once all this was magic

6/30      
   
once all this was magic  
each had a voice  
and a song  
   
   
magical voice  
all things of note  
and interest  
crying out:  
   
I have a story,  
listen,  
tell it,  
   
and Gai'a was there  
recording in the shorthand of song  
these lyrics divine  
of the plasma singing  
and the primal stuffness singing  
and the darkness  
playing vast cellos  
of emptiness  
which sang song cycles of darkness  
coming, going,  
and coming again  
   
and the stars birthed  
and sang of light colonizing  
the vastness forever  
   
and the one-celled came  
and they had a song  
and the multi-celled  
and the animals cane  
and with their bleats, and growls  
and grunts and squacks and screams  
and all were songs  
all were lyrics  
stories of    
the multiplicity  
of all that surrounds us  
   
hills, valleys, mountains  
vast waters, brooks that babble,  
songs yet to make our top 40  
but which have lulled us to sleep  
slaked our thirst  
lifted sheets of water  
to reveal naked poems  
fish-swishing songs  
just waiting to be heard  
reworked  
submitted  
   
   
and in the fullness of time  
this story spoke  
and then that story answered  
and another hill or rock  
or shed or fallen tree spoke  
each having stories to tell  
and each hill each tree each creek  
each undulation of note  
had an explanation  
an explication  
and it was all magical  
and mythical  
and archetypal  
   
onceuponatime  
helen visited troy  
and samson met deliah  
and there was a garden  
and a woman who would be  
a fruitarian  
and a man, so easy to be gulled,  
and a boy named Telemachus  
in search of a father  
and jesus coming to  
conquer death  
with love  
   
cowboy and horse  
dick and jane  
god and the devil  
   
you and me  
   
and now worker-bee scientists in white    
gathering in their covens  
of conventions  
in a million multi-universes  
simualtaneously  
   
they too singing their songs  
with the percussion of the geiger counter  
sitting in for Gene Krupa  
on the drums  
and the doomsday clock  
humming along faster now    
with the slow sweep  
of the seond hand  
   
and red, red buttons everywhere  
awaiting some blind demented samson  
with issues  
and tiny thumbs.