Archives for September 2013

A Smudging Ceremony

A Smudging Ceremony

 

Must be entered with spirit dust,

a good heart that sings, prays, and

follows ancestral spirits to the realm

 

where Lunar glow brightens the

sky with beams of moonlight guiding

the way.

 

Far below they know. Their hums and

their drums create a sacred sound, a

required rhythm

 

for using garlands and sweet smelling

herbs under the full moon, where Sage

drives out evil spirits, negative thoughts,

 

and downbeat entities are banished to a

realm where they only exist in our dreams,

visions and poems.

 

Cedar: Cypress and Juniper purify and

attract first-class energies. Mugwort heals,

gives foresight, stimulates dreams and visions

 

of drum circle participants who are healed of bad

feelings, negative thoughts, dire spirits and harmful

energy when evil spirits are driven away.

 

Prescott Drum Circle

IMAG0730

Toys Make Noise

Toys Make Noise

 

Electronic toys have buttons

that even a young baby will

push to hear music and see

flashing lights.

 

No matter what program

put inside his pink and white,

plush, rabbit skin. Jack the

rabbit wouldn’t begin.

 

Jack had a bad habit. He wouldn’t

sing, play music or flash any lights,

no matter how many buttons baby

pushed.

 

Baby dreamed Jack was dead and

cried in the night, until Baby saw

that Jack Rabbit only needed love

to relent and play a tune

 

when his buttons were pressed if

Baby showed enough love for the

furry toy. He held Jack tight and gurgled

loving words into the rabbit’s fur.

 

Jack didn’t respond and Baby put Jack

away with all his other broken toys,

because he didn’t know that fresh

batteries would’ve brought Jack back to life.

Fisher Creatures

 

 

We found the dogs in a feeding frenzy, “They probably caught a rabbit,” Jacques said when he saw the bloodstained snow.

“I swear I saw a flying saucer land right there,” I pointed to a circle of melted snow, but nothing else was visible

Jacques walked close to where the dogs ate and said, “There’s something happening to the dogs, we only had four, now there’re eight.”

As we watched what had been eight dogs became sixteen. They’d cough out a ball of flesh like material that instantly expanded into a duplicate of the dog that choked it out.

“Run, we’ve got to get away before we get infected with whatever it is they’ve got.” Jacques said, and started running down the hill.

He stopped halfway down and started coughing. I watched as he too choked up a round ball of flesh that once it hit the snow grew into an exact copy of Jacques. Terrified, I ran down the hill followed by thirty two dogs and four Jacques.

I didn’t go near the area of melted snow that Jacques and all the dogs did. I knew they must have gotten infected there. I had to warn the villagers before the infection spread. I should have known I couldn’t outrun the dogs. I was bowled over when one flew into my legs and stood over me dripping drool onto my face.

Whatever infected the dogs worked at amazing speed. One minute the dog drooled in my face, the next I’m choking up a ball of flesh that instantly became a likeness of me, not only a likeness, but another me. I was thinking in stereo and within a few minutes I doubled again and had quadraphonic thoughts.

The dogs ran through the village infecting everyone. I knew we’d make the Guinness book of world records for the fastest growing village in the world.

I now used eight different brains to figure out this was a gift if it could be controlled somehow. I’m doubling every few minutes and now I’m thinking with sixteen brains and I realized with this infection under control, one cow could feed the world.

What looks like a flying city hovers over the village and drops a magnetic web that somehow attracts every living thing to it. The web is hauled up into the craft and dumped onto a vast empty space. Humans and animals alike convulse, gasping for air in this airless place. Two legged creatures are picked up by pointed gaffes and thrown overboard. I watch the bodies spin until they hit the ground. All other gasping life forms are pushed into a hole in the floor and I can see it’s lined with ice to keep them fresh.

I overhear one fisher-creature ask another. “Why do we need to throw the two legged ones back?”

“Too many toxins in them.”

Slapped Smartly, I wrote this one back in 2001, but totally forgot about it until I saw it in an old email.

Slapped Smartly

 

I’m stupefied, thunderstruck,

flabbergasted & confused.

Suppressed rage flows

through a hammering heart

& convulsing veins.

 

A spastic smile curls your

twitching lips into a disgusted

wicked spastic smile.

 

You maniacally gesticulate

with nostrils flaring,

furiously peering through

eyes that widen incredulously.

 

When you see I smile like a saint,

and don’t contort in agony from

your  fist to my helpless face.

 

No hysterical voice comes from

my drawn and pinched countenance.

My eyes narrow as I peer down

my nose at your blood stained

hand, used to beat so many others

into submission.

 

I give you a superior grin and get

ready to return the blow a hundred

times. Invigorated by my adrenaline

I get a sunny feeling in my soul

when I see blood draining from

your anguished face.

 

Dark shadows form and I see

a mute appeal for forgiveness

that I ignore as I smash a blow

into your pouting grimace and

see you’re stupefied, thunderstruck

& confused.

 

A fitting ending I know, for someone

like you who would punch a man

for wearing a dress.
Joe DiBuduo

 

Your Mind on a Roll is

Your Mind on a Roll is

 

Like a slug in a whiskey jug

you don’t remember when

you had your last meal, your

last piece, or even your last

love.

 

Are you unsure where your

memory of past delights in

the silent nights has gone,

or have you forgotten how to

wonder where you’ve been?

 

I remember in November when

you had a rock and roll record

atop the charts, but it took a

precarious drop.

 

I’m glad you forgot the time you

were so desired, you became tired

and wanted bodyguards to keep

your admirers away.

 

Of all the tunes you knew, “Cocaine”

was the one you always sang and

while you rocked and rolled, cocaine

took a heavy toll on your soul.

 

Now  with a face that’s out of place

wherever you go, because it shows

how you lived your life.

 

Though I was never quite sure, I figure

you’re only forty four, yet when I take

your hand in mine, I think you look like

you’re a hundred and four.

 

Alto Saxophone

 

Alto Saxophone

            In a little town in Illinois, in a bar near the Wisconsin border, I heard one man blowing his horn with honey-dripping sounds and watched a woman dance to the high alto saxophones drawn out cries. Her body swayed in time with the beat like melodic notes moving up and down the scale. I imagined blowing a song into her ear.

I crossed the wooden dance floor where she whirled, grabbed her hand and began to spin. Like musical notes, one black, one white, we danced all night. I softly sang into her ear, “Imagine how we’d dance in bed.”

She laughed in a low contralto voice, and changed it to a soprano when the high notes flowed.

Later when we were in bed and music played on her expensive speakers we continued our sensuous dance. Things couldn’t have been any better until I got knocked out cold.

When I came around I could hardly open my eyes and my head hurt so bad I thought it would explode. Music played, but it was different now. Chanting came from the speakers in a language that I thought was Creole. I smelled incense burning. My eyes began to focus about the time I realized I was tied spread eagle to her bed wearing nothing at all.

Then I saw the black man from the bar playing his saxophone, filling the room with mellow and foreboding music, as he and six black women danced in a circle around the bed. The women accompanying him chanted to mystifying sounds emanating from the speakers.

Addressing the lady I had danced with, I croaked, “Brown Sugar,” but I couldn’t speak loud enough to be heard over the chanting. God, I’d give anything for a dozen aspirins to relieve the headache from the blow and all the noise. What the hell was going on?

Brown Sugar pulled back a curtain exposing an altar. The altar stood on four black marble pedestals, topped with an oblong piece of the same black marble. A large crucifix with Jesus on it turned upside down sat on top.

I’ve been captured by Satanists. What were they going to do to me? I struggled to free myself, but the ropes holding me were tied tight. I couldn’t move. Maybe they were only going to do a ceremonial ritual, and would set me free when it was over.

The sax player stood to one side of the altar and his instrument emitted a gruesome sound I never imagined a horn could make.

Brown Sugar, wore a blood red robe, and stood in front of the altar. She raised her voice and said,

I hereby invoke the Prince of Darkness,

The great Dragon of the bottomless pit

Who is the Bringer of Light

And Lord of the Earth.

Hear me, o mighty God of Hell!

Come forth from the black Abyss,”

 

The chanting and music drowned out most of her prayer, but I did hear her conclusion,

“My Lord and Master, come forth from Hell

And greet me as your servant and friend.

Join me as I conduct this service in your honor

Out of love and thankfulness for you.

Amen!

She turned with her arms raised and for the first time I saw the gleaming, jeweled dagger that she held with two hands. Her eyes lit with passion as she walked toward me, followed by the others who continued with their chanting.

I had been taught that goodness always overcame evil, so I prayed, “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend me, be my protection against these wicked people and the Devil.”

A bright light filled the room. A man dressed in flowing white robes and wielding a shining sword appeared in front of the altar. One swipe of his sword severed the marble base. The altar crumbled to the floor, but not before he grabbed the crucifix, held it in front of him right side up and advanced toward the Satanists. The sax hit the floor as the man playing it ran out the door and all the others followed with screams of fear.

I waited for him to release me, but he set his sword and the crucifix on a table, picked up the saxophone thrown onto the floor, put it to his lips and started to blow into the horn. I expected to hear heavenly music from a horn played by an angel. Instead, the piercing notes that rolled out made me shrivel up inside.

A brighter light almost blinded me. A man dressed in regal red robes appeared in the center of the room. He too carried a saxophone. He stood in front of Saint Michael and said, “I’ll challenge you to a duel.” He pointed at me. “Whoever plays the best gets his soul.”

The man in red must be the Devil if he wanted to gamble for my soul. “Don’t do it,” I yelled to Saint Michael. “I know you want to save me, but I heard you play.”

“Ye of little faith, don’t you know if God wants your soul, I’ll play better than Satan.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. The Devil strode triumphantly around the room, bowed to Saint Michael and to me before he began to play. The sounds that came from his saxophone warmed my soul. I traveled through the beautiful universe on waves of heavenly music, until from the pleasurable sound, I began to cry. He finished and pointed to Saint Michael and said, “Your turn.”

St. Michael began to play. I didn’t believe that any music could top what Satan had played, but because it would be heaven sent, I expected it to be far superior. I prayed it would be. St. Michael fidgeted and fussed, put the sax to his lips, took a breath and blew into his instrument. The shrieking sound that came out sounded like it must have come straight from hell.

I knew then whose music I’d be hearing for eternity

Never Again

Never Again

 

That blob of yellow or white that used to

float above and brought forth Oxytocin

that influenced my ability to bond and even

to love has gone through the change of life

 

It’s been awhile since that orb brightened

my day with light. The sky has given up its

chameleon like ability to change colors and

remains an ugly gray.

 

Gone are the sun beams that used to act like

a sponge that extracted blue thoughts from my mind

and fill it with bright orange light. Gone are the warm

feelings, and gone is any love I held.

 

After so many days of gloom, I’m beginning to

wish I couldn’t remember the bright and sunny

days that sometimes colored our high mountain

town with pink skies and painted the mountains red.

 

I’m told the changes in our weather is from global

warming and I imagine I’m in Seattle where dark

skies are welcomed every day. After so many days of

rain, I know how Noah must have felt.

 

I build an ark from trees in my yard. I’ll only

take animals and bugs when the flood comes, because

this time it wasn’t God who changed the sky from light

to dark. We all know who’s responsible, so I won’t give

us a chance to do it again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pediatric Ward

                         Pediatric ward

 

While in orientation today, across the hall

from the bedpan station, a whisper said,

“Poor girl, she’ll never wed.”

 

In the room her guardian angel cried before she

died. Looking for the voice, I saw a baby that

lived for sixteen weeks in her mother’s womb

 

Before her parent’s could see their baby, I dressed

and photographed the tiny corpse. Then delivered

her to the morgue. I haven’t eaten anything today.

 

Ho-Ho-Ho.

Ho-Ho-Ho.

 

Down and out over the Christmas holidays, the

dark winter days and the hunger I felt were enough

to cause suicide to take over my thoughts and then

my brain.

 

I searched the house for a painless way to end my life.

The medicine chest held drugs and razor blades, but

I’ve used them before and I’m still alive. Under the

kitchen sink I find plenty of bottles that say do not

ingest, and there’s Drano too.

 

I empty the bottles into a blender because I’m ready to

surrender. I make a cocktail that will surely bring death.

Then I see plastic bags to put over my head as insurance

for after I swallow my mixture that is bubbling, smoking,

and appears to be melting a hole in my blender.

 

I set a razor blade on the sink to cut my wrist after I drink,

Put a plastic bag on my head to be sure it fits, pour the

stinking blend into a glass, and think I’m ready to drink

when like a miracle, there’s a knock on my door.

 

I open it and an Arctic wind blows snow over my feet.

I look and look again. Then I hear Santa Clause say, “I

came to your house to save your life.” He went to the black

Cadillac he had arrived in and yanked out a sack.

 

Like a Greek bearing gifts he carried it inside the house while

he happily sang, “Ho-ho-ho,”

“I don’t believe in you or God or anything else.” I said, “So

take your sack back out the door.”

“Ho-ho-ho,” he said  and emptied it on the floor.

 

My spirits rose when I saw he brought what I craved and

desired. That would keep me alive and I could begin to live.

Believe it when I say, Santa Clause almost saved my life. I was

so excited I took a drink from the cocktail I held.

 

Santa pulled the plastic bag down over my face and said,

“Ho-ho-ho- away you go.

 

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