New Poem: “… and human.”

… and human.

By J. K. McDowell

May 2012

 

In letters, Vallejo sent me his Decembers.

No return postage, I kept his Januarys too.

Evidence for my defense?  Gravely, I say yes.

 

The tools, simple: a maul, spikes and rough-hewn timbers.

The hours: dawn to dusk.  The pay: very meager.

The clients: criminals – oh and that other fellow.

 

She knew how to pay attention.  The Unexpected

Silence of her eyes, the tedious inspection.

Please turn off the light, fingertips are better.

 

On the longest night, I gaze at a single

Candle flame.  Clouds hide the night sky and I am safe.

My dreams and my terrors before dawn have much to teach.

 

The season of named storms comes to a close.

The plywood comes down from the second floor windows.

Light fills the upstairs dark, the ghosts bask in sunlight.

 

Eyes colored eternity, skin cold granite smooth.

Your tears of grief roll off their feathered wings.

I can offer a warm embrace, frail and human.

New Poem: “… or night.”

… or night.

By J. K. McDowell

April 2012

 

Each sip is precious, drinking from each other’s grief.

Souls mingle then are torn apart but flames remain.

That fire is a gift.  This will take most of the night.

 

Moonlight, silver crescent, sharp against my throat.

What pleas would grant me another day of writing?

This happens so often, yet I cannot fear the night.

 

The Beloved lifts Theresa from the floor.

Winds of passion, the cloak rustles, folds, flowing.

Here, feel this Divine Ecstasy, in the darkest night.

 

Sometimes the sunlight is more dangerous.  A target

So well illuminated, any pause means the end.

Moving among such brilliant arrows I pray for night.

 

The final alchemy?  This is far from over!

The ingredients, the proportions and the timing.

To see the stars, we need to wait until night.

 

Federico’s Heart opened wide to embrace the Moon.

What else could any eyewitness account add?

Anyway Jim, I was not there, day or night.

New Poem: “… move forward.”

…  move forward.

By J. K. McDowell

March 2012

 

Delirium forced me overboard and

Jonah’s whale saved me.  Before that I was trapped

Between the strata of personal laments.  It’s natural.

 

Where is this Dream? The trust is lost.  I cannot close

My eyes.  And who can claim to know the trends as we

Shuffle tyrants for personal expression.

 

I called Hemingway a complex son of a –

She politely added, well aren’t most artists?

A personal opinion of others is a good mirror.

 

I meet the eye of this great whale.  The look of

Personal recognition surprises us.

The Silver Bank waters are calm and clear.   I am both.

 

Thrashing about, digging for personal treasure?

We are already buried alive.   Shift to a

Soft, subtle rise to the surface, float in quicksand.

 

We were once the same Jim.  Falling, Rising, Living.

Each succession the Soul Trail becomes clearer.

Do not let the personal hold you back, move forward.

New Poem: “… wild patience.”

… wild patience.

By J. K. McDowell

March 2012

 

We are never the person they claim.  Our rope is

Twisted tight.  Some special knife work is in order.

There are strands here that do not belong.

 

Over coffee Vallejo elucidates how

In this hyper-wired-world, that the sorrows of

December and January bleed into March.

 

One day the river considers, no I will not

Cross that line.  I will not flow to the ocean.

Do you know the flood waters that you have caused?

 

I know you feel this in your chest, the air seems thin.

In the Other World there is a tightening tourniquet.

Yes, it is personal, we are being saved.

 

I will never forget that you asked me to

Write you a poem.   Maybe today that work will

Be finished.  I still have some of your ashes.

 

The pecans are blooming Jim.  Their flowers long for

Sun and rain and that special something that will move

Them on their path.  Know truly this wild patience.

New Poem: “… beyond the worst.”

… beyond the worst.

By J. K. McDowell

February 2012

 

I cannot smell your perfume – alas, is that jasmine and lemongrass?

A start fraught with disaster – a poisoned evening?

Sit with me a moment, things might get worse.

 

I cannot taste your wine – alas, the pinot goes so well with the fish.

Now the meal is ruined too.  The poison is real.

Sit with me a moment, things might get worse.

 

I cannot hear your praise – alas, what did you call me?

This conversation is the poison’s new victim.

Sit with me a moment, things will get worse.

 

I cannot see your face – alas, is there an approving smile?

This poison is taking effect much too quickly.

Sit with me a moment, things will get worse.

 

I cannot feel your lips – alas, was that a kiss?

There is no antidote and the poison spreads.

Sit with me a moment, things will get worse.

 

The last traces of poison are gone.  Moment

To moment I sit here at your oak casket, Jim.

In the Beloved’s embrace we pass beyond the worst.

New Poem: “… my light.”

… my light.

By J. K. McDowell

January 2012

 

Morning mist – I see the fading prayer flags draped

On the fig tree.  What was it that I wanted from the future:

A smile, a kind word or a knife to cut these bonds?

 

What is hidden in the fog that lasts through lunchtime?

So many unsatisfied appetites linger

Into the future.  The Unseen’s table set before us.

 

I will not argue over the foretold malicious

Gestures of the one hand but do not trust and

Turn away from that poison blade in the other.

 

The beach is strewn with empty glass bottles, no messages.

Do you believe this wandering is penance

For some forgotten trespass?  Rest and wait for dark.

 

When you look back, please see me when I held you in

My arms and not when I wheeled away hurtful

And weak.  Hope embraces your forgiveness tonight.

 

Jim, the moon grants us a soft lunacy.  I am

Stretched thin, to translucency.  Soon I will be

Invisible – you will see my darkness and my light.

 

New Poem: “… always hold.”

… always hold.

By J. K. McDowell

December 2011

 

Anise and fennel blooms toward a lucid dreaming.

The equations are written clearly – still the

Solution is obscured. Something is missing.

 

Another calendar year tramples over

Shattered dreams.  Why do you collect the shards

Instead of going back to the clay and the wheel?

 

Desert flowers answer the call of the nighttime sky.

The cliff face glyphs catch the flicker of the fire.

Poetry chases the sparks and cinders star-ward.

 

Leylines?  I am looking for the Spiral within.

That churning energy that spins you, pulls in tight

And sweeps outward over the Soul’s hidden landscape.

 

Please, the thoughts today have been needlessly sharp.

My eyes close, tired of points and counterpoints.

This change in vision brings us no closer to home.

 

An undated love letter from more than a

Decade ago.  Today the same devotion,

Unshaken – lives challenged Jim, but those ties always hold.

 

New Poem: “… dream form.”

… dream form.

By J. K. McDowell

November 2011

 

Question:  Is a poem a container or contents?

I know I’m mostly water yet I can’t flow

Easily from this shattered sake bottle.

 

Question:  Are my metaphors too self serving?

The smoke clears, the spill dries, forgotten forest prayers

Offer a lost soulfulness.  The door slides closed.

 

In your silence I held the dreaming.  The writing

Guides the way.  A lattice of longing so fragile,

I worry about selecting the next question.

 

So tiny, the Soul’s etching on a shard of glass.

As I read the poem I do not notice the

Sharp cuts, the fingers’ red tears.  No more questions.

 

Answers, invisible like the air we breathe.

Fear fades, blinded by the realities exposed in

A soft reflection of shattered lead crystal.

 

It is 2AM Jim.  Any hour is right and true

To toast the friendship that can melt the cullet and

Take the glassblower’s soft breath, giving the dream form.

New Poem: “… a different poem.”

… a different poem.

By J. K. McDowell

October 2011

 

The horrors “From Beyond” are never easy to face.

Temptations and terrors bleed into each other

And will not blend.   Separate but equal never works.

 

The Dance, what Mystery!  This is the seeing that

Makes the eyes bleed.  Eternities evaporate

As you slice the skin from the well-practiced floor craft.

 

The absinthe paints an “Unnamable” seduction.

As the 13^th hour approaches, I witness

The betwixt and between bleed through the veil.

 

Wounds bleed sap and the rot spreads.  We both know my friend

You would not survive the next storm.   A lily grows

Where you used to stand.  The axes had to come.

 

The remedy, exsanguination – the Darkness!

The rubies of the Soul bleed across the cursed forest floor.

They are my guide and sustenance as I seek You.

 

From Beyond?  Jim, tell me about the horrors

From Within.   Fears bleed underneath the attraction.

Sorry, I forgot, that is a different poem.

 

A Great Friend = Frank Owen

“There is poetry. Then there is poetry with insight; the kind that opens up luminous doors within the reader. NIGHT, MYSTERY & LIGHT is poetry of the door-flinging variety. Through an ongoing holy conversation with soul, and an ever-deepening glance at the nuanced details of the life always happening within and around us, J.K. McDowell’s words help us to sweep away the cobwebs of tired perception and see the world anew. This is poetry that prepares the heart-mind to become an awake sky worthy of sunsets and sunrises.” ~ Frank Owen | Bodhiyatra Poetry

So much gratitude flows through me as I read these words again. This endorsement appears on the back cover of “Night, Mystery & Light” published by Hiraeth Press. Frank has been a powerful inspiration for both me and my friends at Hiraeth. Blessings Wrapped in Night, Mystery & Light. Good Night Friends.