The Lady of the Shores

Cerulean sea melts into green land
where the Lady walks the sand
Sunset, when the mists of time wash up
and fill our history’s bittersweet cup...

A meaning for life perhaps was found
in elder days, of love profound.
And our knowledge we then sent
down paths of time, to be blent
by Her, in Avalon and Valinor;
to L.A. beaches from lands of yore
to Men of hate in barren lands,
to us Her precious cup she hands.

“It still exists!” our memories cry
but true thoughts our narrow minds belie
“Remember and live!” our spirits cry
but our souls our crippled bodies hide...
Yet shining, dancing, mind to mind,
our skeins of legend begin to twine.

Among the waves is the Lady knowing
we Men are born of mystical blood
Her Grail of sun-gold truth is flowing
for those who live their mystical blood.

L.A. to N.Y. airplane view: thoughts

I see the gray-green marble of the sea rippling and gently mottling below
and then I see the brown crags of Los Angeles and its satellite minions,
choked with an ocher-cigarette smog, crowned with this haze and cradling it like a steaming pot boiling us to the bone
Yellowish snow still clings to the sandy mountains like plaque in the niches of a tooth
Grubby beige freeway veins shooting through the bleakness, perhaps dotted by a few smoke-muffled sparkles

What have they done to the Earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged her plundered her kicked her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
Tied her with fences and dragged her down (The Doors)

They just scraped her life-giving skin from her, leaving her to suffocate...
Looking up...an egg sky, a soft straight smooth line, dividing placidly blue ice sky from the smog blanket
A mountain rising on the horizon of haze, truly Antarctic, tapering into surrealistic shadow and spawning still fleece puffs.
the other dwarfed clouds casting dark shadows shaped like paper pulp, on circles clean-cut as horrid geometry ones.
Long spiraly legs of granite-black highways cross and uncross.
Brown and flat, yet soft like brain tissue spread below, where mesas encroach outward with many-tendriled claws and dry rivers curl like dragon flame...
Dramatic living-scarred ripples on auburn sand, dancing with the transparent greenish tissue of shrubs
Abstract art of gray-green and gray-brown squares patching the lands obscured by distance,
melding indistinguishably with the sky-borders, so the clouds are the ridges of chinese dragons, dipping above the mist-home where they lurk
A spidery island of mashed potatoes stretches to the cold ends of the earth, with fat peaks the sunset has drenched with rose-gold sculpture-hung in the sky.
Night snakes by my scratched plexiglas window, and I fall asleep and dream some more.

"The Kiss"

I am your love of darkness, sunset, a lute angel of the phantoms.
I see you walk and my eyes question, wonder, and desire. You are
burning, overflowing, rushing into my embrace. You delight in
the contours of your mind. More pleasure is to be found in the mind
than any other part of the body, for the mind is not merely brain,
but imagination--spirit--soul. My eyes are living gold to you,
and you search in them, melding flame. You strike into my heart,
as I know I strike into yours.

all copyright 1998 Medusawing

Artwork: Fata Morgana,Hannah Hoch; The Love Embrace of the Earth, Me (Frida), Diego, and Mr. Xototl,Frida Kahlo; The Kiss,Gustav Klimt