore their laughter and simply hand him my notebook

round one

Uncle took deep drags of his cigarette as he read
He  was the only man who's fire, smoke and ash I could tolerate
It lingered over us
As ethereal as his mind and pen

Cutting

Poignant

Addictive

"Listen to that children," he said as he closed his eyes, "Listen to Coltrane's sound."  

"Do you hear the rhythm within the rhythm?  He asked
The internal rhyme?
That's what you want son.
That's what you need to find"

round three

"Give your people a voice whenever you can.  
We've been taught our skin is our shame,
but wear it like a peacock over the sand so they'll know your name"

round five

The lessons continued

Voice

Pace

Metaphors

final round

"Do you write best when you're loving baby girl here hard, or fighting her hard?"

"Both," I answered without hesitation

"Then fight her hard, but love her hardest."

I knew he wrote best when his heart was broken
Broken by

Blood

Love

Hate

We said our goodbyes, sweet nectar consumed
Lena leaned into him and whispered in Spanish
They laughed again, and once again it's ignored

We stepped out in front of the vermillion facade of the

LENOX LOUNGE

A poster in the window declared  

"A Night of Poetry and Essays in Elegance with Langston Hughes
August 3, 1966"

He never got to read to the Harlem faithful that night

I'm just grateful he read me  

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/83/Lenox_Lounge_2009.jpg/320px-Lenox_Lounge_2009.jpg

http://lcweb2.loc.gov/service/pnp/cph/3c10000/3c15000/3c15400/3c15435r.jpg

Float
(A true encounter)

He floats within my mind
seeking unbound skies

His swagger stings
my soul daring me forward
for all my worth

I can still remember his greatest poem without pause nor reservation

He stood before a crowd
in protest of the war
Someone yelled,
"Hey champ gives us a poem!"

He stretched out his arms
as if to embrace the throngs
and declared,

"You"

Then, with hands on chest
and head slightly bowed,
delivered the final stanza

"Me"

At 11 years old I was invited to see him train

He passed by me,
stopped and looked within
my shaken doe eyes and asked,

"Are you good in school?"

I barely stumbled, "Yes"

"Are you good to your mom and dad?"

A whisper of yes again

He shook his head in mock

"You're not doing you're job young prince. Don't settle for good, work at great"

He did then with his hands and his voice what I now seek with mine
To challenge one's self
one round at a time

Thank you Devilish for the recognition...much appreciated!