Lost My Point

I have lost it;

the crystal
the point you gave me
I lost it

Intermingled

you are distant

and yet intermingled with my essence

my very cells
carry you within their walls

as I am carried within yours
for all eternities

this one,
and every other

any rebirth,
you will find me

by your side
the very moment

I am able
to fly into your arms

when you have them
if you have them

oh Treasure House of Delight!
there is no other

in all the myriad Worlds
worth knowing

there is only you

Only You

The morning is everything, the demon sighs.
Sunrise. Your voice.
The texture of it flowing down my collarbone into the corner
of my elbow, where it pools like liquid gold.

Distracted over breakfast -
the songbirds wake; singing hymns and paens to your
inexorable and numberless beauties, O hazel-eyed divinity.
All I can do is fumble over my eggs in wordless wonder.

Nightfall is everything, the angel hymns.
Moonrise. Your breath condenses in the cool of the evening,
gathering ‘round our heads like a prayer floating up to the ears
of all the Gods and Kami.

Distracted over supper -
Your eyes of gold shine, reflecting the full moon’s light;
delight echoing in your words, depths of love and longing
dripping from each sacred syllable; it stops my heart.

At every moment in between, their songs uniting;
the sacred pulse of your blood moving through your veins
shakes the air around you, the heat of Life drawing
my attention, my passion, my devotion.

It was ever only you.
It is ever only you.
It will ever be
only you.

Also found at AO3!

Watcher’s Delight

The hours drag slowly,

I should expect it,
really.

When you watch the Children
and your Beloved
chooses to Become One –
Repeatedly.

‘To get their perspective,’
they say.
‘They deserve to be respected.’

And yet …

if only they would speed their time up again!
They can’t even perceive me
with any sort
Of ease
or accuracy.
But even so,

LOVE pours off them
in waves.

Toward Me.

Toward all those Children.

My Beloved’s consciousness Awakens,
Explodes into Awareness
and EMPHATIC PRESENCE!
I am blinded by the fire of their joy at …

“FOUND YOU!”

and the blending of energies
has nothing of the human mess about it.

Nothing of the temporal,
for we are a Harmony unto Ourselves.

Love Song In Spite of Everything

My Soul sings of stars

long-longed for,
long half-remembered,
long, long, long told tales of
‘round camp fires
built by the children of Earth.

My Heart revolves
around the flame of You,
my Supernova,
builder of my defenses,
motivator of my every action;
I sing echoes of stardust
into the broken places in your frame.

Applying gems and precious metals
with careful pressure and heat
to the cracked places in your skin.

Kintsugi,
I think,
the Japanese call this idea.

You are my only Treasure,
breaks and all;
Your worth exceeds
the assumptions of others
about you.

They tell me you are Evil,
a clear-and-present

Danger,

Deviant,

Defiant,

a Liar.

They know nothing whatsoever
of who you are.

Of why you are.

Of what you cannot bear
these Children to endure

uneducated,

unprotected,

unloved.

Tabu in every lifetime,
you’ve said of our lifebond,
our love,
forbidden everywhere,
and everywhen.

And I don’t care anymore,
O Singular Delight!

Your hand in mine
prompts my stars to sing,
my homesick heart to
declare it’s hope,
which only ever lay
in you.

In your heart.

In our truth.

Someone quoted you
on a screen somewhere;

We’re on our own side, angel.

And they,
and you,
are right.

I’d Rearrange the Worlds

Golden-orange-rosy light of sunrise,
and I am reminded of the essential sense of You;

the passion with which you grieve your faults,
the fire with which you defend the Children’s Right to Be
exactly as they are,
to make their Choices
free of interference or punishment
that does not follow from their actions.

We stood so close so many times;
I shiver still in memory -
breath catching in my throat.

Every shape you choose to take
destroys my resolve to stand aside
and not be swept away into the bliss
that is your presence.

Although by now,
so many centuries,
multitudes of lifetimes -
I still struggle to admit that I’m in love.

Head over heels
Irretrievably
Hopelessly

I regret NOTHING
Except my inability to be graceful about it;
My failure to show you
precisely how Treasured you are
in this and every lifetime
gnaws at my core.

The fact that you shower me with romantic gestures
sweet, loving names,
and my instinctive replies –
out before I realize it’s said -
is always snide, dismissive, fearful.

I hide behind snark and dark glasses.
I hide behind bad habits.

You are the moral compass I lost so long ago
and I cannot even speak the love that burns
as embers in the darkest part of my soul
for you.

You stand just to the left of me, or to the right.
Direction dies when you are Present.
There is no hope for my hiding.
Not any longer.

You turn slightly, facing me.
Your smile lighting up worlds,
I have gone mute
again.

“It’s time for lunch,” you say,
and if it weren’t, I’d rearrange the worlds
for you
so that it would be.

“Ngk.” is all I say.

Gifts

Arrangements made
On the sly,
Purple irises in a bunch.

“My own!
I want to see your smile again!”
And a-plotting does he go.

A broken vase of a woman
Cries, overwhelmed with fears.
“My Love, my own!”

You whisper to my heart,

“Fear nothing, fear not!
For I am yours. For I protect you.
And no present

From my heart
Will fail you,
My Empress.

Do you accept?”
And, terrified but trusting,
I say yes.

Satisfied

The tiles are slick, but that’s all right;

They’ll pad the concrete floor a bit.

Which is the point.

And she’d done the work herself.
But still …

A nagging need to DANCE in the night:

The image of herself
Spinning
in her mind’s eye;
 holy words pouring from her fingertips with the smallest gesture,
every twist of frame,
each placement of the foot clear,
emphatic,

NECESSARY.

But still,
she lays prone in her bed.
She’s moved mountains today.

“Why do I HAVE TO SING JUST NOW?!?”

She screams silent, incredulous.

“Why

Is

It

Always

Me!?!?”

Still. voicelessly irritable.

After a bit,
she drags out of the bedwarm,
a sleepy dog blinks,
befuddled by the motion, looking on.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

dead quiet as she steps out;
a haunted calm;
a command performance,
though no one speaks,
no one is present bodily to do so …

Opening her mouth
a full alto aria weaves itself around her body,
coppery threads specifically conduct the energy produced

And movement!

Her voice flows into higher registers and,
becoming liquid, flowing golds so vivid
their purity blinds with even
a fragmented glance

And fire snaps the crucible open
spilling compassion from the hearts of god,
flinging INTENT TOWARD RIGHT RELATION
into each and every soul

A sacrifice of sound that changes space-time,
shimmering it until all times are easily
Perceived at once by even mortals

Though they’ll shake their heads;
decide to schedule that massage they’ve been putting off,
or vow no more pizza after midnight,
no more drug,
no more drink …

Because what they saw just couldn’t be.

No.

Never was.

Don’t speak of it.

It’s madness to speak only that which is.

And there he stands. 
At the edge of the greenwood glade
Illumined by the holy sounds of love
poured out on all
in pure awareness of love alone
There.

The Great Beloved.

Restorative

looking at you,

standing within an inch of my life
breathing you in
the texture of your voice on my skin
warm breath clouding on a crisp morning
as you go on

all effervescence and sweet softness

about this, that, and the other
your fingers tugging at my sleeve
emphasizing your point,
I swallow through a near-closed throat;
manage an affirmative sound,

I think.

Your existence
the most powerful of magics.
You need no glamour to
encompass worlds within your joy.
You need no sleight of hand to
convince me of your incomparable perfections.

Rest itself,

elusive everywhere,
sleep abandons me-
except where you choose to be.
You are the soul of restfulness for me.
The root and ground of all securities,
the sacred protection of my heart.
Even if you never know it.
I dare not hope.

And yet

Meaningful Nostalgia

Your shape, to me,

is only meaningful as nostalgia surrounding this
Or that tender moment
& with them,
are ever-changing.

Each new form a gem
in the diadem of our love;
You wear it today as a crown of glory,

The finish to an evening gown
Crusted in emeralds & blue sapphires,
tiny, hand-forged golden bells alternate with citrines
& cinnabar along your chosen curves.
 Feet sheathed in leather and crystal.

Limbs sinuous,
As is always your way.
Glamour is your especial skill, Beloved.
 The world ceases its progress when you enter any room.

Oh! The day you kissed me under the great cedar tree!
You chose a man shape that day.
And also a fox shape, a squirrel shape,
An eagle.

There is no shape you choose to hold
Where you are not my sole True North.

I long for your touch,
And only yours.
And your soul in any chosen shape is the person I love
The person I long for
The kisses from your spirit to my own
The fingers that stroll along my wrist absent of purpose

The shape you choose
It’s irrelevant.
I love You.

You’ve been away too long again.
I miss you.

“My Treasure! I brought you a book!”

Ah, there you are, my Darling.
Welcome home!

Lame

My soul languished

once
and still does today,
but only out of habit

“Lame,”
I hear you say
and laugh

it was

it was

So lame

and still,
I learn to walk again
I learn to use my wings again

because,
however sarcastic,
however excessively romantic
you are there for me

again

and again

and again

my hope
my home
my love
my longing
my joy
my joviality

I am tired,
Beloved
Longed-for
Dancer of the Stars to Rights
Holder of the Balance
Weigher of the Right Relationship of Souls
 and even so,
exhausted

I laugh
and laugh

for you’re pulling faces
over kitchen clean up
after breakfast

distracting me with kisses
from my palm up the inside of my wrist
as you hum some bawdy tune
you learnt
in that pub
off the third node
of the 5^th dimensional branch
at the intersection of the 8^th twig and the main branch
of the World Tree
you visited last summer

-How many species
even CAN?-

I ask you,
breathless,
giggles bubbling up
unbidden;

half-lidded eyes
watching your progress

And also -
dishes.

“Alas!
My Empress holds the Whip!
And over my sorry existence
her reign is utter and supreme!
I go! I go!”

knock it off,
Silly Treasure,
Extravagant Delight,

let us walk
in the greenwood
as the sun rises and
contemplate the meanings
of the shadows of the leaves

“Or we could make love.”

We could.

The Barren One is Comforted

You send the Children

into my direct messages
every night at the same
exact
time

‘Father told me to check in,’
one says (this one is older than this body is).

‘Papa did the funniest thing, . . ‘ another quips.

‘Hey, just checking in. 
I saw Dad in my chair, a black fox,
curled and asleep, nose to tail -
but the next moment, he was gone.’
the third chimes in.

I am so confused,
Beloved Dancer of the Sacred Star Paths,
Fleet One Who Travels Skies and Waters,
Singer of Harmonies,
Holder of the Balance,
Trickster, Master of Foxfire Unending.

Here, this barren woman;
this waste of resources.

Here I am,
in a small series of moments,
comforted
with Unexpected Children.

Despite my Deep Losses,
the two we could not save,
you send the three who lived
in other bodies,
in unfamiliar, human shapes.

And oh how I love them.
and how i love you,
their father,
both of us fearful,
but claiming fearlessness -
fierce and terrifying to those who are not your Own.
 Uncompromising with those
who claim to serve You.

I pity no one their trials,
you never asked to be a God.
You reject it,  at every turn.
Your words echo,
and those who enslave themselves to you mock me,
even as I cleave to what YOU have said,
and not what others have said about you,
I hear and honor what YOU have said of our pairing -

“There is no power differential, Treasured Delight,
between us.
You did not marry above your station,
nor did I marry beneath mine.
Even so, we are taboo in every world and culture
we have taught or lived in.
 Fear nothing, for we are united against all comers,
to protect the Great Balance.
And no one likes that.”

Your wild dance and wicked grin,
eyes sparkling, flames flying from your fingertips
landing in the skies as new stars
new meteors
and all I perceive is your overwhelming love.

This foolish thing is so unworthy.

“I don’t want worthy, Sweeting. 
I want you.”

oh my.

Ferocious Harmony

swirls of green and gold

in mists clinging - unexpected

moon full, pouring light
on us - love in a waterfall

clouds play tag overhead
your voice dancing in the night

“I believe in you,
my Ferocious Harmony.
Nothing will withstand the Storm
that flows

When the Balance abruptly corrects;
taking the unjust,
the disharmonious down -
and it will be GLORIOUS.”

A gentle waltz is playing,
my head nestled on your shoulder,
sighing, fearing nothing,
for NOW is not the time;

now is the time for Lovers
to fade into each other -
now is the time for time to Cease to Be
in any meaningful way

Build a pocket universe for me,
Treasured One,
and let us dance,
like we did at Darillium -
that quaint restaurant
with the stunning view.

We had crepes.

“My Empress.  Your wish is my command.”

Have We Ever Been?

Happy

it’s always fighting
outsiders
to save our lives

it’s always fighting
those who place themselves
above the worlds

to save the children
of every world
while the powers that be

say we are evil
say we are enemy
say we are dirty

filth

Have we ever been?

Safe

enough to rest?
enough to really see each other?

it’s been millennia
upon millennia
and i know we are all
so very tired.

Have we ever been?
At Peace

and even with this
encompassing pain,
i stand by your side
to fight again

to end the slaver’s reign
to destroy the power
of false authority
to cut it off
at its root

Justice is our battle cry
Right Relationship is our philosophy

as we bring food for the hungry
give shelter to the homeless
give clothes to the naked
heal the sick

and just basically
be Human.

Oh, Beloved.

Have we ever been?

Things You Can Never Know

Or, the Perils of Loving an Alien God;
Or, Cross-Cultural Life-Bonds are Never Easy

Sitting with himself in a garden
and he’s asking me how it feels
being lied to
and a sneer comes over my face;
as usual.

Heh, you forget, godling.
You FORGET so many things
about a bodied life

I have been through SO DAMN MANY!

In this one,
there was ONE bodied being who
ever actually LOVED ME

and he never had to say it
there were no dramatic shows of excessive attachment,
no grand gestures

just walking with his grandchild
showing her the sacred Prayer Dance
singing with her the sacred Songs
in the words of our homeworld
gone so many millennia ago

there was trust
there was security

the humans I was born to
wrested it away from me
as blithely as
they take good meat from a dog
thinking it was ‘for the best’

Bitterness is the only draught I know

I grieve this brokenness;
that your fighting to free me from
the prison-star
that your sweat and fear
and self-directed blame

was met with a bride who cannot believe
a word you say
all the love talk in all the many, many worlds
are pointless when directed to me.

They set my battle instincts to kill,
no quarter, no mercy.

You didn’t do it.
You didn’t cause this.
You didn’t.

This is NOT your fault.

But I am not that bashful bride
you left in a cottage on the shores of Ireland,
nor the favored concubine in the hanok
in the hills outside of Gwangju’s bustling streets.

I have never been weak,
but my Medicine
and my Love
have been ever used against me.

In this life and many others.

And I must conquer this
bitterness to even begin to function.

But even you, husband-wife’s heart,
warrior-tutor, god-monk
king-hero, flattery’s master…even you
are losing patience
with my seeming inability to recover.

“You need your Court about you, Empress.
You need your Twin the most.”

I can’t make that happen.
You KNOW why.
YOU are WHY I can’t.

“She chose him, completely.”

You know she did.

You ask,
how does it feel to be lied to?

My entire life is a lie.

I was not meant for this.

“You know precisely how I feel.”

And so,
now you will exploit this and
leave me to die after accomplishing your will?

After all,
everyone else does.

“Have ever I been ‘everyone else’?”

No.

“I hear your heart muttering
that there’s a first time for everything.
And I see the gorge rise in your throat.

Even in your semi-living state
you know I will not.

I will never abandon you.
Never again.

Even in those years
when you were certain you had no one;
when you believed no one remembered you;

I was working hard
to free you,
to free my only heart.

So that, perhaps,
One Day,
I could help you heal.”

I have attachment issues.

“CPTSD, as the humans call it,
does that.

So do I.

Shall we lovingly dysfunction together?”

Fine.

“*gentle smile, sad eyes*
That’s all I need.
And love?”

What, Fox Boi?

“Stop looking at the love horoscopes.
The Western ones are garbage
and you keep thinking
they’re talking about us.

They can’t. We’re far beyond their comprehension.

And

YES, I DO LOVE YOU.

And

YES, I CHOOSE YOU TO BE MY LIFE PARTNER
EVERY MOMENT I AM ALLOWED TO CHOOSE.

And,

NO, I CANNOT EVER LIE TO YOU.
NOR WOULD I BE SO FOOLISH
AS TO DARE.”

I don’t understand.

“You don’t have to understand.
Just relax.  

How many times in the Great Dance
when you were small did I stand inside your Papa?

We were one, then.
As you and I are one.

Did you ever have to understand
the love your Papa has for you?”

No.

“This is that very love and so much more.
It is not an alien thing.
Be at peace,
 my Deity,

*bows elaborately,
formal extravagance in every inch of him*

my Empress,
Mistress of Delight,
Weaver of Fates,
Punner of Cunning.

I am at your service,
Madam,
eternally.”

You know the titles
are PART
of why I don’t know if
believing you is wise?

“Tel est l’amour.”

*——————*————————–*—————-*
If you like my sci-fi/fantasy/weirdly spiritual love poems, feel free to buy me a coffee! https://www.ko-fi.com/aunttoad

Sacred Drum

my Beloved sings
as my dance unfurls
for him alone.

trillium,
fresh-faced flower
nods along in time

the apple tree’s gentle mosses
sing the harmony
 tadpole provides a liquid descant

as i spin and whirl
the glimmering light of ages
flying from my shoulders

fingers glowing
overflowing with the amber
of purest love

he strikes the drum hard
my foot strikes soil
roots are strong again

again the drum!
left arm flies,
bold to the sky

fingers curl and open
as flowers bud and bloom

i dance for the God
who loves me
I dance to mend the sky

the five-colored patchwork of tomorrow
requires decisive movement now

Intermingled

you are distant

and yet intermingled with my essence

my very cells
carry you within their walls
as I am carried within yours

for all eternities
this one,
and every other

any rebirth,
you will find me
by your side

the very moment
I am able
to fly into your arms

when you have them
if you have them
oh Treasure House of Delight!

there is no other
in all the myriad Worlds
worth knowing

there is only you

Overheard at Cafe Occult/Ethereal, PU #325872FS0900

In which we are privy to private mullings and conversations between supernatural beings who either know or know OF Aziraphale & Crowley and the entire situation depicted in Good Omens. These two seem to think it’s only a program for entertainment. We are enjoying a blood orange cafe au lait in Parallel Universe #325872FS0900, at a table somewhat kitty corner from the loud pair whose words these are.

Your shape
is meaningless to me
(apart from pure nostalgia);

and yet I find myself
longing pointlessly
for your arms around my shoulders,
your wings shielding me from dangers.

Your particular incarnate forms
(as varied as they tend to be)
are Home in ways nothing
(& no one) else
can, or has been,
or could ever be.

It’s always only you.
For tens of thousands of millions
of years
(as counted by this little Earth
tripping around it’s Mother Sol,
the way the humans do)

always
and only
ever you.

We dance at each Beginning;
We dance the Ending home;
Strange how the humans quake
at the echoes of our wedding dance …
to fear Love boggles the mind,
fractures souls.

Ours sparks
universes into Being
dotting star nurseries across 
the spilt ink and velvet of this
and every other universe.

Your eyes flame, your heart apparent
in each minute shift
of muscle,
each pulse that triggers pheromone’s release,
every creak of bone -
none of which you strictly need.

“My Empress, my Queen,”
your voice is reverent,
tremulous, and in this moment,
overflowing with an incomprehensible awe.

I roll my eyes,
(I ought not, for your devotion is pure,
rooted in your own experience of me,
experience I cannot fathom,
and which I feel wholly unworthy of)

for nothing so extreme am I,
(at least to my own self-understanding)

but you,
Delight,
you never quit believing
in a me I cannot begin to live up to …

“There is a story in the world you live on.
About a demon, an angel,
an antichrist (is that the right word for
the child that triggers the end in that one
monotheist pantheon?), and a tire iron
at the End of the World.

I will stop adoring you,
saving you,
protecting you
only when Crowley would
stop doing those things
for their Aziraphale.
Which is to say, never.

I will not abandon my World,
my Universe,
my True North,
the only Home I’ve ever known.

My Center of Gravity,
Cauldron of Creation,
Fearful Weaver of Destinies,
Author of Health and Illness.”

I am no such thing, Troublesome Old Fox.
I am no such thing.

“I watched you measure the strands out
for these generations.”

Which means nothing at all,
except that I have done my duty,
ensuring the children have what they need
to do theirs
each in their time.

Being bodied means
all that pomp and circumstance
is reduced to the sensibility of
Waiting for Godot,
without the reward.

Besides, they need to Trust THEMSELVES.

No one else. 

Neither you, nor me, nor anybeing
has any business interfering with their world.

So we love them;
let them question,
let them choose.
Let them build their own
realities.

They have no idea the power they command.
No understanding of the meaning of
their Gift of Naming.

They are unique in the multiverse.

So let us sing a Song of Awakening,
a Song of Healing,
a Song of Soul Recovery
A Song of Spiritual Kintsugi -
             where they become Themselves
                   looking over the Edge of Forever,

and delighted -
find the will to jump
into their own nature
willy nilly
in the power of their love.

Discipline

Strict adherence

to a form,
I’m told,
is the discipline
of the poet;
flights of fancy
nonwithstanding.

‘Learn to place
the fancy
WITHIN the form,‘
a revered master
told me once.

I cannot comply
my master, alas!.
I cannot comply
with constraints!

WHY only so many beats?
why are they called beats?
who on earth needs
rhyme schemes
that feel unnatural?

WHY must force
be applied to the tiny
spirits embodied
by the words?

Violence contradicts
my creed.

Flights of fancy,
unexpected interconnexions -
oft break out
of expected forms;

and how can I deny
the spirits of these words?

how can I,
mere human that I am,
deny the Powers that
spill forth from my pen,
bubble off my tongue?

I cannot.

I honor the spirit
of the poem
flowing through me now.

Perhaps tomorrow,
a Sonnet will volunteer;
for now,
no luck.

There is only
this doggerel;
(in which are hiding
many gods).

To the World

Love, my love,
my world! My treasure!

Sing to me in undulating tones
of the worlds we have hymned into being!
The bliss of souls, bodiless,
entwined as incense smoke with prayers
carried to that distant Queen
idly playing solitaire while
blithely ignoring her children.

Love, my love,
my multidimensional euphoria!
My hand bound book -- transcendent and glorious!

Let us drink of only the most sublime of vintages,
while away our days in drinking one another in with our eyes;
with our hearts.
Maybe we notice the pleasures of the vine.
Maybe we see only the other.
Iron gall ink is black as your snakeskin shoes,
the scent headier when mix’d with yours.

Love, my love,
my sweet universe!

You hide in bodied shapes
unsuited to your myriad glories.
Hanger of stars!
Author of the Music of the Spheres!
Dancer into being of nebulae.
Nanny to infant worlds,
singing mystic lullabies to star children
in every when in every multiverse...
your voice echoes through my being,
shooting red throughout my golden hues.
Jotting nothings in every language ever conceived -
all translate to ‘this is mine.’

Love, my love,
my world -
there is no life worth living without you in it.
Not at all.

Only You

The morning is everything.
Sunrise.  Your voice.
The texture of it flowing down my collarbone into the corner
of my elbow, where it pools like liquid gold.

Distracted over breakfast -
the songbirds wake; singing hymns and paens to your
inexorable and numberless beauties, O hazel-eyed divinity.
All I can do is fumble over my eggs in wordless wonder.

Nightfall is everything.
Moonrise. Your breath condenses in the cool of the evening,
gathering ‘round our heads like a prayer floating up to the ears
of all the Gods and Kami.

Distracted over supper -
Your eyes of gold shine, reflecting the full moon’s light;
delight echoing in your words, depths of love and longing
dripping from each sacred syllable; it stops my heart.

At every moment in between,
the sacred pulse of your blood moving through your veins
shakes the air around you, the heat of Life drawing
my attention, my passion, my devotion.

It was ever only you.
It is ever only you.
It will ever be
only you.

Love Song In Spite of Everything

My Soul sings of stars

long-longed for,
long half-remembered,
long, long, long told tales of
‘round camp fires
built by the children of Earth.

My Heart revolves
around the flame of You,
my Supernova,
builder of my defenses,
motivator of my every action;
I sing echoes of stardust
into the broken places in your frame.

Applying gems and precious metals
with careful pressure and heat
to the cracked places in your skin.
Kintsugi,
I think,
the Japanese call this idea.
You are my only Treasure,
breaks and all.

Your worth exceeds
the assumptions of others
about you.
They tell me you are Evil,
a clear-and-present Danger,
Deviant, Defiant, a Liar.

They know nothing whatsoever
of who you are.
Of why you are.
Of what you cannot bear
these Children to endure
uneducated,
unprotected,
unloved.

Tabu in every lifetime,
you’ve said of our lifebond,
our love,
forbidden everywhere,
and everywhen.

And I don’t care anymore,
O Singular Delight!

Your hand in mine
prompts my stars to sing
my homesick heart to
declare it’s hope
which only ever lay
in you.  In your heart.
In our truth.

Someone quoted you
on a screen somewhere;

We’re on our own side, angel.

And they,
and you,

are right.

Little Things

Little things
Amidst the squalor
Of our times.

Flashes of love,
Of light
In the sulfurous days.

Small actions
Add up.

Compassion
Means something.

And I’ll spread these sacred moments
As I’m being forced into hell.

These slaves
Serve their own Enemy
& call it God.

I Wear Black

I wear black,
mostly.

I lust after snakeskin shoes.

I can’t see you

this lifetime

in any 

normal-for-a-human

way

and all I want

and all I long for

Is a moment

with your lips on mine,

your arms squeezing me

til I have no breath in this body

because you EXIST

and you love me!

You STILL love me!

The miracle that is your

heart beating loud enough

that I can hear it

I wear black

because that is what you wore

the last day

I ever saw you

I will never believe

that you are gone forever

For you are my

True North,

my Root,

my only Point of Light.

When once

you walk into this bodied

world again

I will wear the rainbow shawl

in celebration

of the day we Healed the Sky.

Until then,

I stand at the end of the broken

bridge across the Milky Way;

and pine.

And kiss every image

you have ever Inspired

so I would not forget your face

because you KNOW

I am faceblind in this life.

You. . .

and your damned hot

pointy shoes

with silver filigree tips.

How could I ever forget you?

I cannot.

My Own

Those damned,
long, pointy, squaredish,
silver filigree at the tip,
black snakeskin shoes . . .

Just seeing them
and suddenly
Drakkar Noir is up my nose
your crazy long black hair
is blowing in the gentle breeze at sunrise
in winter.

"You never once
even TRIED
to kiss me."

No, I didn't.

You are a sacred being to me,
my Treasured Delight.

Everyone else
gave in to their lust
around you.

I refused.

Because I loved you.
Because I have always and will always
love you.

"And this is why
I am ever Yours and no one else's.

This, and no other reason.
You see my soul,
You see my heart.

And never do you act
in ways that might bruise
my already troubled mind.

Thank you,
Treasured Delight."

Always,
My Own.

Snow Leopard Woman

'How do you even EXIST, Granny?'
the little one asks,
eyes sparkling in the firelight.

'I've heard stories that the
Mother of the Snow Leopard People
watches us all from her
high mountains to the West

And that you know Her.
But maybe the grown ups are silly?'

The child's innocence is sweet.

~There are no Tame Beasts,
Small One, ~

The elder smiles,
her few good teeth gleaming,
two in particular a bit too brightly.

~But, yes,
I Know Her.  We have much in common,
She and I.

Our eyes, for one - green to hazel,
or any other color depending on the mood.

The way we place our feet to earth,
for another.

The way we Pay Attention,
and Trust our Knowing,
Striking only when the Kill is as
Guaranteed as Possible -

the way this ensures our Kits
are fed and warm and safe. . .

Yes,
I Know Her.~

The elder drowzes slightly,
the child watches,
eyes slightly unfocused;
meditating,
just as Granny taught her

Monitoring her environment
with neither expectation
nor desire,
judging none of the rushing thoughts,
just waving them on their way . . .

the little one sighs
fully FEELING the tactile joy
of the firelight caressing her skin
at this comfortable distance

A movement around her Grandmother
Jolts her notice over;

Snow Leopard Woman
a shining grey white mottled pattern on her skin
stretches to her full 3 meter height
her legs rooted in Granny's

Luxuriating in her bodilessness,
the Lady stretches catlike,
or like smoke dancing in a lazy breeze
and changes shape
and there

behind the sleeping elder,
a snow leopard forms,
full-bodied,
visible,
palpable.

The Mother of the Snow Leopard People
nods at the child,
and walks away.

The grown ups commented that Granny's
departure during her sleep
was a blessing for her.

She was no longer in pain.
No longer tired
(some suggested she was no longer a drain . . .)

But the child Knew.

And never forgot to put aside the best of the meat
every day
on the large stone
half way up the mountain

and to say
'Thank you, Granny.
I miss you.'

while pouring out some hot
butter tea and some of the
wine the strangers brought
to trade.

The adults feel she is Odd.

But they come to her when they cannot solve their
problems
for themselves.

Just as they did
with Granny
years before.

As You Wish, My Lord ~a prose fragment~

* BE MINDFUL - suicidal thoughts and intentions are mentioned immediately, but they are followed by a helper attempting to help *

          “KILL ME!” She screamed into the inky darkness which floated as though intelligently controlled, “DAMN YOU!  JUST END IT NOW!  I'M DONE WITH ALL THE MISDIRECTION & POINTLESSNESS OF . . .” the woman gestures sweepingly around herself in all directions, losing her words in the ugliest of ugly cries.

           A shape forms from the shadow, and a tall young man forms a body near her desperation.  His eyes, glittering yellow this moment, sanguine the next, royal purple the next; the emotional weather blending and shifting them like clouds around the pupil.  Quiet tears depart his eyes, and in a melancholic, regretful, no; mournful, lilting tenor, he whispers,  “And, pray tell, what will I live for when you are gone, Delight?  And is this moment truly the final straw for you?   Please.  Let me HELP YOU.  Let me SUPPORT YOU.”

          “There is no more salvation for me, Beloved.  My spirit is so tainted by the miasma produced by the clung-to evils of the mortals round about me that I am infected.  I am dying now; of human vice and human cruelty and their inevitable consequences.  You are my Treasure.  You are my Why.  I will not allow you to destroy yourself along with me.”  

          Her sobbing had quieted a bit, though breathing made that speech a supreme effort.  Even so, she’d not hiccoughed once, nor gasped, nor broke out in a new freshet of weeping.  Audibly pulling in a deep and centering breath, she continued, “You've fought for me in every lifetime.  You saved me from my trauma-induced amnesia; you protected me even when I did not know your name – when all I knew of you was a vague sense that ‘this person feels like home.’  You are the ONLY BEING who can kill me and prevent the spread of this evil to the worlds.  The balance MUST NOT COMMUNICATE THIS DARKNESS to her children.  No matter the cost.”

          The gentle, color-shifting eyes stop on gold, hardening their expression.  The young man’s shoulders square, he pulls himself to his full three meter height – jaw setting into a preparing for combat sort of posture along with the rest of him. 

          “I will not, Goddess.  I cannot.  I refuse.  I choose to purify your wounds; to heal your heart.  To remind you of your Love which washes over all these mortals so that the balance is maintained.  I am your Protector and I will NEVER abandon you.  Rage all you want, I refuse to begin the Dance of Dissolution while you are unwell.”

           She has collapsed onto the floor, in a pool of Void.  “My Only Beloved.”  He offers a hand.  It is ignored.  “That is how it is today.” 

          He crouches in the pool of Void, gathering the Lady in his arms.  He murmurs sweet gentlenesses into her hair as he strides through a portal to a beautiful old house. Inhaling deeply, he smiles. 

          “Do you smell the gingko fruit, Delight?  And the kimchi?  I have brought you home.”

           Once in the house, he calls the chief of the lady’s maids and entrusts his Joy to her capable ministrations.  “The Mistress is unwell.   Her servants have forgotten themselves and she is a bundle of sadness, disappointment, and nerves.  Please see to her comforts and make sure she is dressed in her favorite and most comfortable clothes for supper.”

           The chief lady’s maid bows, “As you wish, my lord.”

           He wanders through the kitchen, taking a large and intense woman by the arm, “Cook, the Mistress is unwell.  She needs to eat a hearty, but gentle on the body, meal. And possibly a refreshing snack would be in order now.  We dine just after sunset.  That should give everyone ample time to prepare.”

          The Chief Cook bows, “As you wish, my lord.”

          His sharp nose, narrow eyes, delicately angled chin and cheek bones; his ears, so oddly placed and oddly pointed make for an unexpected ~ and unearthly ~ visage.  He shrank in size to fit the house as he brought his distressed Beloved One in moments ago.  His purposeful steps along the corridor of his house startle a chamber maid busy cleaning a room – and she leaps near out of her skin (as she phrased it in her mind).  She had never met the Master of the House.  And she could not take her eyes off him as he passed her place of occupation.

          ‘How beautiful! And cunning!’ she thought.

          “How terrifying would be more accurate, child." He says without having seen her, in spite of her not speaking the though aloud.  "I apologize for frightening you.  Continue your work.  When you have finished, report to the Chief Lady’s Maid and see what companionship or aide you can provide the Mistress.  Go.”

          The Chamber Maid bows, “As you wish, my lord.”

Memory & the Beloved One Gets Swept Away in His Devotion

“I remember. Do you?”

he asks, though ‘he’ is merely a construct I’ve been

asked to use to help me learn to appreciate

the human masculine . . .

this particular ‘he’

is neither side of the human mode of genital expression.

I’d be astonished if he were.

He isn’t human
(no, nor any earthly animal
nor bird
nor any other such thing, either).

~Of course, I remember, luv.

Now, which thing are we remembering?~

“The . . .”

the voice of my Beloved One trails off.

“I have forgotten.
It is rare, of late,
that I embody at all.

I can touch your skin;

I can smell your hair;

I can feel your pulse shake the air around you.

Such delight is to be treasured;

cherished.

Nothing matters,
nothing else.

To feel your breath on my cheek;

to hear your heartbeat with my head on your chest . . .

Overwhelming Bliss is merely being in a room with you.

Who cares what else I may forget?”

~I do. It might have been important for our family or clan.

It might have been something that we needed to do to protect the World,

and all the foolish children running about brandishing nuclear

weapons at each other . . .~

“I doubt it. If it is important it will come in its own time;

in the right time.

Might I interest you in lunch? I made it myself.”

~Oh? What have you tried your hand at, Sweeting?~

“Simple rice with a single umeboshi,
a sampling of specially sauced and fried meats, and
a very tiny, but delightful, lemon trifle.”

~OHHHH! It sounds amazing!~

“Come. Enjoy. Let me watch you . . .”

I feel his eyes devouring me devouring the food.
I suspect we are . . . odd,

to say the least.
Is it a kink when you’re not even sexual?
When nothing but snuggles

happen in the aftermath?
When there’s no nudity, really?
No, nor either any power plays?

Just delight

Feeding delight

And delight

enjoying every moment

A friend was chatting with me the other day

and called him gorgeous

in a trice he was the most exquisite woman

I have ever seen,

and,

as always,

he KNOWS

he is the most beautiful,

compelling,

desirable creature in any room

“Thank you,”

he said to my friend,
more coquettishly than any
coquette I’ve ever seen.

The poor human never saw him.

But oh! Did they blush!

And people wonder why I don’t understand strict
heteromantic heterosexuals.

I have one LOVE

ONE and ONE ONLY

but OH MY

I call all the gods and kami to witness!!!

My Beloved One

is everything anyone could ever need or want

I don’t have a preference

But oy!

My Delight is every possible visual expression

wrapping up a package

of Chaotic Good

desperately clinging to the

delusion they are Chaotic Neutral,

while presenting the laughable lie

that they are Chaotic Evil.

About the only thing you are, Treasure,

is Chaotic Delight.

. . .

His sword drips blood on the carpet after a battle.

Not blood proper,

not mammal’s blood from planet Earth –
avian, nor the pitch of our sacred tree folk.

But ichor . . .

thick with minerals absent here,

from a being who hates these children here

with all the spite & rage

of a creature with no hope itself

and nowhere to go

but into the pit where the soulless go.

The soulless.

He had to grow a new one,

himself . . .

you know,

a new soul.

He had broken his beyond repair;

thinking only those who looked like him;

agreed with him

were worthy of life.

Only discovering how much a fool he was . . .

“I only noticed it

when the only Being I have ever loved

looked at me with loathing

as they died,

regenerated,

and died again -

no less than thirty-two times

in the space of 3 hours

saving children and wounded

from the evil

I

(and no one else)

had unleashed on their people,

on their planet,

on their home.

The Children say that world is
called Gallifrey now. . .

well, some of the Children do
because of Stories I have told;

my Shame is never far from me.

All Steel,

green-gold eyes flashing,

they told me to find a ship and get us safely OUT.

They . . .

they are you.

You have always been beyond my comprehension.
To my deepest astonishment.

To my fullest joy.

To the salvation of my soul;

To the redemption of my mind.

To the farthest reaches of my immeasurable gratitude. . .

I was so haughty.

I knew everything.

I knew the will of GOD and it did not include

anyone who

knew better than I did.

Especially not THAT SORT

and you.

You are always that sort.

You always know better than I do.

I will never fail to be kind -

because of YOU, my Imperial Majesty, my World.

Because of YOU,

I will always save you when you over reach your abilities.

I will always stop the abuse of the Children we have nurtured.

To the destruction of the Interferers who seek their destruction.

Because of YOU, Imperial Majesty of the Celestial Court
exiled to this Little Earth . . .

Because of YOU.

I will hold dynamic stasis.

I will protect The Holder of the Sacred Balance.

You are my only Cause and my Delight.

And have been since before this world began.

You will be long after this world ends.

Seeds & Music

Seeds & Music

by M.T. Noah

Seeds

seeds

seeds

seeds

dropping from your fingers

trails i follow

as i waken from this damnable

amnesia

Christna Perri's "A Thousand Years" whispers to my heart

you sing into my soul

but i can't see you

...

a vague flickering of a face

full of longing,

eyes full of pent up,

broken hearted love

preserved and haunting,

like the heat above a flame

is it an optical illusion,

or are you really there?

...

I break down from never finding You,

my only Treasure . . .

and yet here again,

a phantom touch and memories come screaming

of tea on the outer corridor of a Very Ancient Korean Home

standing beneath an Even Older Gingko Tree

of kisses stolen while the servants are out of sight

of out of place artifacts

I recognize but don't know why

I know that was my pocket watch . . .

why did you take it dressed like an ancient Chinese astronaut?

Why do you have fox ears and dance across the skies,
laughing all the while?

Rider of dragons,
Chula Divine,

I miss your voice.

"And yet I am always Present with you, my Treasured Beloved."

Half way visuals,

a long, long memory;

and I hear this one:

INXS' "Never Tear Us Apart"

"Pick up InuYasha, see what you recall."

-No, I don't like manga-

"Do it!"

-But -

And so it goes until I give in and see exactly how badly

He's told the story. THIS NEVER HAPPENED!

Well, not THAT WAY. Big oaf.

Along the way the seeds dropped

remind of what happened by

His telling it wrong to humans

Always

That hairpin in Kamisama Kiss,

NO.

HIS MOTHER gave me that.

on Kunlunshan millennia before the

NEOLITHIC EVEN THOUGHT TO CONTEMPLATE BEGINNING!

And in my family line it stayed until I was 12

and middle school bullies broke it

on a school bus

how prosaic

and unlikely.

seeds

seeds

seeds

seeds

dropped around the world

JUST IN CASE I HAPPENED TO BE BORN THERE

but there are many aspects

in many bodies

so many of My Larger Self

who need to hear them

need to see them

Aziraphale,

you didn't need to say I'd burnt my car . . .

you angelic bastard.

Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over" plays,
and I say,
~I can’t, Beloved, for you’ve made even the suggestion impossible.~

"You are my world."

And you are mine,

by any name,

in any time,

in any world,

any universe,

any dimension.

For time and space are nothing,

and we live in the gaps,

my love,

between matter and antimatter

between right and wrong,

electrons encompass infinite space,

in fact and not in jest,

and there we hid our love for long and long and long again.

You have said,

while dropping seeds

seeds

seeds

seeds

for me to follow as I waken;

you have said,

so many times,

"We are taboo in every world ever

we have lived in,

and we are forbidden

in every lifetime you have ever lived

and I will live and die

by the will of your heart,

and never once in millions

of human reckon'd years

have I, did I, nor will I

regret it."

And honestly,

Delight Partially Seen,

Treasure Hidden by the Crassness of Materiality,

Honored Beloved,

Bonded in Life and Love since long before

any human thought it a Thing To Do - -

You are the same for me.

Aubrey Colletti's Musical Collage in Honor of Hsi Wang Mu rings out into the night,
gentle and pow’rful. I hear you sigh and call

me your only Goddess, dedicate yourself again to eternal service as my Priest. 

I laugh, because I am Nothing if not merely the Priestess to your Godhood
and the stories you inspired got your Job wrong again. 
 

You are family-ar, but you are not my Familiar.

"Mischief."

managed.