Dear Mr. President,

 

I applaud your accuity, your charisma, your charm, your laughter, your stamina in the midst of a storming world’s crisis which wasn’t your creation, but a remainder from previous political decisions from other presidents and various world leaders.  With your inauguration, these dangling ties and loose ends have all been placed upon your shoulders to thread into a united fabric in a world of peace, justice, and liberty.  I just want to send you loving thoughts so that you may fly safely throughout your many traversings, and let these words lift you and encourage your stamina with grace on high like the wings of a dove you are and will be to the world.  You can do it, Mr. President.   Fly, Mr. President, fly, softly, and soar to heavenly skies of peace using your wit and charm to unite an embroiled and chaotic landscape .  Let your smile be the white silk scarf to soothe the world and these words be the wind lifting your wings a little higher.  Use your gifts:  your charisma, your charming wit, your ability to lead a strong meeting with grace and dazzling smile to lift us to the Highest liberty and justice we dream to be.  I know your ingenuity, your strength, your wise business sense will figure out the world’s problems which extend not only to America, but to every land, all foreign nations.  We are believers in democracy, and I believe in you.   Believe in your smile, charm, and ability to keenly navigate the old blue American Heart.

 

Love,

 

Michelle

I.

Steady streams of summer breeze shake the fir

white outs the front where I used to live, remember?

we pruned our garden bed

Lilacs, lilies, hibiscus, gold and violet mums

but it is the singular wild violet all get excited about

as soon as it pops its purple head in spring

tiny pine cones, umber needles beneath our feet

and, we bought that omni telescope cobalt blue

so we could all three stare up in adoration of the golden moon,

starry sky, eucalyptus rises, wafting its fresh scent

in this rare air rustling leaves tremble me awake

my bones know Autumn is near

II.

Near is Autumn, know my bones

Awake me, tremble leaves, rustling air rare this in

scent fresh is it the perpetual a that wafts the rise of eucalyptus

or is it the sporadic x that marks the spot that whites out the fronted out fir

shakes steady the off streams of summer breeze

Can spring be so far ahead of this old ache,

blue streams, light

bends towards the goodnight harvest moon

Michelle Dorris, ©2017

Eagle Wind

You are the wind,  the rise, the eye, the soar itself

the black and white feather, the umber glow, the tying gaze

shrewd and not crude but wouldn’t hesitate to cast low

if there were something worth swooning and crooning over the long coast

like lettuce leaf, bibb or boston

something or other leftover from someone’s summer picnic or maybe it isn’t yet plucked bare by autumn’s scouring, howling winds and is still lofting soft and succulent as it traces an amber reflection in the myriadic circumferences of the turquoise Atlantic

a loft of leafy green, burgundy tips still lying around like heathery moss swayings over slated rock in some marshland or glimmerings, silvery lavendar opulescence, glints on a sandy beach like Plymouth

where you last saw me,

cold, bare naked and alone

crying birdie, birdie,

oh, blue mussels and clam shells rise and fall in the turbulence, the lightning balls, bolts,

your global eye

wind tosses in the rapid tide of all within and without range of your emblazoning glaze

through all that mystic haze, piercings, scizzor sharp glintings

hot metal like

forging gold

roaming up and down,

in and out

scoping for something,

anything

in the chilling heat, sea green foam of that last December’s n’oreaster rain

just to eke out a presence for

all to all and to all within the all back to all of your golden perview golden

oh golden chosen regal one

king of birdmen

landing right at my feet

resting all of it for me

to sit and comb through

sift and shuffle through

and sift again

how to start, how to sort and sift these many trillions of salted ages, these many tourniqueted granules of white sand pilgrammages, plaguings, eggplant purple blackened chippenings

clam shell after shell, muscle after muscle broken and torn assunder

just to locate one shining pink pearl

Eagle regal golden plume dye of horus

With central, arking winging your mind in all directions

In and out

through and tbrough

all time and space

see me

Oh Bird of birds

Birdie, oh birdie

hear me

Michelle Dorris, © 2017

 

 

I.

This room is an empty tomb as

bands of crimson  sun  edge

across torn yellowed wallpapers

gored by late september’s

afternoon rays streaming

through broken venetian blinds

still dangling a chipped bell cord

all the room’s docks and clocks have stopped

by the many years miss havisham donned

her unconsecrated bridal gown

a bridal brown but brutal recluse spider sits and spins

intricate cobwebs silkened gossamer threads

thrown to adorn the faded rose and

musty sage damask curtain

it finally makes its way along greying edges of victorian

crown molding, waiting

miss havisham pipes out to a pip

“far out of reach and abroad…

makes a girl prettier than ever,

and admired by all.

But, do you feel you have lost her”

emphatically adding, “if she wounds you,

love her.

If she tears your heart to pieces

love her, love her,

love her!”

There’s a lot to be said for such fierce, growling love

Without such passionate grazings where is the movement

When is the tri ark moment

From whence comes the impetus

And what firey spark ignites the open flaming heart and makes that car go

what frees lovers’ desires from longing unrequited love spires

elongated elegant lines of tapering  tealed gowns satisfy everyman’s desires

gold and white  unity candles adorned with evergreen makes grand

ceremonial devices

in big catholic weddings

time, that rustic scythe

seems to sigh for no one

to wait on no one

yet all points merge to a single point of solidarity, a unity

a single point of singularity

a unified field of force where

even Miss havisham’s stale and stagnant room

turns in the turnings, turns in the tides and

sways in the swells, yet in the convergence

remains ever still

II.

All expansion of time is relatively timeless

real yet unreal

Life is constantly changing change

like the captain of the

ark encompassing a circle

steering past thunder and lightning on the mountain

turning past, present, and future

cogs of a wheel spinning round and round

worlds of worlds

wheels within wheels

stopping the spin long enough to adore in the midst of the sun

hearing the chants of Jasper and the wisemen

foretelling of the glorious One

III.

Hallelujah, Oh Holy Glory

Hallelujah, Oh Golden One

Divine Grace

Oh Chosen One

swaddling babe

spooning turn after turn of golden honey

by the silvery haloed light of the blue moon

shimmerings ancient stardust

glimmerings and sparks

first here then

not turning

into no thing in time

into no time in place

here nowhere yet now

Everywhere

at One point of Grace

a singular point of unified love

a jug overflowing with purest and rarest wine

Here, there, and everywhere

at Once

surpassing grace in the place

of Grace already

always given

And, the cow jumps over the moon while little boy blue and a dog named skippy blow silent night on the flute

IV.

Will we ever be what we once were when we were where we were

and will we dare to spin the wheel yet again and choose again to rewrite anew the book

from life’s infinite room and ream of possibilities again and again

and even again anew

Even in this holy and only moment of ever changing  stillness

this timeless eternal presence

all things are happening

all things are possible

Life blooms happen like one of monet’s lily pads blossoming

vibrant hue after subtle change of hue

every blue juxtaposed next to a green

dabs unique in this ever overflowing

infinite french pool

the once firm mold soft set yet now no longer as pliable

no more as malleable

plump wax in the artist eye

no small task to rebirth the creator’s art

we are both the creator and the created, however

just a few unsealable broken wax pieces, darkening clumps, smudged out tints

the once graced lines of lace doiley are a mere smidgeon

of its previous rendition

an imitative form of a glittery eucalyptous

cheap wax never burns well at Christmas

only bees wax with a few drops of oil of frankinsence and myrh

a little blue spruce

does nicely the fir

V.

now a soft slate state, blase still

how shall I reshape this unshapen ball

form anew a fronde from soft formlessness

what color artist creates you anew

who can mend the broken lines

and seal the fragments

replace the shard

who can rearrange the marriage bed, who blesses the rose petal, who consecrates the bread that we partake of as one,

who quickens the lines, the Living Word we speak, who enlivens your wick and silkens my twine,

who strokes the cat, who stokes the hearth of our holy firey body of love

it is human to long for a union, for a holy sacramental communion

we all need a metaphor to live by, a symbol of something to light for the lightest star in the sky but can we ever reach the thing itself,

an ideal marriage of a truely golden emblazoning tri ark mind, body, and soul–a golden holy lit communion,  a true covenant unbroken and burning, a marriage vow firing on earth forever enflaming as it is in heaven

Beloved, you said.

But, Beloved, we didn’t.

But, Beloved, my beloved,

you said a man and a woman and a blackbird are one

And the great God spoke, “But, I married her.  In fact, I married her yesterday in every golden ark I ever lived an ark covenant heart”

Such is life as up and down the spiraling stairway

That one got away, and this one didn’t

While one princess stands pretty as a picture

far out of reach of living quiver,

high on a mantle and cold as a mayan stone,  the other catches a fresh bouquet–lilies and daisies and violets too–clinging to ribboned rice packages and old love letters

Windows fling open in spring

What a lark! And, ah what a plunge!

Mrs dalloway would be so proud

in the wake of these waves

It’s a nice day for an iris white wedding

Come, let us set the table and let the subtle bird free to sing

feel the amber sweet soft amber winds call

Vocalisimus, do you hear me

Oh, my dove, can you read the

hieroglyphic writing on this wall

Hear my soulspeak, Vocalisimus

Oh, my heartbeat oh

VI.

I am like the statue, never fortunate enough to be living as a true dancing bridal queen

an ethereal mist too mystic green, too shapeless to form as a solid,  I presume

too much comprised of an idea of the thing and not being the thing

A divine dichotomy really.  I am born of carnal flesh but not truly of it

really in a way just a statue rather than a thing expressing  heat of physical leaf

Ironically, I was told by two I would make a much  better mistress

Don’t know if that can be construed as complimentary

I suppose it means l am made for sultry backstreet sway

of alleycat strut and sock life

But lay, baby, lay me down anyway

a tan suede palate on the floor

while the night is young

lay me down nice and easy, and take it nice and slow

lay me down baby lay me down nice and easy once more before you go

Oh, baby, oh, the time is rare and the miles are steep

But, baby, please don’t go, this heart and soul runs so deep,

Rock me, rock me gently, rock me until I sleep, oh my soul

Rock me, tock me, tuck me in your arms and rock me gently before you steep in the morning light breaking the covenant we are making tonight

Let’s creak and sway the midnight hours away, so

Rock me gently into the ceryllean night blue and starlight of your eye

Rock me gently,  rock me  nice and easy

make it slow before you must travel on

I hear the train coming, I hear that whistle blow

I hear the distant wind chiming right on time

I guess it means it’s time for you to go

Wait.  Hold it just a minute, kiss me one last time

But, let me fix your boutineer and hurry run along now

you better take this nickel and dime, and

Nel, give all my best to ev, dear

Before we know it, you’ll both be uptown by 9

with waves of dark fronds deep inset eyes brown

Oh, my baby blue, it’s alright now

You’ll be handsome paired together and

you’ll go skiing in the mountains in winter

so hold on tight, the distant chimes are ringing

for whom the bell tolls as the happy couple

make your way down the aisle with gusto

something old, something blue, a wish for luck

and you’re on your way

merrily, happily

kisses forever in heat

a mouthful in sweltering seat

of ripest grape and berry

honey, fruit of the high gods, waxed wine

spilling down those cheeks

VII.

Oh holy golden one, oh green robed king

lion turn and toast your many faceted queen,

buttons, golden silkened threads mark the many notches

of your high four poster canopied bed

Cheers to the consummation

Cheers to the holy communion

And to your sacramental marriage making ability

What a guy! What a gal!

Gee, Al, do you see the airplane above us?  Can you read the writing high in the clouds? What a party this is turning out to be and all the girls swoon,

surrounding them just to get a rise, a scent, a morsel of the bride and groom and how about chronos

septimus never had it so good

tittilating, delectable unrequited love, my love

birds are born to fly, to pair, my dove

And by the time of evening sun we shall save the last dance just for us and

we’ll eat and sing and slow dance by the light of that harvest moon

and make a toast to the one honeyed monocled landscape,

the priceless tabled feast never plucked bare of

its ancient fruit and root growing deep

VIII.

Let us return to a certain time, a juncture,

a certain seedy hotel room, torn assunder,

burber and cheap crimson, forest green curtain

so thick as to block the sun’s morning glory,

but the air that grooms the bloom blows cool in the heat of the day’s

stilled life

Dear God I cry, standing gracefully alone,

frozen in planes throughout all time and space like an artist’s model,

not a hopper but someone else

Not even hopperian the mood but similar

a nude blank faced model, just an anonymous

pink fleshed nude model,

unnamed like the counterpart heart

of everyman

I could be anybody really

Any woman standing naked, alone

by a dark cherry table

at a countryside ramada

holding the bible closer

to my breast

I turn to Song of Songs 5

hot tears streamline the years

that mark my face

the candles keep burning, puffing,

keep smoking and wafting,

muting down through these many vacant rooms

down through these many ages and tombs.

 

Michelle Dorris, copyright, 2017

 

 

 

Birdie, birdie

Birdie bleu

Warm winds blow soft through and through

my hair and cheek

pressing next to you

Our horse is gilded

underneath us

I tint and touch gently your waist

Your ruddy hands hold

tight the reins

We begin our night’s ascent

Through starry midnight sky

awaiting our presence

Anticipating our union

Witnessing our glee

I  cannot wait

any longer

I let my golden crowns swirl

round and round

your head

I swoop you closer to me

Our eyes meet in the fractal

Of our kiss

I kiss your lashes

Your gotee

We face each other now

Entwining each other

encircling each other

Arm in arm

Legs to thighs

gentle caresses

cheek to cheek

gently encasing

each in each

I rise up on your saddle

You suckle my breast

My swooning head

falls back in the rock and sway

As you come closer in

my hair flows

engulfing the midnight sky

the earth below in the arcing light

of us

reaching the golden lit starry

tiger Lion

your eye

Firing up

Our heart

We enter the milky way

galaxy together

Spraying the night sky

our shimmering heart,

twinkling lit stars, the orange rhine

with our golden communion

consecration in place

You place the golden laurel,

the crown of glory upon my hair

Your torching starry sword glows

as it marks the spot

makes the heat

Enflames our open firey heart

again and again

Ascents again and again

meet us in our Elesium Field

again and again

Birdie, birdie, Birdie bleu

Meet me there

again and again.

 

Michelle Dorris, copyright, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Love so sweet words can’t contain the joy of your presence

Lines of you so gentle can’t be constrained by these meek lines of ink

How to place the living word of you in a language unable to meet your immeasurable height

You are my Love Sweet Heart Blue

You are my light, my lantern guiding me onward in times of despair

You are my hope in times of gladness

It’s not an ache that you are to me

It’s not a striving that I drive for you

It is pure sublimity where we meet at the edge of heaven

the sight of which turns all darkness to the sun

all moons to the great light of the golden central sun

you are the center iris burning bright flames

the corona of the center ball of flame

I am in awe to even speak your name

My Love Sweet Heart Blue.

by Michelle Dorris, Copyright, 2017

 

 

Hot eye

etched in india ink

pierces deep my soul

his penetrative gaze

a million-lightyear gape

in sepia too

a cuttlefish

old lined ink

swings forth the door, my love

draws open a sash

his key unlocks

surprising love

surpasses objective reality

Did I dream or am I awake

to the flame

to the remembrance of

this sovereign flickering, this sway

a golden flame

lit at the core of his iris aglow

a hall of sparks combusting

a glittering ball turns deep in this rolling

swell of heat

his searing corona

rises curvilinear lines all fire aglow

blowing amber sweet soft amorous winds

amber sweet soft amber lines of new angsyne

glimmering warmth igniting my own hearth my own eye

in the merging of our shining circumferance

we burst forth fully efacing in laps of leaping red orange

golden flame emblazoning

grazing all time and space resistance

my reality overtakes me beyond all limits

I go lioning galloping leaping into the flaming neumenal

past, present, future sparks

always happening now, my love

merged as timeless eternity

amber’s timeless

heavenly grace

blossom in perpetual dance

forever sending

all of our timeless scent of burning love

lotus, rose, jasmine, sandalwood, musk

glinting aroma forever moving as us

the sweltering core of the torching core

of the blistering central sun

crysanthemum, lotus, rose

poppy blooms scorching heat in summer’s forever love

terracotta springs forth

chalice forever glows with

wine forever flowing

violet blue streaming

quenches bacchus’ thirst

that bacchus never got thirsty

our eyes drink of the juice pressing

from ripest grape and berry

bird forever soaring together

as one firing heart

as one

wing of a dove

two birds in one love

firehearth on firey

wings of a southwest wind

embrace in a starburst flame

a true soul communion

not keats’ poor lovers who never

reach a quiver nor

touch of a white feather

flight of flesh of the eagle’s breasted love

frozen in time, they yearn for the past or what is worse

what may never come

let keats’ lovers teach us

while they remain forever yearning

destined to remain plastered always outstretching

towards something, a union

unconsecrated love

always striving to meet without the greet

of conjugal bliss

unconsummated love

forever bound by the grand scheme

the artist oversoul of all artist eyes

scrying eye of horus lining them to live as a mere sculpture

all good things end at the beginning and rebirth anew, my love

plaster of paris is made to break open, my dove

I am a newborn baby

ensconced in your gazing

I am a newborn babe

like a soft blooming your palm

open in the opening eye

open in the searing heat of your sun

Eye bursting forth

enflaming

golden

emblazoned

sunlight shimmers

gold lining spray upon spray

star bursting

ecstasy glitters

in the elesium field

of our palm

tantric bliss

a torrid kiss

egg shell open in the raise of your eye

meeting myne at last

hot iris steeps in our india ink.

 

Michelle Dorris, copyright 2017